Setting: Shortly following the events in "33".
Spoilers: Up through episode 1.01.

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1,345. Hey, it's just a number.
So is 33.
240.
6.

33 – the number of minutes it took for the Cylons to find us after every jump.
240 – the number of jumps it took us to finally evade Cylon pursuit.
6 – the number of days I've gone without sleep now.

That's a new record for me... one I hope I never have to break again. Even during Hell Week in Basic Training I only had to go for 5 days... and they gave us 1-hour sleep periods every 12 hours after day 3, with stims starting on day 4. The drill sergeants told us back then that without the breaks and the stims, we'd all be going insane by the end of the week. Ah yes, the magical stims. I'm loaded with them now. I hate how those damn pills make me feel, but I know I would have crashed to the floor or had a full-on meltdown hours ago without them. As it is, my hands are unsteady, and it's hard to write. My head's a little fuzzy too and for the last hour I've occasionally had the sensation that something was crawling over my skin. But now that I actually have the time to sleep, the fraking pills won't let me. I probably have at least another hour before I'll be able to close my eyes.

Kara is still jacked up too. She's gone down to the gym to punish one of the punching bags and hopefully work the drugs out of her system. I was inclined at first to join her, but the look on her face told me that I wasn't welcome. I'm not surprised. She didn't want to pull the trigger. "No fraking way," she told me. I fired first. I knew she would follow me in spite of her protests, but I almost hoped she wouldn't. She did. I don't know now if she'll ever forgive me for it. I'm not sure I want her to.

1,345 – No, this isn't just a number. These were people... one-thousand three-hundred and forty-five human souls that I may have slaughtered today. The decision was the President's. My father gave the order. But I led the mission, and I pulled the trigger. The fatal action was mine. I know, I know... there was at least one Cylon on board the Olympic Carrier... and the ship was carrying nukes... and it was on a direct collision course for Galactica. If the nukes were high-payload they could have wiped out any other civilian ships that had not yet made jump #240. Many more lives were at stake than 1,345. But Frak It! When can I stop playing this damn numbers game? How many times am I going to have to justify to myself sacrificing thousands to save tens of thousands? I've done it twice now, in less than a week! Lords of Kobol... don't ever make me do this again!

I can even still see the fraking light... the flash of the exploding ship. The fire and debris. I saw no sign of life through the carrier's windows as I flew past it that last time, so I don't know whether anyone was still onboard. But I can practically hear, even now, the screams of the people dying inside. I know that's impossible. Is it the stims fraking with my brain? Am I starting to hallucinate after 6 days without sleep? Or am I cursed for what I've done?

Frak it, I can't sit still here any longer. I'll go nuts if I just sit here thinking about it. Maybe I'll go let Kara use me as a punching bag. It might make us both feel better.

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Wow, was I losing it. Looking back at the page above, I can see that I was a lot closer to a meltdown last night than I'd thought at the time. I've had about six hours of sleep since then. I feel like I could have slept another 20, but duty calls. We're all still tired. It'll be days before we're all physically recovered. But it is amazing what even a few hours of sleep can do for your sanity. Although, I did have one flashback this morning... I guess that's what it was... right after I woke up at reveille. I saw the Olympic Carrier exploding again as though I was right back in the cockpit of my viper with my finger on the trigger. I think I just hadn't quite woken up yet, and was still stuck in a dream somehow. I'm sure it won't happen again.

I must thank Kara for not killing me last night. We were both really on the edge of insanity when I found her in the gym, trying to work off the stims. If my head had been on straight, I would have just left her alone. If her head had been on straight, she wouldn't have missed when she took a swing at me. Instead, we both degenerated into a senseless shouting match. I don't even remember what the point of the argument was now. I think she insulted my leadership, again. I think I accused her of lacking discipline. And it went downhill from there. Before it was over, she was insulting the name I gave my dog when I was 12 and I was making fun of her shoe size. Then we were both on the floor laughing hysterically. It was very fortunate that no one else witnessed our little show of lunacy, or we'd both be in padded cells right now. At least I know she doesn't hate me for what happened yesterday. Of all the crazy accusations she threw at me, none of them touched on the destruction of the Olympic Carrier. Neither of us is happy about what we had to do, but we both know we have to accept the tragic nature of war if we are going to live our lives as warriors. And Kara is a damn fine warrior... even if she is lacking discipline. ;-)

I have a lot of thanks to extend today, to all my pilots. They've all given 150 over the past several days, and not one of them succumbed to a nervous collapse. I know I'll need to keep an eye on them for a long while yet. Recovery is going to be a slow process and people are going to be at continual risk. I may not be able to save all of them from Cylons, but I'll be damned if I lose any of my pilots to suicide! Kara may make fun of me for telling my squadron to be careful, but I refuse to stop caring about their survival. There are too few of us left. Every life is priceless. Every person counts. That's the only numbers game that I'm willing to go on playing.