Battlestar Galactica 2003 is a copyright of the Sci Fi Channel. Battlestar Galactica is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. Ron Moore re-imagined Glen A. Larson's original idea; but then again, most people who would be reading this already know that. My use is in no way intended to challenge or infringe upon any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.
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XII – Securing the Future…Kat's stomach lurched as the starfield in front of her shifted, stretched, and then came back into focus, different than it had been before she'd made the FTL jump. "I've arrived at the LV-426 system," she said for the benefit of her flight recorder. A quick glance around the Blackbird allowed her eyes to tell her most of what her sensors were now reporting. "The cylon ships are still deployed just as they were in our reconnaissance photos. I'm picking up a nearby cylon patrol, but they don't seem to see me. So far."
She lightly tapped her thrusters and picked up speed, never laying on the engines long enough to provide a significant heat source for the cylons to detect. The silence in the cockpit was eerie, and she found herself giving more updates than she usually would, finding the sound of her own voice comforting.
"I'm not picking up the other two basestars; I can only assume the planet is blocking them, though maybe we'll be in luck and find out they're not here anymore," she commented with a smile.
Kat watched the cylon capital ships for a few minutes, quickly determining that they were all in a very high orbit around the planet. She started moving again, increasing speed until she was holding steady behind the cylon targets. Once that was accomplished, she released the beacon, leaving it to drift through space on its own. As soon as the beacon was away, a digital timer lit up on her console, the numbers displayed in bright red, counting down the minutes until the beacon activated.
"Beacon's away," she reported. "As long as the cylons don't deviate from their current orbital course within the next few minutes, everything should be fine. I'm going to move in and get into guns range."
Her eyes kept darting from the timer to the intimidating sight of the cylon ships in front of her, all three of them growing steadily larger, blocking out more and more of the stars around her. She kept approaching closer, until finally her distance from the Resurrection Ship could be measured in meters.
The ship's hull was impossibly smooth, and Kat found her mind wandering as she caught herself counting dozen, hundreds, even thousands of replacement cylon bodies, all of them visible as she slowly floated by.
Her DRADIS screen suddenly flickered, punctuated by a crackle of static that pierced her ears. That's the beacon, she realized, having been warned that her ship's systems would detect the energy burst, though they, and hopefully the cylons, wouldn't be able to identify the source or its meaning. At least not until it's too late.
Kat flipped a switch and the digital timer on her console reset to three minutes, the numbers now displayed in blue. One minute for the signal to reach our ships, two minutes to make the modifications to Gaeta's initial calculations, and a blink of the eye for Galactica to make the trip. Then it's game time.
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Admiral Adama didn't need to look at any of the readouts to know that his ship had just jumped into a war zone – the anxious intensity from his command crew, rolling through C.I.C. like storm-driven waves, told the story plainly enough.
"Any word from sick bay?" he asked Tigh, ignoring his XO's incredulous stare. "Any word on Sharon?" the admiral clarified.
"Last I heard, the cylon was still alive," Tigh grunted, devoting far more attention to the tactical displays than he was to Adama's concerns over Sharon Valerii. "I think they're going to deliver the baby early."
"Good," Adama said with a nod. Maybe Sharon's still connected to the cylons, and maybe she's not, but if there's anything they're likely to pick up on, it's that child being born. And I can't imagine they're going to destroy the Galactica if doing so will vaporize the child… not after all of the things Sharon has said. No… they won't shoot to kill. Not as long as they think they have any choice. He kept his thoughts to himself, though, afraid that speaking them aloud might tempt the fates to throw him a curveball.
"Gold squadron's away," Dee said loudly over the growing din in C.I.C.
"Targets are locking on," Gaeta reported.
"Are the basestars in range yet?" Adama asked.
"Only to missiles," Gaeta answered. "And I'm detecting an energy spike in the Resurrection Ship.
"All ahead full," Adama ordered.
"We're a minute away from having them in range of our guns," Tigh muttered. "We're damn close, but not close enough."
Still more than we could have hoped for under most circumstances, Adama decided, reminding himself to give Gaeta a commendation for his miracle-working on the astrogation computer. "Reset forward guns for interception fire," Adama ordered. "Open fire with all missile batteries."
"We have an incoming salvo," Tigh reported.
"Keep red squadron in the tubes until we know there won't be any nukes," Adama said, hoping that the ships in gold squadron would reach the safety of the atmosphere soon enough not to be destroyed if his hunch was wrong and the cylons came at them with everything they had.
"No nukes," Tigh reported. The ship shuddered with a few impacts, though most of the cylon missiles were destroyed before they got close enough to do any damage. "They're launching raiders."
"Hold our fighters a few seconds more," Adama said. "Just in case." He knew he didn't need to explain his concerns to his XO – Tigh was a seasoned enough officer to suspect that the cylons might launch just enough raiders to bait Galactica into launching its Vipers. Then one or two nukes would be enough to remove all of Galactica's fighters, and the cylons could cut them to pieces with their raiders.
"The raiders are advancing on us," Tigh said. "It's not a bluff."
"Launch Vipers."
"The Aether just jumped in," Gaeta reported.
I have a few aces up my sleeve, Adama remembered telling Starbuck. Here's the first. "Dualla, order all ships to switch to emergency frequency zeta."
"Yes, sir," Dee said, passing on the order to red and gold squadrons.
"Order the Aether to execute Operation White Squall," Adama told Dee once she had finished relaying his previous order.
"Hope this works," Tigh said.
"Yeah."
"I'm picking up widespread communications disruption," Dee reported, the uncharacteristically high pitch of her voice betraying her panic. "We have static across all channels."
"We still have contact with our ships?" Adama asked calmly.
"Yes," she confirmed a moment later, obviously surprised. "The channel is a little garbled, but it's clear enough."
"It's working," Tigh said, gazing intently at the DRADIS screen.
Adama nodded, already seeing the same thing as his XO. The cylon raiders were cut off from their basestars and each other. They may get better with every battle – whether they get destroyed or not – but they're still inexperienced. And now every single one of them will have to act on its own, with no coordination possible. From what Drake said, Sharon described them as animals. Well, now they're like animals subjected to a disorienting, high-frequency whistle, and there's no way to reach each of them to get them under control. Adama sighed for the moment, satisfied that the Aether – a long range scout ship that was unique for its highly advanced communications array, needed to communicate over extremely long distances – had succeeded in its primary mission objective.
"Reading several small explosions aboard the Resurrection Ship," Gaeta shouted from his station. "Looks like Kat got her job done."
"So far so good," Adama said, poring over the tactical board.
"We're still vastly outnumbered," Tigh pointed out.
"But our Vipers can work together," Adama countered. "I'll take that trade any day. Especially when that Resurrection Ship isn't going anywhere."
"We're moving into guns range," Tigh said.
"Let them have it," Adama ordered.
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"Brace for contact with the atmosphere," Starbuck said over the wireless, momentarily remembering the first time she hit an atmosphere at combat speed – she'd been trying to work a small piece of shredded carrot from between two of her teeth, and she almost ended up biting off the tip of her tongue when her Viper left the vacuum of space and slammed into a wall of thin air.
She grunted as her Viper entered the atmosphere, and heard a similar sound from the other pilots over the wireless. She glanced quickly at the DRADIS, making certain that everyone was with her. So far, so good, she told herself. The six Vipers will still in formation around the transports, with the Chimera bringing up the rear. Starbuck was just about to say a quick word of congratulations when she picked up several other signals climbing toward them.
"Bogeys," she warned her pilots. "Gold 2 and 3, you're with me. The rest of you, cover the shuttles and Raptors all the way down; if you're really good, maybe we'll save a couple of raiders for you."
"Copy," Ares said, taking command of the ships that would continue to the ground.
Starbuck let a thrilled chuckle escape her lips as she hit her thrusters, her breath suddenly crushed from her chest when with the increased G-forces. "Form up on my wings," she ordered as soon as she could talk again. "Four targets, guys. Hit them hard and fast; clear the road for our ships."
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"Damage report," the admiral said, aware of a burst of red warning lights displayed across the ship status board. He felt a shudder run through the floor as another red light sprang to life, reporting that a small section amidships had depressurized.
"The hull's holding for the most part," Tigh replied. "But I don't know how much more the flight pods can take."
"Retract them," Adama ordered.
"What?" Tigh asked, clearly surprised at the order while the Vipers were still in the air. "Our ships--"
"--They'll be fine," Adama answered, cutting Tigh off. "There's a planet with a breathable atmosphere below. Besides, there'll be other places to land if we need them," he added with a meaningful look.
Tigh nodded before saying, "The Myrmidon just arrived."
"Order the Myrmidon to start using its ion cannon," Adama told Dee, having her relay the message. "Same thing for the Aether."
"And us?" Tigh asked.
"Let's see if it works, first," Adama answered. Just in case something goes wrong and the cannons blow up.
"Get a targeting solution for the ion cannons," Tigh told Gaeta as the other two ships started firing without any adverse consequences. "Widest possible dispersion."
It only took Gaeta a few moments. "Ready," he reported.
"Fire," Adama ordered.
Light flashed around the ships, and the admiral could clearly see static discharges amongst the raiders, arcing from one cylon ship to the next. For a few moments he feared that some of the Vipers would be caught in the blast, but he tried to dismiss his concerns. Drake assured us that Colonial technology would only be temporarily disabled, not completely fried the way cylons are. Our pilots will simply need to restart and wait for the generators to power up their systems. Assuming every raider in their vicinity is out of commission, they shouldn't be in any danger.
The cylon raiders were immediately affected; many of the small ships immediately stopped maneuvering, and each of them continued on in a straight line along whatever vector they'd been traveling at the time they were disabled. Some drifted off into space, while many more were snagged in the planet's gravity well and plummeted toward obliteration on the surface.
"I don't know how much more of this we can take," Tigh commented, well aware that while the majority of cylon raiders were being immobilized, there were still dozens that were putting up a hell of a fight.
"She'll hold together," Adama said confidently, wincing slightly as the shuddering in the floors and walls became harder to ignore. "Reset the ion cannons for concentrated fire and target those basestars. We only have minutes before reinforcements show up."
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Now I get it, Helo thought as he sat at the controls of his Raptor, pinned in his seat by G-forces as he led the way toward the planet surface. No wonder Sharon loved it so much.
He stared at his DRADIS screen and smiled as Starbuck and her two wingmen engaged the approaching cylon raiders several kilometers below. One of the cylon blips disappeared almost immediately, and another quickly followed. Starbuck brought her A-game, Helo thought happily. No sooner had he thought that than he realized she would need it.
"Picking up a group of DRADIS contacts behind us," he said.
"Confirmed," Ares replied. "Reading eight cylon raiders. They broke off from the fight above us."
"Several more are taking off from the airfield, too," Helo added.
"Fun," Ares joked. "Everyone hit your thrusters; we have to hit the rest of those raiders while they're still on the ground. They launch many more and we're dead."
"We're finishing up down here," Starbuck reported. "Gold 4, 5, and 6, break off and slow down those raiders coming in from orbit. I'm on my way up to you. Gold 2 and 3, hit those raiders that just took off, then support Ares and the Raptors when they take out the airfields."
Unbelievable, Helo thought as he kept his eye on the DRADIS screen, went through everything he'd have to do when they reached the airfields, and kept his Raptor on course at the head of the line of ships in the landing party. One little mistake and I'm dead, but I've never felt so alive. Gods, I love being a pilot.
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"It's gone," Tigh said evenly, though the admiral heard a strong undercurrent of relief in his XO's voice.
"Status report," Adama ordered as he watched the second basestar explode.
"Two of our sub-light engines are off-line," Tigh reported. "Armor plating is severely damaged in several sections, and we're looking at possible decompression in both flight pods. We also lost the aft ion cannon to a cylon raider suicide run."
"Damn," Adama muttered. Maybe they won't destroy us, but they probably figure they can cripple us, board us, take Sharon and her child, and then finish us off at their leisure.
"The Resurrection Ship's been caught in the planet's gravity," Gaeta reported. "It's going down, sir."
"How many Vipers we lose?" Adama asked as he looked at one of the screens, taking no small degree of satisfaction in the sight of the cylon Resurrection Ship breaking apart in the upper atmosphere.
"Red squadron lost five Vipers," Dee reported, "though two of the pilots punched out."
"Keep a fix on them," Adama told her. "We'll pick them up as soon as the fighting's done."
"New contacts," Gaeta called out. "The other basestars are coming in."
They aren't giving us a moment's rest, Adama cursed silently.
"They're in a low orbit," Tigh added.
"Perfect," Adama said, looking at the DRADIS screen, thankful for a stroke of luck. The two basestars had fallen into a low, high-speed orbit in order to get to the battle as quickly as possible. And while they got here sooner than I would have liked, they've pinned themselves low against the planet's atmosphere. They probably think they can fight their way out of the position… they're in for a surprise.
"The Myrmidon is pulling back," Tigh said.
Adama nodded; the Myrmidon had taken a pounding, and truth be told, he knew they were lucky the ship was still in one piece. "Have the Aether send the signal," the admiral said.
"Aye, contacting Aether," Gaeta replied, confirming the order. He relayed the command, and then nodded to the admiral. "Commencing countdown," he said. A digital timer, displayed in blue, started counting down from sixty seconds.
"Hold position," Adama ordered. "Order red squadron into defensive positions, and rotate the ship ninety degrees port to show them our starboard side," he added, hoping that he could prevent any further damage to at least one of the ship's flight pods.
"Basestar Gamma is firing missiles, and Delta is launching raiders," Tigh said.
"Just a few more seconds," Adama said, hoping the point defense guns would take care of the incoming missiles. At least our guess seems to have been right – Basestar Delta isn't fully operational. We only have one basestar's missiles to contend with.
"No radiological warnings," Tigh reported.
Another stroke of good luck, Adama noted. Two of the missiles made it through, and Adama muttered a few well-chosen epithets when he saw that Basestar Gamma was also launching raiders.
"The first group of raiders is entering firing range," Tigh pointed out.
"Which means they won't get back to defend their basestars in time," Adama responded, watching the timer reach zero.
"Admiral, new contact!" Gaeta shouted, gazing at the DRADIS screen in open-mouthed horror. There was no mistaking the arrival of another capital ship.
"Game over," Adama said with a sigh.
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"Oh, frak," Starbuck cursed. She felt it before the blinking lights and screaming alert sirens went off in the cockpit – she was going down. "Mayday," Starbuck gasped as her Viper went into a flat spin and the wind was knocked out of her. Any additional distress calls were forgotten in favor of ejecting. "I'm punching out, Galactica."
She struggled for the eject lever and felt her hand slip over a slender piece of metal. The G-forces pinned her back in her seat, unable to see what she was holding, but she was reasonably certain her hand was in the right place. She yanked back as hard as she could; a moment later the canopy shot off, and seconds after that she was blown up into the air.
Her crippled Viper plummeted beneath her, breaking up as it fell, but Starbuck hardly noticed; she was too busy calculating her chances of being picked off by a cylon raider before her parachute reached the ground.
"Gold leader," she heard Hotdog call out over the wireless.
"I'm out," Starbuck said. "Our ships make it down?"
"The ground crews all made it," Hotdog confirmed. "I'm bringing the Vipers back up to cover you guys."
"Roger."
"Make it quick," Joker said. "We're totally defensive."
"Frak," Starbuck cursed. She knew that the cylons would launch several more raiders from the ground before Ares' group could destroy the airfield, but she hadn't expected what looked like at least half of a squadron. Joker, Snake, and Highball are outnumbered at least five-to-one up there.
"Frak me…" Snake cursed, unable to hide the terror in his voice. "I'm reading a full squadron closing on us from above."
We're all dead, Starbuck realized. We never accounted for that many raiders from the basestars making it down here to support the base. Something went very wrong up there.
"What the frak?" Joker said. "Friend-or-Foe system lists them as friendlies."
"What?" Starbuck asked, wondering why the cylons would tap into the Colonial systems like that. It's not like we wouldn't know it's a trick; it's not like we'd overlook them and let them get close enough to shoot us down.
"Gold Four, this is Blue Leader," an unfamiliar voice said over the wireless. "Hold it together just a little longer; we'll be with you in ten seconds."
"They're human," Hotdog yelled out. "They're ours!"
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"Helo practically burst with excitement as he listened to the chatter on the wireless. At least until Rutger radioed and asked for a status update.
"They're securing the skies above us," Helo reported. "There's actually a whole--"
"Quiet," Rutger interrupted. "This channel may not be secure. Besides, I already know all about what's going on, Lieutenant."
"Yes, sir," Helo replied.
"I just want to know what your status is in getting the Raptors ready to fly us out of here."
"We're removing the armored paneling now," Helo said. The Raptors had all had extra armor plating added to protect the ships as they flew down into the atmosphere, vulnerable to an unknown number of cylon raiders. But the extra protection wasn't needed on the way back up, and the weight of the armor would reduce the Raptors' cargo capacity during their supply runs. While the marines fought their way to the weapons cache, the flight crews made certain they'd be able to ferry the cargo back up to the Galactica as quickly as possible.
"How long?" Rutger asked.
"Fifteen minutes," Helo answered.
"Good. Team Alpha is advancing on the depot now, and the rest of us aren't far behind. Don't keep us waiting, Lieutenant."
"Of course not, sir," Helo said. Can't screw up during my first mission as a pilot, he reminded himself. Especially not when I've been put in command of the group. Sharon will kick my ass if I screw this up.
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Starbuck was aching to get on the ground and out of her parachute harness by the time she was able to start making out individual marines on the ground below her. The flashes of light she'd seen from farther up now could clearly be seen as muzzle flashes from weapons. The crackle of small arms fire now drowned out the deafening thunder of Viper KEW cannons and their cylon counterparts in the skies far above. Colonial and cylon mortars crisscrossed below her, and Starbuck was about to land in the middle of it all.
Never thought I'd get to try out being an Erinye, she thought with a smile, remembering the orbital paratroopers the Colonial military had dubbed 'Erinyes.' She consciously avoided dwelling on the extremely high mortality rate for that particular Special Forces unit.
"Ares, I'm only a few seconds from the ground," Starbuck said.
"I thought I heard a mayday," he answered. "We've secured the airfield and destroyed the raiders that were on the ground. Less than a full squadron got in the air."
"Our Vipers will take care of them," Starbuck said confidently, not mentioning the mysterious blue squadron that had arrived, seemingly out of nowhere. Well, Tigh told me to expect the unexpected… He was right – that was unexpected. "Think you can hang around until I get down there."
"How long?" Ares asked.
"A few seconds," Starbuck answered, pulling hard on her harness, trying to steer herself toward a group that she was sure Ares was leading.
"I guess you weren't kidding," Ares said, now looking up at her. Several marines near him moved aside to give Starbuck room to land.
"We've run into stiffer resistance than we expected," Ares explained as Starbuck hit the ground running, releasing her parachute and struggling to stop herself a pace in front of the other pilot. "We're all mustering here for a final push."
Starbuck looked around the small courtyard they were in, all of them moving against what they had determined was the command center, set next to a tower and a large storage facility. The weapons cache, Starbuck knew. They'd reached their objective, and it appeared as if they hadn't taken any significant casualties yet.
"Rutger's group is only a few seconds behind us," Ares said. "We're going to move now."
"Not waiting for his unit first?" Starbuck asked, not liking that Ares seemed too willing to take chances. This is still a fortified position – we could round a corner and run into anything.
"We're far behind schedule," Ares replied. "Resistance at the airfield was stiffer than we expected, and we needed to make sure we took out the raiders before they could get in the air and take out our air cover."
"Understood," Starbuck answered. "And your care is appreciated, since my team was your air cover. So if we're gonna go, let's go."
"Follow me," Ares said, his smile indicating he was having just far too much fun.
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"Launch rescue ships," Adama grumbled, now turning from the DRADIS screen and giving his full attention to the ship's status screens. And get hazmat and damage control teams down to the port flight pod. Have them prioritize that and the sub-light engines."
"And all the fighters?" Tigh asked.
"Divert Silver Squadron planet-side to cover our landing party. The others should land, refuel, rearm, and be ready to launch on a moment's notice."
"Aye," Tigh muttered.
"What's the status of the ground teams?" Adama asked, turning to Gaeta.
"The ships have all landed, and teams are advancing on their targets."
"And Lieutenant Thrace?" he asked, fearing the worst, hoping for the best.
"She rendezvoused with Ares' team," Gaeta said with a knowing expression that made the admiral smile.
"Good," Adama said. "Good. Order the other ships to spread out; if any other basestars show up, I don't want them to catch multiple ships with a single nuke."
"Yes, Sir," Gaeta said.
"Almost done," the admiral muttered with a sigh.
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A tingle ran down Starbuck's spine as she, Ares, and their group of marines entered the building that they'd identified as the cylon weapons cache. Inside, the structure resembled a massive warehouse, with a wide open area by the entrance holding scattered titanium crates – of varying sizes and none of them labeled – that were also stacked into dozens of rows leading away from them. Starbuck took all of this in as her eyes scanned every hiding place, every shadow, for the cylon centurions she was certain should have been there.
No guards? she wondered in disbelief, certain she was missing something. This is wrong. This is all wrong. Four squadrons of raiders on the surface, four basestars and the Resurrection Ship above, and there're virtually no ground troops in and around the command center and weapons cache? That makes no sense.
"Fan out," Ares ordered, already addressing the problem of not being able to identify any of the crates without searching them. "Teller, Hallon, take the radiation censors down each and every one of those aisles until we know where the nukes are."
"Yes, sir," Teller said.
"Any ideas?" Ares asked Starbuck.
"Assuming it's all weapons and ammunition – which I bet it is, since I can't imagine they have much reason to store food or medical supplies like this – I wouldn't expect them to stick nukes out here in the open."
"Me either," Ares admitted. "My money's on the area near the rear of the building, where it looked like there was roof access. That'd make it easier to load nukes directly into transports. It's not like they're small."
"Yeah," Starbuck agreed. The large doors on the roof weren't the only attribute that made the rear of the building the more likely storage area – it also had at least one sublevel that the Blackbird had been able to detect, the walls were steel-reinforced, meter-thick concrete, and there was a fairly advanced electronic support system wired through that section of the building.
"Skip all this stuff and move toward the back," Ares called out.
Starbuck looked down an aisle at Hallon, just in time to see two cylon centurions appear at the end of the aisle in front of him. "Get down," she yelled, diving for cover as the centurions both opened fire. She knew Hallon was almost certainly dead – there was no cover in the middle of the row where he'd been standing – but she hoped the others would be able to get clear.
"Starbuck," Ares shouted. "You okay?"
She couldn't even hear her own response, as several more guns opened up on them, the two centurions obviously having backup. She was about to stand up and move toward Ares when he gestured for her to get back down behind the crate she was using as cover. She heard a centurion lumbering across the concrete floor and looked back to Ares, amazed at the satisfied smile on his face. He's crazy, Starbuck decided. We're pinned down and he looks like he's never been so happy.
"Fun, isn't it?" Ares yelled.
"You're fracking nuts!" Starbuck returned, doubting he heard her over another salvo from the cylons. Then, as suddenly as it had all started, the gunfire stopped. Starbuck could hear the cries and moans of several wounded marines, but Ares, who had a better vantage point, was still signaling her to stay down. Several single shots rang out, each one ending one of the voices that had been contributing to the chorus of agony, and Starbuck decided that she'd had enough of hiding and waiting.
"Frak you!" Ares shouted at the cylons, springing to his feet just a half-second before Starbuck did. He leveled his assault rifle and unleashed a barrage of explosive rounds. His unexpected attack had thrown Starbuck momentarily off-balance, and by the time she'd made it to her feet, she was surrounded by several heaps of scrap metal, some of them still functional enough to struggle to rise to their mangled feet and keep trying to eliminate their targets.
"Umm, nice shooting," she said to Ares.
"We need back-up, now!" Ares screamed into his wireless headset. "More marines, and some medics."
"I knew something was wrong about this place," Starbuck muttered.
"Something still is," Ares commented, walking toward the rows of ammunition storage crates, counting off the members of his team who'd been killed.
He's right, Starbuck decided. I got a bad feeling about this. She couldn't explain it, but she knew in her gut that it was a bad idea to try to finish the operation. A nose for trouble, she remembered hearing the Old Man call it. But I don't like the idea of dropping this when our goal is in sight.
"Ares!" Major Rutger yelled as he entered the storage facility, ten more marines in tow. "Where are you?"
"He's down there," Starbuck answered, pointing down one of the aisles.
Rutger started to move in that direction, and then momentarily froze in his tracks when more gunfire erupted from where Ares had walked out of sight. The major recovered quickly, and was off like a shot, Starbuck one step behind, taking a moment to order the marines to secure the entrance and start treating the wounded soldiers.
"Slow-ass machines," Ares was grumbling, kicking at the still-smoking debris from two more centurions.
"Lucky for you," Starbuck said, noting that if Ares hadn't been a step quicker, he would have been a sitting duck in the narrow aisle.
"Luck had nothing to do with it," Ares bragged. "I'm just better than they are."
Starbuck realized that Ares was dropping to a knee and raising his assault rifle before she ever heard the two additional centurions that appeared at the end of the aisle. By the time she and Rutger had also fallen into a defensive crouch, Ares was merrily dispatching the two hulking machines, making them into carbon copies of the two bullet-riddled centurions lying in a heap a few feet away.
"See what I mean?" Ares asked with a grin as he stood up. "I'm better."
"We'd better get--"
"Get down!" Rutger yelled, tackling Starbuck to the floor. There was none of the gunfire she expected; instead, she managed to look up and saw Ares staring back toward the end of the aisle, his assault rifle hanging at his side, dangling from loose fingers.
"Shoot it!" Starbuck yelled, seeing a man standing at the end of the aisle, engaged in a staring match with Ares. "It's another cylon, Ares. Shoot it!"
The cylon stood completely motionless, his long, blonde, curly hair seeming to blow in a light breeze that Starbuck couldn't feel, its icy blue stare riveted on its three targets. Its hand rested on a holstered sidearm, but it appeared unwilling to make an aggressive move as long as it was outnumbered. I haven't seen this model before, Starbuck realized, taking a good look so that she'd be able to draw a good portrait of the cylon later.
"Oh, frak." Ares' voice was little more than a whisper, but Starbuck heard it clearly enough. It was as if everything in the building had completely stopped, like she, Ares, Rutger, and the cylon were all that existed in the universe.
And Ares isn't firing, she realized. Starbuck struggled to raise her own rifle, but Rutger pinned her arms down and at her sides. "Let go," Starbuck said, squirming.
"Stay still," Rutger said under his breath, as if he hoped that he and Starbuck – crouched out in the open in between two five-meter-high rows of ammunition crates – could escape notice.
"Oh, frak," Ares said again. The rifle finally slipped from his numb fingertips, clattering to the floor as the cylon looked on, still refraining from making an aggressive move of its own. Ares began to back away slowly, and then finally turned and ran.
"Ares!" Starbuck yelled.
She squirmed free of Rutger long enough to get a hold of her own rifle, and then almost blacked out when Rutger clubbed her over the head with his own sidearm. The marine got to his feet, grabbed Starbuck under her left shoulder with his left hand while keeping his rifle leveled at the cylon with his right, and dragged Starbuck back the way they'd come as the cylon continued to look on.
"I'm taking her out of here," Rutger announced plainly.
The cylon remained silent and still.
"And I expect you to be gone when we come back in here to get the supplies we came for."
"Is that right?" the cylon asked, appearing amused with Rutger's statement.
"We don't have to do this the hard way," Rutger said.
Through the fog in her head, Starbuck was reasonably certain of two things – Rutger thought she was out cold and wasn't hearing a word of this, and the tone in Rutger's voice made it clear that despite his words, he had absolutely no problems with doing things the hard way. And I may be conscious, but I don't think I can even move my legs, she decided, to say nothing of running for cover if these two start shooting at each other.
"Fine, we'll do this the easy way," the cylon relented. It slowly raised its hand from its holster and backed away slowly, allowing Rutger to sling his rifle over his shoulder and use both hands to drag Starbuck to safety.
"Get me some help here," Rutger yelled as soon as they'd cleared the rows of crates.
Starbuck started to struggle out of Rutger's grasp, and he let her pull away. "You hit me," she said as menacingly as she could manage. She touched her head gingerly, her hand coming away bloody.
"We were both on the floor," Rutger pointed out. "I couldn't imagine us getting the drop on him, but I knew you'd try. I figured discretion was the better part of valor in this instance."
Two marines came hustling up to them, and Starbuck immediately recognized them as crewmen from the Myrmidon. "Hey, Jenkins," she said as one of them opened a med-kit.
"Hello, Lieutenant," he said, now all business, the happy-go-lucky systems analyst he'd once been now replaced by an inexperienced infantry paramedic.
"Say again?" Rutger was screaming into his headset. "Frak."
"What is it?" Starbuck asked.
"Ares ran back to the Chimera and took off," Rutger reported.
"What?"
"He ran away," Rutger clarified.
"That doesn't sound like him," Starbuck responded.
Rutger gave a noncommittal grunt in reply and started shouting out orders to his men. Minutes later, he was crouched back at Starbuck's side. "Lieutenant, the planet's been secured."
"Completely?" Starbuck asked, surprised that the battle had ended so quickly.
"Yes, ma'am," he said. "We're loading up Helo's Raptor first, and we'll send you up with him. The commander wants to start your debriefing a.s.a.p."
"He's an admiral now," Starbuck said. I probably have a concussion, but I still know the Old Man isn't a commander anymore.
"I wasn't talking about Admiral Adama," Rutger answered, suddenly letting slip a thin, uncharacteristic smile. "It's the commander of the Pegasus – he'll be handling your debriefing."
To be continued……………………………