The Mailman
by Chaoseternus

thank you rankukon alpha and evilclone666 for reviewing.

Ten

The Mark VI Viper was a ship-killer.

Nothing more, nothing less.

It certainly wasn't at home in the furball that had swiftly shifted from Colonial Defeat to a sheer war of attrition, just waiting for the first reinforcements to arrive to tip the balance.

They knew their place, and they were charging towards it, like an old Train Engine with a full head of steam, roaring and spitting as it charged along its tracks.

The Cylon designers had decided a long time ago that they would use fighters as their primary anti-fighter defences and neglected to place any rail-gun batteries on their capital ships. They knew it was a weakness but they never anticipated the Colonials getting the opportunity to show them exactly how much of a mistake that was.

Intent of making sure the basestar didn't escape; the Mark VI's continued their headlong charge, way beyond the usual release point. The main guns of the basestar shifted fire, easing the pressure on the last known Colonial Battlestar as the fighters finally released their payload, a barrage of missiles pouring towards salvoing off the Fighters missile racks.

Each Fighter had been loaded with one Ship-killer and three Anti-fighter missiles, now covered by their comrades, half the squadron fired their ship-killers.

10 Anvil Ship-killer missiles sped towards the lone basestar, five were Bright Anvil's , thermonuclear tips, the other five, more conventional shaped-charged warheads.

They were joined by twenty Raven anti-fighter missiles, twenty more targets for the Cylons to attempt to pick the nukes out from.

The Cylon Basestar had sent its entire complement of fighters charging into the furball and had no defences of its own against the oncoming missiles. The result was inevitable.

As another Basestar kill was carefully chalked up on the kill board of the Relief Fleet, the Mark VI's moved to defend the refugees, half their missiles waiting for the next basestar to arrive.

Frak, but I had never seen such a beautiful sight in my life.

The bridge on Galactica just went dead quiet, everyone staring unbelieving at their screens as the basestar vanished from the scopes. We fired at her for a full minute more before we actually managed to get our heads around the fact that for the first time, we had seen a basestar killed.

Not just damaged, not just crippled but utterly wiped out.

Then we cheered, and boy did we cheer, Adama wasn't thinking of the effect on morale when he got on shipwide and announced it to the crew, he was just so happy he had to share it.

I think I was the first one to regain my head, tapping Adama on his shoulder and shouting over the cheering that echoed through the ship, reminded him that we had Pilots out their dying against those raiders needing support.

Not that I needed to worry really, the Mark VI's which had polished off the basestar had been sniping with their Raven missiles, helping whittle the Cylons down turning the odds in our favour and the Cylons had just noticed another Colonial Fighter squadron heading their way.

They had decided discretion was the better part of valour and were showing us a clean pair of heels. God, those Scimitars had the advantage having built in jump capability and all, but by the Lords, did we make them pay for every fighter that managed to escape. A full half of those in the furball never managed to disengage, to get enough distance to jump out and those that did were mostly slaughtered by the waiting Mark VI's and their Raven missiles.

Course, it didn't take a genius to figure out that the Cylons would be pissed and that leaving the area might be in our best interests but before that we had to meet and we had to exchange jump co-ordinates.

And, as it turned out, we had to exchange intelligence.

That was a dark spot on what was otherwise a bright day.

As soon as the last Cylon vanished off our scopes, I ordered jump engines readied and the fighters recalled. We couldn't stay here, the cylons would most certainly be coming back and they would be annoyed.

This battle had been won by simple virtue of the fact that the Cylons hadn't planned on us, on the relief fleet showing up to aid Galactica. Surprise and a sudden shift in numbers in Galactica's favour and for only the second time, we paid witness to a significant Cylon defeat.

Now they knew we were here and would be prepared, we had to leave and fast. But contact had to be made or we would end up jumping in different directions, losing the contact we had tried so hard to make and most likely losing it forever.

“Captain… Raptor Red-Two has successfully rejoined and is en-route to Transporter of the Books to land on”

“Negative!” the word was out of my mouth before my mind had even caught up with what I now planned, “They have our current encryptions, been briefed on our mission, have independent jump capabilities just in case and…” I grinned here, “They found Galactica for us, they can have the honour of making contact”

“Yes Sir!” Omega commented, grinning as he set up a secured channel to the Raptor.

“ Raptor Red-Two to Galactica, request permission to land on”

“ Galactica to Raptor Red-Two, Wait one”

“Commander?”

Dualla's call roused us from the plotting table were the two of us, Me and the Commander that is, had been discussing options for making contact with a group of ships that showed all the signs of using their own encryption set, had specialist landing requirements and would no doubt ignore anything sent in the clear.

A difficult proposition, especially considering that our best pilot was in sickbay, very disgruntled that she had been tossed out of her Mark II again. Course, she would have been more disgruntled if she hadn't punched out, ‘cos she would have been dead and therefore unable to tell anyone and everyone what she thought about inconsiderate Cylons, but that's a different matter.

I may not like her but I don't doubt she could land on anything should she feel the inclination, even a frakking Liberty class Blockade Runner. We had already pulled up the basic blueprints we had stored on that class and by frak, did they look a true bastard to land on.

We had no idea of the improvised arrangements used by the Transporter of the Books and weren't even considering trying a land-on there, but as it turned out the Mailman was well ahead of us.

“We have a Raptor, designated Red-Two requesting permission to land on”

“What ship is she from?”

“IFF says Transporter of the Books sir” Dualla replied.

“Any Radiological?” Okay, so I didn't expect to be told yes but it had to be asked, it could still be an elaborate plot to get a nuke into our landing bays or Cylons aboard the Galactica.

“No sir, no signs of nukes”

“Permission Granted” Adama replied, before glancing across to Gaeta, a slight smile on his face, “Gaeta, I want Marines hidden in all the access corridors around the Starboard landing bay by the time that craft lands, you have the bridge”

“Ah, yes sir”

Gaeta, good boy that he is, had Marines rushing into position as we arrived at the bay, well ahead of the Raptors landing. Over the bays speakers, we could hear the piped sounds of the LSO's instructions.

“ Raptor Red-Two, manual approach, call the ball”

“Call the ball? Haven't heard that in months… I have the ball… I think”

Encouraging sound that was, but considering the improvised arrangements a Cargo ship like the Transporter would have to use in order to function as a carrier, it wasn't entirely surprising, still had me and Adama exchanging worried glances though.

Still, they landed well enough that I didn't even the slightest tremble through the deck plates; a feat most pilots didn't manage. Kara used to be able to but nowadays she didn't bother, she usually had more important things to worry about. But again, it fitted with improvised landing arrangements and being used to landing on a deck that wasn't specifically reinforced with combat landings in mind.

Two Minutes later, we were watching as the unknown Raptor was dragged into the pressurised maintenance bays. We quickly spotted the tidily painted plaque on the side, Atlantia with a thick black border. A salvaged Raptor, maybe one whose crew had been lucky too perhaps?

Our question was quickly answered as the Raptors hatch opened and the two warriors, each wearing Atlantia patches stepped out, pistols in their hands ready but pointed at the ground.

“Lieutenant ‘Pheonix' Nagala, by RIO here is Lieutenant Python”

“Commander Adama, Colonel Tigh. Welcome aboard the Galactica”

Well, it didn't take us long from there to exchange Encryption keys so we could communicate properly across the two fleets, then we jumped the hell out of there before the Cylons returned. Questions could wait until we had reached the relative safety off a new location, unknown to the Cylons.