WSG-1: Fall of the Twelve Colonies

by Kelso323

As the Cylons unleash their genocidal strike upon the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, disparate groups of survivors struggle to defy bleak odds and the cold, calculating wrath of the Cylons; aged veterans and a new generation of inexperienced warriors band together to safeguard the addled survivors in their care. Their only mission; ensure the survival of humanity.

3. Part 2 - Desperate Times, Desperate Meas

Battlestar Pacifica Museum
Libran Colony Orbit

For only the second time in nearly four decades, Adrian Kelso stepped into the CIC of the decommissioned Battlestar Pacifica. But unlike his earlier visit with Ensign Cole, when Kelso stepped back in through the hatch this time, he did so with a sense of purpose, a small entourage of individuals following close behind.

While he could tell by their expressions that the three Colonial Officers, Lee, Cooper and Attis, were still somewhat skeptical that Kelso had anything truly productive in mind by bringing them there, they'd nevertheless acquiesced for the moment to his insistence that they hold off evacuating the ship. For him, the logic of it was simple; museum or not, Pacifica still had the fully armored hull of a Battlestar.

Prior to coming up to CIC, Kelso had also plucked two other individuals from the reunion crowd; Mike Franklin and Theo Cullen, his former Tactical Operations Officer. Since he hadn't yet informed them of exactly why they were heading up to CIC, both of his former officers were understandably curious, but nevertheless followed without question.

Without any of the nostalgic euphoria of his prior visit, Adrian Kelso very purposefully stepped over to the center plot table, the small assemblage hesitantly filing in after him.

"Okay, Adrian, why'd you bring us up here?" asked Mike Franklin flatly as he leaned in over the plot board. "Somehow I get the feeling it's not about some trip down memory lane."

"I brought you up here because there's a situation and I didn't want to risk starting a panic before the facts were in hand," sighed Kelso as he too leaned in over the plot table. "Lieutenant Lee?"

"We've started picking up a lot of wireless chatter over the last hour," began the pilot as he held up the wireless handset. "At first it was just on the civilian channels, but now there are reports filtering in over the Fleet Tac as well."

"What kind of reports?" asked Cullen as he ran his fingers through his significantly grayed hair.

"A few civilian ships have gone silent along the outer rim," replied Lieutenant Cooper evenly. "No warnings, no distress calls, just silence. The civil DRADIS network has also started picking up intermittent contacts with several unidentified ships running without transponders."

"It could be nothing," conceded Kelso, taking a deep breath as he looked out at their collective faces. "But, I'd feel better if we had a clearer idea of what's happening out there."

"I still think we should begin evacuating everyone down to the surface, sir," interjected Lieutenant Attis flatly.

"Evacuate?" sputtered Franklin, scowling a bit. "There's over four thousand people aboard right now, you try and rush them off this ship, they're gonna want to know why. And if this is nothing, Lieutenant, then the Commander is right; that's stirring up a whole lot of panic for no good reason."

"Exactly my point," interjected Kelso, silently bemused for a moment that Franklin had so readily referred to him as 'the Commander'. "If this is simply some glitch in the DRADIS network, then an evacuation isn't necessary."

"And if it's more than just a DRADIS glitch, sir?" shot back Attis.

"Then what I told you back down on the hangar deck stands, Lieutenant," replied Kelso flatly. "It would be piss poor timing to have a hostile contact pop-in while we're moving all these people down in sluggish, unarmed liners and transports."

"I'd have to agree with you there, sir," nodded Theo Cullen. "Question though, why come up here?"

"Well, that depends on Mike," stated Kelso as he looked over at his former Chief Engineer. "Do you think this ship's systems are still operational?"

"Well, she's still technically part of the reserve fleet, so most of her systems should have been kept up, even if they are old," replied Franklin as he scratched at the thick beard on his chin. "Just what systems were you looking at having back online?"

"Communications and DRADIS," answered Kelso simply. "We get some eyes and ears on what's happening, after that we'll be able to make a more informed decision on what to do next."

"Well DRADIS isn't a problem," began Cullen as he turned and made his way over to his old Operations station. "I was talking to some of the museum staff earlier; the array aboard Pacifica is actually linked into Libran's aerospace control network; we bring up our displays, we'll be able to see just about everything in the air, from civilian traffic to migrating birds."

"Lieutenant Lee, give Cullen a hand accessing the network," continued Kelso as he motioned the young officer over to the Ops station. "Lieutenant Cooper?'

"Sir?"

"I need you to work on patching into the communication nets," began Kelso as he also motioned the pilot towards the communications station. "Access as many channels as you can, civilian, military, even the network news affiliates if you can, we need to know what everyone out there is talking about."

"I grabbed the decryp manual from our Raptor when I retrieved the handheld wireless," began Lieutenant Cooper as he stepped over to the Comm station. "As long as this equipment is still functional, we should be able to tap into at least some of the Fleet Tac comm-traffic."

"The equipment should work just fine," grunted Franklin, casting a somewhat indignant glance over at the young officer as the old engineer made his way over to a breaker panel.

Opening the cover, Franklin reached in and tripped several of the circuit breakers, the distinct click of each immediately followed by the low hum of power being restored to several of the systems around CIC.

"Well, I'll give credit to whoever restored and kept up the old girl," sighed Franklin as he gave the panel one last visual once-over. "Her C-three systems appear to have been perfectly repaired and maintained."

"Do we have enough power for DRADIS?" asked Kelso as he watched Franklin close the panel cover.

"Well, the ship's auxiliary generators are already online and running to help maintain orbit," replied Franklin as he stepped back over to the plot table. "We should have more than enough power for what you want to do right now, anything more and I'd have to head down to engineering and see what condition the mains are in."

"Let's hope that's not necessary," replied Kelso as he looked over to Cullen and Lieutenant Lee. "Any luck linking into the civil DRADIS network?"

"Should be coming up now, sir," replied Lee.

Reaching down, Kelso toggled the switch that lowered the overhead DRADIS displays above the plot board. As they settled into place, the screens themselves flashed to life.

As the system completed its startup sequence, numerous icons appeared on the screen, most labeled simply 'unknown' at first, awaiting the return signal from their identity transponders. As the system received the transponder identities, the screen became filled with the myriad of civilian ships inbound and outbound from Libran.

"I've got us linked into the wireless communications network," called Lieutenant Cooper a moment later. "Already picking up a lot of civilian comm traffic, sir."

"Anything significant?" asked Kelso.

For a few moments, Lieutenant Cooper sat listening intently to the headset nestled in his ear.

"Sound like there's a lot of confusion out there, sir," began Cooper. "Nothing really firm so far, just a lot of the same reports about unknown intermittent DRADIS contacts along the civil shipping lanes."

"Go ahead and make some inquiries with those civilian ships, someone out there has to know something other than rumors," said Kelso as he turned his attention back to the DRADIS.

"Understood."

"Sir, I've located some Colonial Fleet units, looks like the Theseus battlegroup," called Lieutenant Lee. "Vipers and Raptors are in the air; looks like they're conducting some sort of reconnaissance sweep on the far side of Libran."

On the DRADIS screen, Kelso watched as the image focused in on the Theseus and her escorts.

"I'm picking up their comm-traffic," called Lieutenant Cooper a moment later. "Sounds like they may have a bead on some of the unidentified contacts."

As Kelso watched intently, a small cluster of unknown contacts appeared near the Theseus and her escort group. Eight total, the unknowns held lose formation with each other as they sailed directly towards the Colonial warships.

"Any wireless contact between Theseus and the unknowns, Mister Cooper?" asked Kelso.

"Piping it overhead now, sir," replied Lieutenant Cooper, nodding his head slightly.

"…I say again, this is the Battlestar Theseus, to unregistered craft, identify yourselves immediately or you will be fired upon."

A few tense moments of silence followed with no apparent response from the unknown ships. Then, the icon representing the Battlestar Theseus blossomed with several new icons.

"They've ordered additional planes into the air and are vectoring their Vipers for intercept," stated Theo Cullen, an excited edge slipping into his voice as he listened intently to the headset pressed to his ear.

"Can we link into their squadron communications as well, Lieutenant Cooper?" asked Kelso as he watched just over a dozen of Theseus' fighters begin closing in on the unknown contacts.

"It will take me a few minutes to manually enter the proper decryption codes into the system, sir," replied Lieutenant Cooper as he pulled out the manual he'd retrieved from his Raptor.

Kelso simply nodded his head, his eyes never leaving the DRADIS as he watched Theseus' Vipers and the unknown contact continue to close with one another. Overhead, the speakers continued to emit a garbled set of sounds; the incoherent noise of encrypted wireless transmissions.

Then, abruptly, it all stopped.

As the Vipers reached the point where they should have broken formation to intercept the contacts, nothing happened.

"Sir, we've lost all wireless traffic," burst Lieutenant Cooper, his voice betraying his bewilderment. "I've got the codes in, but there's nothing on the wireless band."

"What do you mean 'nothing'?" muttered Kelso, his face contorting in a slight scowl as he continued to eye the unknown contacts closing in on the Colonial fighters. "Did you upload the decryption protocols?"

"Yes, sir, right out of the book, but…" began Cooper as he pressed his headset tighter against his ear. "Sir, they've stopped transmitting, the wireless band is completely silent…"

"What about the Theseus and the rest of her group?" asked Kelso flatly as he looked over to Cooper.

"They've also gone silent, sir," replied Cooper, more concern creeping into his tone. "It's like everyone just decided to turn off their damned wireless sets."

Looking back up at the DRADIS, Kelso watched as the 'unknown' craft and the Viper signals merged.

Then, all at once, the Viper icons vanished from the screens overhead.

As he saw this, Adrian Kelso felt like his stomach had suddenly dropped into freefall, the blood quickly draining from his face as he watched the 'unknown' icons continue on and begin closing with the Theseus and her escorts.

"Oh my gods!" burst Theo Cullen as he snapped his head around towards the Kelso. "Sir, systems are showing a radiological detection…"

Even as the words left Cullen's mouth, Kelso and everyone else in CIC watched in horror as the DRADIS flared with the telltale signatures of multiple nuclear detonations engulfing the Theseus and her escorts.

When the interference finally began to clear, the Theseus and the rest of her battlegroup were gone.

All that remained were the eight 'unknown' contacts.

His pulse quickening, his stomach twisting in knots, Kelso looked around at people with him in CIC.

"We need to start evacuating everyone to Libran right now…" began Lieutenant Attis evenly.

Looking over at the young officer Adrian Kelso inexplicably let out a slightly bemused chuckle.

"Are you not paying attention to what's going on out there, Lieutenant?" he said simply. "Those eight ships out there just knocked out an entire battlestar group, what kind of short work do you think they'd make of a bunch of crates hauling civilians?"

Watching each of the three young officers for a moment, Kelso plainly saw the uncertainty and utter confusion in their expressions.

Looking back up at the DRADIS, Kelso watched as the eight 'unknowns' broke formation, splitting off in pairs to chase down and intercept the myriad of civilian ships in the area around them.

"Lieutenant Cooper, get on the wireless to anyone, everyone, Civil Defense, Colonial Fleet, try and raise the alarm," stated Kelso evenly.

"Sir," interjected Cooper. "I agree with Lieutenant Attis, we need to begin evacuating the civilians, now."

"Gentlemen, I don't want to insult your intelligence but frankly I'm getting a bit too old to keep retreading the same discussions with you so let me put this to you bluntly," began Kelso as he stepped around the plot board and pointed back up at the DRADIS. "Those are Cylons out there, armed with nukes; we even try to evacuate now and we'll be sitting ducks for them."

"With all due respect, sir, we don't know for certain that they're Cylons," countered Attis flatly. "And whether they are or not, in my opinion, we're just as much sitting ducks for them up here."

"This isn't up for debate, Lieutenant," snapped Kelso, his tone taking on a commanding edge even he'd thought long gone. "We are not leaving the Pacifica."

"You're right, sir, this isn't a debate," shouted Lieutenant Attis, taking several brisk steps towards the Kelso. "This ship isn't a Battlestar, sir, it's a museum, and with all due respect towards your service during the war, I cannot believe you would risk everyone aboard just to satisfy some misguided notion about going down with your ship."

Turning away, Kelso silently stepped back over to the plot board and cast his weary eyes back up to the DRADIS.

The Cylons Raiders, and every gut instinct Kelso had said that was what they were, were methodically running down the myriad of civilian and commercial ships on the far side of Libran.

Some of the civilians changed course, attempting to evade the Cylons.

A few actually managed to jump away.

For most of them, however, any attempt to escape was futile, the Cylon ships were simply too fast and maneuverable to elude. As everyone in Pacifica's CIC listened in pensive horror, the overhead speakers quickly became a frightful chorus of final, desperate transmissions, overlapping cries for help and frantic pleas to the gods from the ships being hunted down and slaughtered.

As the Cylons continued to wade through the helpless civilian ships, their DRADIS icons continued to disappear one by one, the simplicity of their vanishing from the screen a stark, surreal contrast to the frenzied cries echoing out over the wireless, almost as though one had nothing to do with the other.

After a few moments of tense silence, with nearly everyone staring unflinchingly across the old CIC at one another, the three young officers began making their way towards the entry hatch, obviously expecting the old veterans to follow suit.

As they reached the hatch and looked back, however, they saw that neither Cullen nor Franklin had moved an inch. Instead, both men simply stood where they were, watching their former Commander, waiting.

Overhead, the agonizing sounds of the massacre occurring on the far side of Libran continued to filter in, each shattered cry echoing off the bulkheads in the deserted CIC.

At the plot board, Adrian Kelso took a deep, deciding breath, straightened up his posture a bit, clasped his hands behind his back and then looked over to Mike Franklin.

"Shut off the overhead, Theo," said Kelso simply as he held Franklin's steady gaze.

Silently, solemnly, Theo Cullen stepped back over to the Communications station and turned off the overhead speakers.

As he stood there holding Adrian Kelso's unflinching gaze, Mike Franklin took in a deep breath, the corner of his lip curling into the barest hint of a grin.

"Now why do I get the terrible feeling I know what you're thinking, sir?" asked Franklin evenly as he slowly crossed his arms while looking back over at his former Commander.

"Maybe it's because you're getting to be just as crazy in your old age as I am," replied Kelso as he wiped a newly formed bead of sweat from his brow. "According to the readouts, Pacifica's tylium tanks are still well over fifty percent. I don't suppose you still remember where engineering is."

"Pretty sure it'll be right where I left it," replied Franklin flatly as he turned and headed out past the three dumbfounded young officers towards the entry hatch. "I'll let you know when, or if, I can get the mains back online."

As he reached the CIC hatch, Franklin paused and glanced back at Kelso, his eyes hesitant.

"Joshua and Alexander?"

"I'll be sure they're taken care of, Mike."

Nodding his head slightly, Franklin then turned and exited the CIC.

As his gaze settled back in on Lieutenant Attis, Kelso saw the young officer gently shaking his head in disbelief.

"You can't be serious about this," said Lieutenant Attis evenly.

"Contrary to your beliefs, Lieutenant Attis, I have absolutely no fraking intentions of 'going down' with this ship," said Kelso evenly as he leveled a truly no-nonsense gaze on the trio.

"This ship has no weapons, no munitions, no fighters," muttered Lieutenant Lee. "Even the FTL systems aren't functional."

"What the hell do you expect to accomplish, sir?" snapped Attis angrily.

"Those Cylon ships are still on the far side of the planet, well outside direct DRADIS range of Pacifica," replied Kelso, again pointing up at the DRADIS. "They don't know we're here, the only reason we can detect them is because we're linked into the aerospace traffic control network. Right now it's just a section of Raiders, but I'd bet my last cubit they're the vanguard of a force of Basestars that could show up any moment. But, if we can get the mains back online, break orbit, we might be able to maneuver away without them ever knowing we were here."

The three young officers stood there at the hatch, utterly taken aback, staring at Adrian Kelso as though he'd thoroughly lost his mind.

"Now, as I see it gentleman, the three of you have just two choices," continued Kelso as he stood at the plot table staring down Attis, Cooper and Lee. "You can head back down to the hangar deck, take your Raptor and abandon not only everyone aboard this ship but your oaths as officers in the Colonial Fleet, or you can help us get this ship underway. Now, which is it going to be?"

As the three young officers stood there, unsure, non-committal, confronted with what they likely perceived as a senile lunatic, Adrian Kelso reached down, picked up the handset on the side of the plot board, and toggled the switch to broadcast over the ship's One-MC.

---

Down in the reunion hall, the veterans, their families and friends were a roiling sea of socialization. Laughter and conversation from so many voices echoed through the vast chamber that had once been the Port flight deck. Young Colonial officers stood with recruitment poster smiles, enduring tired war stories from the old veterans while other people continued to indulge themselves with the sumptuous offerings from the ample buffet table. Some people laughed, a few more cried over lost loved-ones, and in a few spots, mothers or fathers chased or called after their darting children.

While a few of the attendees had been attentive enough to note their former Commander surreptitiously plucking Franklin and Cullen from amid the crowd a little while ago, none had wanted to disturb the generally genial event by making mention of it. A few whispers were traded, but overall, everyone was more or less content to simply enjoy the food and conversation.

"This is Adrian Kelso; can I have your attention please?"

At the sound of Adrian Kelso's voice filtering in unexpectedly over the One-MC, a hush settled in almost instantly over the assemblage.

"At this time I need all former department heads and all current active duty Colonial Military personnel to report immediately to the CIC, thank you."

The announcement, short as it was, was nevertheless enough to instantly touch off a wave of murmurs throughout the crowd, confused whispers and questioning glances rolling through the mass of humanity like a wave as several of the old veterans along with the few active Colonial officers and enlisted aboard began making their way towards an open causeway.

---

Battlecruiser Enceladus
Near Armistice Station

Colonel Thadius Runel sat looking over the thin stack of damage reports attached to the clipboard in his hands. Beside him, a Medic was methodically stitching up the two-inch laceration on his scalp. In spite of the local anesthetic, Runel still winced occasionally as the Medic worked to close his wound.

"This would be easier if you'd agreed to come down to sickbay, Colonel," muttered the Medic as he wiped away a trickle of blood with a piece of gauze.

"Just get it done," growled Runel, wincing again as another stitch was pulled through.

Returning his attention to the clipboard, Runel continued to peruse through the damage reports. The fires amidships had been extinguished and DC teams were making headway putting repair measures in place for getting the ship back underway. Fifteen crewmembers, including his XO, Major Kell, had been killed in the action, another thirty-seven were injured, four critically; blessedly few casualties considering the pounding the stout Enceladus had endured.

Flipping the page, the next report struck Runel as far more troublesome.

As soon as emergency wireless contact had been reestablished with the Adroa and Ikenga, Runel had spoken with the commanders of the two destroyers, Major Ambrose and Major Jasper. To Runel's dismay, both of his two subordinates informed him that at the outset of the engagement with the Cylons both ships had suffered nearly identical catastrophic shutdowns of all their computer systems which had rendered both vessels immobile and defenseless almost as soon as they jumped in.

After all initial efforts to get the destroyers back up and running had failed, Ikenga's Chief Engineer had put forth the rather drastic suggestion that all the computer hard drives controlling the various systems be completely wiped and reformatted. Reluctantly, both Major Ambrose and Major Jasper had agreed to the measure.

Fortunately, the measure seemed to have worked; both the Adroa and Ikenga were now reporting that their primary systems were once again online, the critical operational software having been reloaded using protected backups. What still unnerved Runel, however, was that they had not yet determined exactly how the Cylons had managed to trigger such a complete computer shutdown aboard both destroyers.

"Alright, Colonel, we are just about done here," muttered the Medic as he gently taped a bandage over the freshly stitched wound. "Remember to try and keep the wound dry and clean, change the dressing every few hours and report to medical if you have any further dizziness."

"Understood, thank you," replied Runel simply as he stood up from the chair, clipboard in hand.

Once he was on his feet, Runel paused, the watchful eye of the Medic on him as he steadied himself against the slight wave of lightheadedness that momentarily gripped him.

The Medic went to grab hold of his arm but stopped as Runel dismissively waved the man away.

"That will be all, Petty Officer," stated Runel simply as he stepped back over towards the center plot table.

"Aye, sir."

Runel knew damned well he belonged in sickbay; the concussion he'd doubtless received from his head slamming into the deck needed examination. But for Runel, it wasn't so simple, especially now; his XO was dead, they were at war, and he had a ship to run.

"Mister Templeton?"

"Yes, Colonel?"

"Get me Major Ambrose and Major Jasper on wireless," stated Runel evenly as he dropped the clipboard down onto the plot table with a slight clatter.

As he waited for Templeton to advise him that the wireless channel was open, Runel felt an itch on his head. Instinctively reaching up, his fingers quickly found the gauze dressing the Medic had placed over his stitches.

His sewn-up laceration had begun to itch.

"That's going to get annoying," he muttered under his breath as he clenched his fingers and resisted the urge to scratch.

"I have Adroa-Actual and Ikenga-Actual on wireless, Colonel," announced Templeton, momentarily distracting Runel from the insufferable itch gnawing at his patience beneath the bandage.

Flexing his fingers once again against his own urge to rip the bandage from his scalp and itch till every stitch was ripped clean out, Runel very deliberately reached down and picked up the handset on the side of the plot table instead.

"This is Adroa-Actual, go ahead Enceladus."

"Ikenga-Actual, send your traffic."

"This is Enceladus-Actual, give me a status report."

"We're still trying to get our systems back up to speed, sir," began Major Ambrose, CO of the Adroa. "Some of our backups appear a revision or two out of date, but we should be back up in about an hour."

"Sitrep is about the same here, Enceladus-Actual," continued Major Jasper, CO of the Ikenga. "DC teams have completed repairs to our drive systems; computers are still being recalibrated from the reformat."

"What about casualties?" sighed Runel.

"We suffered one hundred and ninety-six dead," said Major Ambrose bitterly. "We have another seventy-three wounded, twenty-two critically. Doc says we'll need to evac them to a ground facility with a full trauma ICU at first opportunity."

"We lost one-hundred twenty-five over here, sir," continued Major Jasper, a long sigh escaping her as she said as much. "Fifty-three more wounded, fifteen are critical and in need of evac as well."

"I know it's a fraked up thing to say, but it could have been a hell-of-a lot worse," sighed Runel as he glanced back down at his own ship's casualty list.

"Sir, do you have any idea why Enceladus wasn't affected by, well, whatever it was the Cylons used to shut our systems down?" asked Major Jasper pointedly.

"Best theory we have right now is that the Cylons used a wireless signal to hack into your systems," replied Runel as he absently leafed through the pages on the clipboard. "Since your systems were still networked, the intrusion went ship-wide, allowing them to shut you down. Our network is down, so our primary systems weren't vulnerable."

"I'll go ahead and have our Chief Engineer take our network offline, run all our systems in stand-alone," sighed Major Jasper.

"Systems are going to run slower in stand-alone, response times will be delayed," interjected Major Ambrose hesitantly.

"Better slow than not at all," countered Runel flatly as he pushed the clipboard aside and looked up at the DRADIS. "Until we figure out a better defense against Cylon interference with our computers, it seems to be the only option available."

"Understood, sir, I'll get my people to work shutting down our network as well then," stated Major Ambrose.

"Keep me apprised; we'll need to get underway as soon as possible, Enceladus-Actual out."

With that, Colonel Runel hung up the handset and glanced around CIC.

They needed to get back within wireless range of Picon Fleet Headquarters and advise them of their engagement with the Cylons. Even though the battle had come out as a nominal victory for the Colonial ships, the fact that the Cylons had managed to neutralize the Adroa and Ikenga at the outset meant the bulk of the fleet was potentially at risk.

Runel doubted this attack would be an isolated incident; no, he was certain this had been the opening shots in a renewed assault by the Cylons.

He had to raise the alarm.

But, he was not about to leave the two destroyers helpless in order to do so, he'd have to wait until they were able to get underway again as well.

Unless…

"Lieutenant Thorpe?"

"Sir?"

"Get on the horn down to the flight deck, I want a Raptor prepped to fly in fifteen minutes," said Runel as Lieutenant Thorpe stepped up beside him. "We may not be able to leave the Adroa and Ikenga, but we can at least get the word out that the Cylons are on the move."

Lieutenant Thorpe stood silently looking back at Runel for a moment, clearly hesitant.

Sensing the hesitation, Runel let out a sigh.

"Spit it out, Lieutenant."

"Hangar entry doors are jammed shut, sir," stated Thorpe evenly as he handed Runel another DC printout. "Adroa and Ikenga will be ready to get underway before repairs to the mechanisms are complete."

Runel was about to say something, but stopped.

No point venting annoyance on the man over something that was not his doing.

"Very well, Lieutenant, belay my last."

Runel looked up a DRADIS, his frustration percolating.

He'd have to wait until the Adroa and Ikenga were back up before he'd be able to raise the alarm. All he could do was hope they'd be able to make the FTL jump back in time to warn the rest of the fleet before the Cylons struck again.

---

Colonial Fleet Reclamation and Reserve Maintenance Depot
Sagittaron Colony

With a sense of resigned finality, Director Paul Bess crumpled up the day's itinerary list and tossed it in the trashcan. Whatever else the day brought, by now he knew, the list of tasks his people had been meant to accomplish that day no longer held any real significance.

As he turned back to the small group of his supervisors huddled around the wireless set in his office, Bess listened as the near-breathless reporter continued her coverage of what was by now quite obviously a renewed, wide-spread and brutal assault by the Cylons against the Colonies.

The civilian ships, a total of fifteen at last report, had barely touched down at the airfield when the broadcast news evolved from vague gossip concerning unknown ships at the Colonial outskirts to multiple and confirmed reports of nuclear detonations on Caprica, Picon and Scorpia.

"This is unfraking believable," muttered Kipinger, slowly shaking his head as the newscaster recapped the report of Caprica City's destruction.

"The fleet will respond," muttered Janice Aster, weakly, hopefully. "It has to respond."

For his part, Bess was beginning to have his doubts.

Thus far, very little mention of the fleet, its activities, or an expectation of a counterattack had been made by the news services. Indeed, from everything they were hearing from the civilian networks, it was almost as if the fleet was not responding at all.

"At this rate, the Cylons keep dropping nukes on cities, they'll be nothing left for the fleet to defend," muttered Kipinger somewhat cynically.

"And if the fleet hasn't been able to protect Caprica or Picon, what's the likelihood that they'll be able to stop them before bombs start falling here?" put forth Nakaya Foteva, another of his supervisors, one who'd been absent from the meeting that morning, as she absently chewed on a fingernail.

Bess cast her a sideways glance.

Just then, the landline on his desk rang.

"Bess here," he stated evenly as he lifted the receiver to his ear.

"Mister Bess, this is Captain Gaines," stated the voice on the other end of the line. "We have a bit of a situation over here at the landing field."

Even as the young Captain stated as much, Bess could readily hear the din of frantic, angry voices shouting in the background, almost as though she had a small riot on her hands.

"Are the passengers on the civilians ships giving you trouble, Captain?"

"Not so much, sir, no," replied Gaines, pausing for a second to shout out some orders to a couple of her Marines. "Most are too busy listening to the wireless to be causing much of a problem, but that's not why I called."

"Why, what's happening now?"

"We have a fairly large crowd gathering at the front gates demanding to be let into the facility," replied Gaines, her voice laced with tension.

"Why, where the hell do they think they're going to able to go?" asked Bess.

"I'm not sure, sir, the ships here at the airfield, maybe," replied Gaines, again pausing to shout out a few orders. "What I do know is that this situation could deteriorate rapidly. The last thing I want is to have to start taking people into custody."

"Or for a riot to break out," sighed Bess as he lowered his head slightly. "Can your Marines hold the gate for now?"

"Well, sir, not to sound dramatic, but we've caught a bit of a break," replied Captain Gaines. "One of the transports that touched down was a military charter ferrying a company of Marine Reservists back to Picon. Their CO, Captain Brenner has already deployed them to augment my people, but I'm not going to lie, sir, it's getting pretty hairy out here."

Bess sighed again.

Although the boneyard was located in a remote region of Sagittaron, there was the small community just outside the main perimeter. Although it was just a small hamlet which had grown up to support the depot personnel and their families, enough people lived there that the few hundred already at the gate could easily swell to several thousand if they all came to the depot.

"Do your best, Captain, and be sure to pass my thanks on to Captain Brenner and his people for their assistance," replied Bess evenly. "But be clear, I need you to hold that gate, and avoid an incident if possible."

"Will do, sir," replied Gaines simply before hanging up the line.

As he set the receiver down, Bess looked up at the group of supervisors in his office, who were in turn watching him.

"Trouble at the main gate?" asked Kipinger.

"It's only going to get worse until the fleet manages to do something," stated Janice Aster as she stood leaning against the wall. "Unless there's some sign that the Cylons will be stopped soon, people are going to panic."

"We might already be past that point," sighed Bess as he thought about the shouts he'd heard in the background. "Public opinion is still not that great about the military here on Sagittaron as it is, the last thing we need is for this to go South with our Marines having to use force on an unarmed crowd."

Bess slowly got up from his creaking seat, stepped over to the window and looked out into the boneyard. Although he couldn't see the main gate or the landing field from his office, he could practically feel their presence beyond the serene rows of trees at the far end of the yard.

With a resigned sigh, he reached down, pulled open a drawer, and retrieved a half-empty pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Putting one of the thin cigarettes between his lips, in full view of his assembled supervisors, he lit it and took a deep drag.

He'd been trying to quit, but at the moment it just didn't seem to matter much…

"I guess that's a proverbial smoke'em if you got 'em," muttered Kipinger as he too began to pull out a pack from his trouser cargo pocket.

"Don't even think about it," growled Bess even as he ignored the glaring contradiction. "My office, my cancer."

Kipinger slowly pushed the pack back down into his pocket.

Taking another deep drag, Bess turned and looked out the window into the boneyard below, the continuing din of the confused and in some cases near-panicked news reports continuing to filter in over the wireless.

"Frak," he muttered simply in frustration.

Just then, the rapid, almost frantic voices of the newscasters filtering over the wireless set were suddenly cut off by a piercing shrill and static.

As most everyone else in the room clasped their hands over their ears to the ear-piercing squeal, Kipinger briskly stepped over and switched the set off.

Although he'd never heard the sound before personally, Bess nevertheless felt his stomach drop, having heard enough stories from the war to know what the sudden squeal and static meant; the transmitter, and presumably the reporters, had been engulfed in a nuclear explosion.

"We need to do something, boss," stated Foteva flatly.

Glancing over a Foteva, Aster and Kipinger, Bess took a third, final drag from the cigarette, then let out a long breath, the smoke wafting up towards the ceiling. Foteva was second only to himself in the overall 'chain-of-command' at the depot. A retired Colonel, she'd spent almost as much time in the fleet as Bess had, moreover, she'd only recently retired from the service.

"We've got a bunch of rusting hulks here, Nakaya," stated Kipinger evenly. "What can we do? This is something the fleet needs to take care of."

Glancing back out at the yard, Bess squashed out the half-burnt cigarette, then clasped his hands together behind his back.

Rusted hulks indeed.

Down below, row upon row of abandoned, stripped, useless fighters sat in line with one another.

Just then, the landline on his desk rang again. As he stepped back over and lifted the receiver, Bess half expected it to be Captain Gaines again.

"Bess here."

"Paul, you're not going to believe this one," began Jaren Pelt on the other end of the line.

"JP, aren't you still up in orbit?" asked Bess evenly.

"Yeah, where the hell else would I be?" replied Pelt somewhat incredulously.

"Well, we've got just about all hell beginning to break loose down here," stated Bess as he leaned in over his desk. "What 'good news' do you have for me?"

"Major Tyle is requesting permission to break orbit," replied Pelt, half-chuckling.

"What?" sputtered Bess.

"She just had her Marines shuffle my people off the Proteus and is ordering us to release the moorings so she can break the ship from orbit," stated Pelt evenly.

"What the hell for, that ship has been decommissioned, it's here to be mothballed," snapped Bess, his statement eliciting a few surprised glances from the gathering of supervisors around his office.

"Paul, if I had any insight into how a woman's mind worked, I wouldn't be thrice-divorced," replied Pelt evenly. "My best guess is that she plans on taking the Proteus out to join up with the fleet."

"And what, get her ship and crew vaporized?" shot back Bess, shaking his head slightly. "She's got no fighters, no ammo, less than a skeleton crew…"

Letting out a long, exasperated sigh, Bess' voice trailed off.

For a moment, he stood speechlessly looking out at the thicket of trees, beyond which lay the landing field.

More importantly, though, his eyes caught sight of the fleet preposition warehouses at the far end of the boneyard.

And it was then that it hit him.

He had an idea…

And even as the thought began to formulate in his mind, Bess half wondered if he wasn't in fact beginning to lose his mind…

No, it was crazy…

Then again, it was turning into a crazy day…

"Pelt, order her to stand down, tell Major Tyle you're not releasing those moorings because she's not cleared for departure," stated Bess evenly. "I may have a more important job for her here."

---

Battlestar Pacifica Museum
Libran Colony Orbit

Adrian Kelso stood looking out at the shocked faces assembled before him.

In a matter of only a few minutes he'd managed to inform them of the situation, about the Cylons, about what was apparently the start of a new war, and finally about his plan to utilize the Pacifica to effect an escape.

All things considered, he had to admit they'd taken it fairly well.

"Breathe son, deep breaths," muttered one his old veterans, Ella Lafferty, as she stood patting the back of a young Marine who had quite nearly vomited and was now little more than hunched over a control panel.

Lieutenant Attis, Lieutenant Lee and Lieutenant Cooper had apparently elected to remain aboard for the moment, the three of them standing near the back of the group against the bulkhead with some of the other active military. From the expression on his face, it was clear that Lieutenant Attis did not expect anyone there would be taking Kelso's proposal seriously.

"All right people, time is a luxury we don't have right now," interjected Kelso as the assemblage continued to digest what he had proposed. "If we're going to do this, we have to do it now."

"Sir, do you really think we'll be able to break orbit?" asked one of the veterans, his name escaping Kelso for the moment.

"I don't really see that we have any other choice but to try," he replied evenly. "Civil Defense just shut down all ingoing and outgoing traffic from the surface, so evacuating to Libran is not an option even if we had the ships to do it with. For the moment, the Cylons are still outside direct DRADIS range of Pacifica and Mike Franklin is already down in engineering working to bring the mains online for a deorbit burn, but he's going to need help."

Several of the veterans mumbled amongst themselves, understandably uncertain; they trusted him, but what Adrian Kelso was suggesting was an about as unorthodox a proposal as could be made under already frightfully uncertain circumstances.

"What about weapons, sir?" asked another of the veterans.

"No, this is not about a gunfight," replied Kelso, shaking his head adamantly. "This is just about getting out of orbit under our own power and evading the Cylons till the fleet is able to muster a counterattack."

Pausing, Kelso looked around at the group hopefully, expectantly

Finally, Ensign Jinara Cole, granddaughter of his former XO, stepped forward.

"I'll help get Pacifica underway, sir," she said simply. "Where do you need me, Commander?"

For a moment, Ensign Cole seemed to stand alone. Then, slowly, others began to step forward too, mostly the veterans at first, but finally some of the other active fleet personnel as well. Before Kelso's eyes, the collective apprehension and doubt seemed to melt away.

He could not help but grin.

"Okay, people, we'll play this one by the numbers," began Kelso evenly as he slowly paced before the assemblage.

"Jackson, Lafferty and Poe, head back down to the reception hall and find as many of our people as you can who'll be able to give Franklin a hand getting the mains back online."

"Understood," replied Lafferty as she, Poe and Jackson filed out of CIC.

"Next, we need to move the families and guests into the interior sections of the ship where they'll be better protected," continued Kelso. "Start with the children, get them into the medical ward, it's the most protected area aboard. Denado, Piper, Chaidez, I'll leave that to you."

"We'll get it done, sir," replied Chaidez as he motioned for the others to follow.

Finally, Kelso found himself looking out at the aged faces of his old CIC crew and the few active duty Colonial military personnel aboard.

Lieutenant Lee and Lieutenant Cooper glanced over at Lieutenant Attis, apparently the senior-most officer amongst the assemblage. Attis still appeared almost contemptuously dubious of Kelso's plan and gently shook his head as he looked back at the two junior officers. For their part, however, the two Raptor pilots seemed at least somewhat willing to give Kelso's plan a shot.

"How can we help, sir?" asked Lee simply as he held his gaze with Lieutenant Attis.

Again, Kelso grinned.

"Well, as you gentleman can imagine, this ship isn't exactly stealthy on DRADIS," began Kelso as he motioned up at the DRADIS console overhead. "Our best chance for avoiding detection by the Cylons will be to sever as many outgoing wireless signals and energy emissions as possible, including DRADIS."

"How do you intend to navigate without DRADIS, sir?" asked Cooper.

"That's where we need your help," sighed Kelso as he stepped in closer to the two Raptor crewmen. "I need you and Lieutenant Lee to get back down and get your Raptor into the air, it will be harder for the Cylons to detect and localize your DRADIS emissions; we'll use you as our eyes."

"Understood," replied Lieutenant Lee, gently nodding as he nudged Cooper's arm, prompting him to follow.

With that, the two Raptor crewmen left CIC and headed back down to the flight deck.

Passing them in the entryway, the museum curator, Eli Straten, stepped into CIC, glanced around in confusion, then cut a path directly towards Adrian Kelso.

"Mister Kelso, what's this all about, what's going on?"

"What's going on, Mister Straten is that we're preparing get the Pacifica underway."

"Wh…wha…underway, what?" sputtered Straten, his expression utterly stunned, as much by the matter-of-fact manner with which Kelso spoke as he was by the idea of getting the ship underway.

Then it seemed to sink in a little deeper for Straten; these 'crazy old men' were hijacking his museum.

As Straten opened his mouth to offer a more vociferous protest, Kelso held up his hand.

"Before you say one single word, Mister Straten, let's just be sure we understand one another. You can either ride out this situation with the others in the protected areas of the ship, or, you can ride it out in the brig; I'm sure your staff has done just as meticulous a job of keeping it up as they have other areas of the ship."

"You wouldn't dare, you don't have the authority," stammered Straten indignantly.

"Try me."

For a moment, Kelso and Straten stood staring at one another.

"We are getting underway, Mister Straten."

Straten simply stood there, utterly flabbergasted. In near desperation, he looked over to Lieutenant Attis. However hostile the officer may have been towards Kelso's plan, he now also seemed more or less resigned to it and simply shrugged at Straten.

Straightening his thin-rimmed glasses, Straten, visibly flustered, turned and scurried out of CIC.

Sighing as he watched the fussy curator leave, Kelso looked back over to Lieutenant Attis.

"Think your people can act as an ad hoc security detail, just in case we get boarded by the Cylons?" he asked flatly.

Attis was now the one that seemed stunned; hadn't he considered that possibility?

"Well, I've got a dozen Marines here, all pulled from Garrison duty," replied Attis as he motioned to Honor Guard. "Trouble is we have no gear for that sort of detail on board; no body armor, rifles or carbines, just a few sidearms."

"Well, it's better than what we have right now, which is nothing," sighed Kelso. "Get below decks, besides a few old Marines there's bound to be some cops or security officers in the crowd down there, see if you can organize them into some sort of security force, I'll leave it to your discretion. You can lose the dress gray tunics too, not much need for them right now."

At that, a few of the honor guardsmen seemed visibly relieved at the idea of losing the frankly cumbersome dress tunics.

Nodding his head, apparently at last conceding to the seeming inevitability of the situation, Lieutenant Attis turned and ushered his team out of CIC.

Finally, the only people remaining were Ensign Cole and the remaining members of Kelso's old CIC crew.

Taking a deep breath, he looked into the weathered faces of the men and women with whom he had once served in the most harrowing of times, all too cognizant that he was once more asking them to put their lives on the line for no other reason than their faith in him.

"Take your places, people," said Kelso simply as he stepped back over towards the center plot table.

As he did so, the veteran members of his old CIC crew began filtering out towards their old stations. Without question or comment, each seemed to slip back into their former posts, an air of odd familiarity settling over them as they remembered the feel of the seats, the controls under their fingers, that same kind of strangely nostalgic comfort one might get from slipping on a well-worn glove. Nevertheless, whatever momentary wistfulness they felt was quickly supplanted by purpose as display screens were switched on, controls checked and purposeful intent rekindled.

Like an antique blade, still razor sharp once unsheathed.

All except for Ensign Jinara Cole.

With a gentle wave of his hand, Kelso motioned for Ensign Cole to join him at the plot table.

Objectively, Kelso knew it seemed somewhat whimsical, asking the granddaughter of his former XO to join him at the plot table. Nevertheless, it also somehow seemed indisputably right at that moment.

"So what occupational field are you training in, Ensign?" asked Kelso simply as he looked across the plot board to the young woman.

"Command Operations, sir," she replied evenly. "I'm supposed to begin the undergrad residency program at the War College next week."

"Then consider this a jump start on your studies," grinned Kelso as he glanced around CIC. "Lesson number one; a commanding officer is only as good as the people they command."

With that, Kelso reached down, picked up the handset and toggled the switch down to main engineering. Within moments, Mike Franklin picked up the line at the other end, muttering an indiscernible curse before acknowledging him.

"You ready to get the old girl the hell outta here, Mike?"

"Ready as we'll ever be," replied Franklin. "Main reactors are back up, ready for deorbit burn at your discretion."

"Great work, Mike," replied Kelso simply before hanging the handset back up.

Looking over to the Helm, Kelso saw Barris and McCall as they sat looking over the controls, familiar and yet almost forgotten.

"Problems?" asked Kelso as he watched his two former helmsmen.

"No, sir," snapped McCall instantly, shaking his head as he firmly took hold of the controls.

"Barris?"

"It's just been a while, sir," chuckled Barris as she too took hold of the controls. "Largest thing I've piloted lately is my SUV."

"You'll do fine," replied Kelso with a grin.

Subtle as it was, Kelso's statement nevertheless seemed to visibly hearten both Barris and McCall.

Looking back up at DRADIS, Kelso saw several regions of distortion and static beginning to creep across the display.

"We seem to be receiving some interference, sir," murmured Ensign Cole evenly as she scowled a bit at the screens.

Taking a deep, somber breath, Kelso knew all-too-well what the interference meant, even if Cole didn't.

Frustrated, enraged, he flexed his fingers.

"Radiation," he sighed, his pulse quickening a bit. "The Cylons have begun bombarding the surface of Libran. The plumes are kicking radioactive fallout into the upper atmosphere. Electromagnetic interference, gamma pulse, DRADIS is only going to get worse as it continues to spread."

As much as Kelso wished he could avoid thinking about it, the direct implication of his statement was clear.

Furthermore, the pain, sorrow and horror in Cole's face indicated she also understood.

Down below, on the surface, millions of people were dying.

Millions…

Worse still, there was not a damned thing they could do about it…

"We can't help them," muttered Kelso evenly, painfully as he read the sorrow in Cole's expression. "All we can do is protect the people we have aboard by finding a way to survive this."

As Cole looked across to him, eyes clearly pained, she nodded gently, then looked back up at the DRADIS as still more interference clouded the display.

"Raptor is skids up at this time," called Theo Cullen from the Operations station. "Designating as Raptor Three-One-One."

"Have we begun receiving the DRADIS feed from the Raptor?"

"Affirmative, sir, ready to sever link to Libran DRADIS network on your order," replied Cullen.

"Sever the link and shutdown DRADIS," said Kelso as he kept his eyes on the display overhead. "Switch the displays to the feed coming from Raptor Three-One-One."

"Aye, sir."

Overhead, the screen flashed for a moment as the view shifted from the wide-view feed from the extensive satellite network to the lone feed from the Raptor that would now be acting as their eyes.

"Barris, McCall, are you ready?"

The two exchanged a quick glance at one another, then looked back over to Kelso.

"Yes, sir," they answered in near unisons.

"Helm, bring us up slow and steady, ahead one-quarter," stated Kelso as he looked over at them.

"Ahead one-quarter," answered Barris as she nudged the throttles.

"Beginning deorbit maneuver, sir," stated McCall evenly a moment later.

Intently watching the DRADIS feed from the Raptor, Kelso watched as the Battlestar Pacifica broke from the orbit she had maintained for nearly forty years.

"Capshaw, get on the wireless, let the Raptor know we need to keep the planet between ourselves and the Cylons while we make our breakaway," stated Kelso evenly as he looked over to his one-time communications operator.

"Understood, sir," she replied as she removed her earrings and plugged the headset left behind by Lieutenant Cooper back into the console.

As the minutes ticked by, Kelso watched as the planet Libran slowly began to shrink away; the planet they'd once nearly died protecting was now protecting them as its once vibrant civilization withered under the Cylon bombardment, its death throes providing the critical DRADIS shadow that prevented them from being detected by the attacking Cylon ships.

With a lump in his throat, Kelso continued to watch DRADIS.

The Cylons had not yet closed into range, not that there was much that could be done if they had.

Armored hull or not, the Pacifica still had no weapons, no Vipers, no FTL; if the Cylons spotted them, their fates would be the same as the myriad of smaller civilians ships slaughtered on the far side of Libran, it would just take a little longer.

As Kelso stood there at the plot table, his eyes never leaving the DRADIS, Ensign Cole slowly made her way up beside him.

"Sir, I was wondering, where are you planning to go?"

Although Cole had practically whispered the question, without a fully manned crew, CIC was quiet enough that everyone there had doubtless heard her question.

For a moment, Kelso did not answer.

Then, gently biting the inside of his lip, Adrian's eyes narrowed.

Turning to look at Cole, he gently drummed his fingers, looked over at the other few veterans around CIC, then snatched up the handset from the side of the plot table and toggled the switch for engineering.

"Franklin," barked the old engineer as he picked up the line.

For a moment, Kelso could swear Franklin's voice sounded different, more virile…

Almost like it had forty years ago…

"Mike, we need a safe harbor," said Kelso evenly as he stood staring back up at the DRADIS.

"You're the one flying this bucket, not me," snapped Franklin gruffly, pausing to shout out an order. "I'm just the one who keeps the lights on."

Yeah, he was indeed reverting once again to the grumbling engineer Kelso had depended on so many years ago…

"I wanted your take on this something," replied Kelso evenly. "You still work at the reserve depot on Sagittaron, don't you?"

"Till I can buy a boat and retire, or they fire me, why?"

"I was thinking we might be able to push through to Sagittaron, try and find safe harbor there. What do you think?"

"Sounds like as good a port as any, at least for now," replied Franklin, his tone softening ever so slightly.

With good reason; Franklin's wife and two daughters, including Joshua and Alexander's mother, were on Sagittaron.

"Then keep those lights on for me, and I'll do my best to do the rest," replied Kelso as he hung up the handset.

As he looked up, Kelso caught sight of Ensign Cole watching him intently.

"Keep a weather eye on the screen, Ensign Cole," said Kelso, gently patting the young woman on the shoulder as he pointed up at the DRADIS screen.

With a nod, Cole settled in below the console and looked intently up at the DRADIS.

Stepping away from the plot table, Kelso made his way over to Theo Cullen.

"I presume you still remember how to use a grease pencil," muttered Kelso as he leaned in next to Cullen.

"Like everything else, it's been a while, but I think I can muddle through," replied Cullen, grinning slightly.

"Then I need you to muddle your way through plotting an evasive course to Sagittaron," continued Kelso as he glanced back at Cole and the DRADIS.

"Well, we're in luck," replied Cullen as he reached down and pulled out an overlay. "This chart is a little out of date, but, I should be able to pencil in any important changes, providing that Raptor crew out there doesn't bug out on us."

"They won't," said Kelso flatly as he reached out and gave Cullen a quick pat on the back. "Get us to Sagittaron, Theo."

With that, Cullen nodded his head and turned his attention to the chart.

Kelso then stepped back over to the plot table and settled in opposite of Ensign Cole.

After a few moments of relative silence, Cole leaned in over the plot table.

"Can I ask you a question, sir?"

"What is it, Ensign?"

"Why Sagittaron, sir? Why not Picon or one of the fleet rally points?"

"Two reasons," replied Kelso evenly as he looked across the plot table at her. "First, this isn't a combat vessel, so I want to keep us clear of the fighting. Second, there's an old reserve depot on Sagittaron, the mothball fleet is anchored directly overhead."

Returning his attention to the DRADIS, Kelso continued.

"Best case scenario, we slip Pacifica in amongst the decoms and hide her there; shut her down, and wait, I can't imagine the Cylons would waste ordnance on a collection of unmanned, decommissioned hulks."

"And in the worst case scenario, sir?"

"I suppose we might be able to find a way to cannibalize some of the hulks for parts, maybe get our FTL back online to get us clear of the combat zone."

Ensign Cole nodded her head, returning her attention to the DRADIS overhead.

"How's that course plot coming, Mister Cullen?" asked Kelso as he glanced back over his shoulder.

"Slowly but surely, Commander," replied Cullen as he continued to work on the overlay.

"Contacts!" snapped Ensign Cole.

Kelso's attention instantly snapped back to the DRADIS.

Sure enough, the display showed about half a dozen contacts at extreme range, traveling roughly perpendicular to their escape course.

"Capshaw, get on the wireless to the Raptor, we need ID on those contacts right now," snapped Kelso as he leaned in over the plot table.

"They're already on it, sir," replied Capshaw as her fingers moved across the Communications console.

Adrian Kelso's fingers began lightly tapping away the seconds as he waited for Capshaw.

"Raptor crew reports they've got IFF on the contacts; transponders tag them as a group of commercial ships; a freighter and some commuter liners."

Kelso took a deep breath as he considered the situation.

If they stopped to make contact with the civilian ships, they increased the risk of being detected by the Cylons; a cluster of ships was far easier to pick up on DRADIS than a single ship, even one as large as the Pacifica.

But, he also had to take into consideration the likelihood, no, the near certainty that if the Cylons found the civilian ships that all the people aboard them would die.

Far too many people were already dying, an incalculable number of lives he was already powerless to save; Kelso could not abide the idea of simply abandoning those he still might be in a position to rescue.

"Order the Raptor to make contact with those ships," snapped Kelso. "Have them shut down their DRADIS and then guide them in for docking."

"Aye, sir."

---

Combatstar Savitri
Rhapsody Station
Colonial Viper Flight Training Range

Colonel Brianna Webber stood methodically leafing through the stack of communiqués in her hands. With each new message, it was becoming quite clear that all hell was breaking loose throughout the Twelve Colonies.

Over the last several hours, wireless communication channels, both military and civilian were becoming flooded with overlapping distress calls and frantic requests for rescue and assistance. Civilian and military assets alike were reporting widespread and catastrophic computer failures, losses of power, a long laundry list of malfunctions. From one end of the Colonies to the other, ships were being blasted from the stars, and now reports were coming in of nuclear detonations on the surfaces of Caprica, Picon and Scorpia.

For all the confusion, however, one thing was horrifically clear; the Cylons had returned in force.

Even as she fought to contain her growing dread, Colonel Webber also found herself grappling with another equally powerful reaction; helplessness.

Her command, the Combatstar Savitri, had been conducting flight qualification training for new Viper pilots at the Rhapsody Station flight-testing range when the attack began. Currently, there were six full squadrons-worth of Vipers and Raptors crowded down on the flight decks. Unfortunately, the overwhelming majority of the pilots for them were nuggets; qualified, yes, but very far from experienced.

Moreover, the Savitri was in the middle of taking on another three full squadrons from the station; transfers bound for Picon offloaded at Rhapsody a few days ago from the Battlestar Galactica before she set off towards Caprica for her decommissioning.

When the first reports of the Cylon attack had started coming in, Colonel Webber had contacted Rhapsody Station's CO, Admiral Ronas. Although Webber had expected Ronas to grant her permission to take the Savitri into the combat zone to assist in a counterattack, Ronas had shockingly denied the request. The Admiral reasoned that there were doubtless still a good number of Battlestars and escorts in the fight. Moreover, Ronas had been quick to point out to Webber, and admittedly, she was right in this, that Savitri's mostly green pilots were nowhere near ready to be thrown into an engagement.

Still, as the situation continued to deteriorate for the Colonials, Webber's frustration continued to mount; surely there was something more proactive they could do, she simply could not stomach standing by and watching from the sidelines.

Admiral Ronas must have begun to think as much as well, in the last hour she had ordered the personnel of Rhapsody Station to begin preparations for a full evacuation. Two freighters and a nearby tanker had already been diverted to assist Savitri in the event Ronas did finally decide to pull her people out.

Webber could only hope that if an evacuation came there was still a place, or a fleet, to evacuate to.

"Mister Beech, give me a status report," called Webber as she set the clipboard full of communiqués down on the plot board.

"All decks report Condition-One, primary and secondary batteries manned and ready," replied her XO, Major Tyson Beech.

"Status of the CAP, Lieutenant Golan?"

"CAP is up, Colonel," replied her Tactical Watch Officer as he stepped over with yet another printout. "Two birds aloft, four more are at alert-five."

"Very well," sighed Webber as she stepped over towards the main situation board.

Glancing it over, she watched as two petty officers used their grease pencil to mark out the latest series of reports on friendly and enemy positions and movements.

At last report, Admiral Nagala aboard the Battlestar Atlantia had assumed command and was massing the remaining fleet for a counterattack near Virgon.

As for Webber, her ship and her crew, all they could do for now was wait, watch, and pray.

---

Battlestar Pacifica Museum
Near Libran Colony

Adrian Kelso looked up from the course overlay on the plot table as one of the Marines from the Honor Guard, his dress gray uniform coat now absent, escorted five civilians into CIC.

At his request, Lieutenant's Lee and Cooper aboard Raptor Three-One-One had made contact with the small civilian flotilla and guided them in for docking along Pacifica's flight pods. A total of five ships had docked, a freighter and four passenger liners.

As the five civilian captains made their way up to the plot table, it was not hard to see the frankly dubious expressions they were casting about as they looked at smattering of aged faces around the area.

"I'm Adrian Kelso," he stated simply as he extended a hand towards each of the captains. "Welcome aboard the Pacifica."

"Well, we're damned glad we ran across you," began one of the civilian captains, from the grungy overalls, likely the one from the freighter. "Must admit it's nice to see a Battlestar with all these Cylon ships buzzing about."

"Don't get too comfortable yet," sighed Kelso as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the plot table. "As you might have guessed by now, this isn't an active duty Battlestar."

Indeed, thought Kelso lightly, save for Ensign Cole, no one in CIC was under the age of sixty, much less wearing a Colonial uniform.

"This is the museum ship, isn't it?" asked one of the passenger liner captains as he glanced around at the veterans manning CIC.

"Yes it is," replied Kelso simply. "You might say we've commandeered her for the moment."

As he said that, the expressions on each of the five civilian captains became somewhat dour, clearly they were contemplating nothing more than turning around and leaving CIC without another word said; an understandable reaction considering the fact that the Colonial justice system held a pretty grim view on piracy.

"Gentleman, I don't have time to mince words here, so let me be blunt," sighed Kelso as he straightened up and moved around to the far side of the plot board. "We broke orbit when the Cylons hit Libran and are heading for the reserve depot at Sagittaron. Our Raptor made contact with you so you could offload your crews and passengers here where they might be safer."

"Why are you moving at sublight?" asked one of the other liner captains pointedly.

"FTL systems are not functional right now," replied Kelso evenly as he looked down at the overlay showing their intended course. "That's one of the reasons we're heading to the depot; there may be parts there we need to get the system back online."

For a moment, none of the civilian captains said a word.

Looking up from the overlay to them, Kelso realized he was rapidly growing tired of people thinking he was a lunatic.

"With all due respect, Mister Kelso, we can't just abandon our ships," stated the freighter captain, lightly scratching his scalp as he spoke. "We're financially responsible for them and our cargo."

Now Kelso was the one who was shocked; Cylon Raiders were ripping their way along the commercial lanes, pounding civilian ships by the dozens, killing tens of thousands of people, and they were worried about financial liabilities.

"I don't think you gentlemen are quite grasping the gravity of this situation," said Kelso flatly, resisting the urge to call them fraking morons right to their face. "This isn't an isolated group of terrorists or pirates; this is a full scale Cylon attack that has already cost millions of lives, possibly billions by this point."

For a moment, Kelso stood looking at the five captains, unsure whether they were digesting what he was saying to them or simply trying to find a tactful was of telling him 'no, thanks, we're going to go now'.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Kelso leaned forward onto the plot table and was about to launch into a mild chiding about how they needed to make a decision when Ensign Cole stepped up beside him.

"Commander, with your permission, I may have a suggestion."

Kelso looked down into her young eyes, and was instantly disarmed by them.

"Okay, Ensign, you give this a shot," he said evenly.

Glancing back over at the five civilian captains, shaking his head slightly in dismay, Kelso stepped aside a bit as Ensign Jinara Cole leaned in over the plot table.

"Your ships have FTL's aboard, correct?" asked Ensign Cole as she looked across at the five civilian captains.

"Yeah, we do," replied the freighter captain. "We've had them spooled up since this whole thing started, just didn't have any real idea where to go."

"Perfect, how about we compromise then," continued Cole as she looked down at the overlay. "It's going to take us a few hours yet to make it to Sagittaron at sublight, especially since we're avoiding the main commercial lanes."

"Here's my proposal; you offload your passengers and non-essential crew to Pacifica; even at sublight speeds, they'll have a better chance here than with you. Once that's done, you take your ships, execute a jump to Sagittaron, so far there are no reports of significant Cylon activity in that area. Once you make it to Sagittaron, make contact with the depot, let them know we're coming, see if they can get together the parts we need to get our FTL back online."

Looking back up from the plot table, she again looked across at the five civilian captains.

"Everyone's happy; you'll be relieved of the liability for all those lives, and you don't have to abandon your ships or cargo."

With that, Ensign Cole looked back over at Kelso, silently asking if he approved.

For his part, Kelso grinned and began to nod.

"Damned fine idea, Ensign," he said, looking up at the five captains. "Well, what do you gentleman think? And let me remind you, the clock is ticking here."

To emphasize his point, Kelso gently tapped his finger against the face of his wristwatch.

Each of the five captains stood silent for a moment, looked about at the aged crew around them, then at Ensign Cole, then back to Kelso.

"Gentleman, the longer we wait, the longer your ships remain docked along our flight pods, the larger a DRADIS signature we have for the Cylons to detect," prodded Cole as she pointed up at the display overhead. "And if the Cylons do attack, we'll all be royally fraked…"

She paused and looked back over at Kelso.

"…if you'll forgive my language, sir."

"Couldn't have put it better myself," shrugged Kelso as he looked expectantly across at the five captains.

With that, all five seemed to come to the simple realization that Adrian Kelso and his young XO might be crazy, but they were also correct.

"Well, company be damned, my people aren't about to die for bunch of coffee and some designer underwear," stated the freighter captain flatly, shaking his head as he spoke. "I'll have as many of them as I can spare transfer over immediately, then we'll jump ahead to Sagittaron, let them know you're on your way."

Each of the other four captains quickly followed suit.

"Good to hear," beamed Kelso. "Now as you might imagine, we're a little shorthanded, so if any of your people can help keep this ship moving, their help will be greatly appreciated."

"Well, I guess you're in luck then," piped up one of the passenger liner captains. "We were chartered to carry a group of engineering techs out to the Scorpion Shipyards, they might be of some help."

"They would be indeed," nodded Kelso. "As for the others, we can move them in with the others we have aboard in the more protected areas of the ship."

"All right, let's get everyone moved over," interjected the freighter captain as he waved the others to follow him back out of CIC.

As the captains disappeared out of sight, Kelso turned and looked over at Ensign Cole.

"That was one hell-of-a good idea you had there," grinned Kelso.

"My father served on a freighter," began Cole as she looked back to him. "Civil sector has those people so scared to lose their ships or cargo they'd almost rather go down with them than leave them behind."

"Commander, I think you'd better take a look at this," interrupted Aria Capshaw as she stepped down from the communications station with a printout in his hand.

"There's still paper in the printer?" half-chuckled Kelso.

"Someone must have left a ream in the tray," replied Capshaw, her tone sullen despite Kelso's attempt at levity.

Sheepishly removing a pair of glasses from his left breast pocket, he hated having to wear glasses, Kelso looked over the communiqué.

"Frak me," he muttered. "Is this confirmed?"

"It's being transmitted in the clear, sir, no encryption," replied Capshaw, wiping a small tear from her eye.

"Then we need to get those people over quickly, and get the hell outta here, fast," stated Kelso evenly as he tossed the communiqué down onto the plot board.

As Kelso made his way across the CIC to the upright situation board, Ensign Cole picked up the communiqué and glanced it over.

"Caprica City and Picon Fleet Headquarters destroyed; no reply to President Adar's offer of unconditional surrender; all remaining units rally in accordance with Emergency War Plan Orange for immediate counterattack under command of Admiral Nagala, BS Atlantia."

Looking up from the message, Ensign Cole saw that Kelso had stepped back over to the plot board and was watching her. Her hand shaking slightly, Ensign Cole set the communiqué back down on the plot board.

"What are we going to do, sir?" she asked simply. "After we get to Sagittaron, I mean."

"We do whatever it takes to survive this," replied Kelso evenly as he picked the communiqué back up. "And we pray."

---

Combatstar Savitri
Rhapsody Station
Colonial Viper Flight Training Range

Colonel Brianna Webber held desperately onto the plot board as another jarring impact reverberated through the Savitri. Off to one side of CIC, a panel exploded in a shower of sparks, the hapless crewman manning it sent tumbling back across the deck. Convulsing where he lay, burns marring his face and hands, he let out a blood-curdling scream as another crewman rushed over with a medkit.

Looking up at the blank DRADIS screen, Webber bit down on a curse as another impact shook her and her ship to the core.

It had only been a matter of minutes now since DRADIS had first detected the Cylon Basestar jumping into range of Rhapsody Station. But as Webber began issuing orders to bring Savitri about to engage the enemy, power throughout the ship crashed, sending CIC into the relative darkness of emergency battery-powered lights.

With no propulsion and no weapons, her ship adrift and under fire, the last thirty seconds had been the most terrifying moments in Colonel Brianna Webber's soon to be extinguished life.

---

Battlecruiser Enceladus

"Main bow batteries have a firing solution, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe.

"Commence fire, all bow batteries, execute," called Colonel Runel.

His eyes locked intently on the DRADIS, Runel mused on how quickly situations changed in combat.

Once the power and computer systems had been restored aboard Adroa and Ikenga, Runel had ordered Gunstar Group Seventy-Three to FTL to Rhapsody Station in order to dispatch a message to Picon Fleet Headquarters regarding their engagement with the Cylons and the destruction of Armistice Station.

The moment they had emerged from the FTL, however, priorities had instantly changed.

As expected, DRADIS had readily detected Rhapsody Station itself, as well as the Combatstar Savitri holding position nearby.

What they had not expected to find was a Cylon Basestar launching missile after missile at the apparently powerless Savitri.

"Still no contact with Savitri or Rhapsody on wireless, Colonel," called Petty Officer Templeton.

"First things first, are we still in contact with Adroa and Ikenga?"

"Affirmative, Colonel, they're both reporting all systems nominal," replied Templeton a moment later. "They say they're in the fight."

"Helm hold course, maintain sustained rate from bow batteries," continued Runel. "Order Adroa and Ikenga to break formation and push out to the Basestar's Starboard flank."

"Aye, sir."

To Runel, the course of action was plain; they needed to put pressure on the Cylons quickly in order to force them to break off their attack on Savitri and Rhapsody Station. As the Enceladus sailed directly in towards the Basestar, the smaller, faster destroyers would essentially be making a wide turn around the Cylons, allowing the Colonials to strike the enemy from three directions simultaneously.

The Cylons, clearly surprised by the sudden arrival of Gunstar Group Seventy-Three, immediately turned away from the Savitri and launched off a new volley of missiles directly towards Enceladus. Although Enceladus' ECM field managed to scramble several of the guidance systems, as before a few of the warheads were unaffected and slammed headlong into the frontal armor of Enceladus.

"New contacts, they're launching Raiders!" called Lieutenant Thorpe.

On DRADIS, Runel watched as the Basestar erupted with Raiders.

"Bow Batteries, rapid fire, alternate HE and flak loads."

Almost instantly, the dull thud of the bow batteries firing increased in tempo. As the Enceladus' cannons continued to spew forth a torrent of fire, massive explosions began to pepper the space around the emerging Raider formations as the flak loads filled space with a lethal hail of shrapnel. Moreover, every other round being sent up by Enceladus was a heavy anti-ship projectile that cut through space, smashing unimpeded through any enemy fighter hapless enough to be in the way before slamming headlong into the Basestar itself.

With their broadsides now in a perfect position to deliver a withering fire, the defensive cannons on the flanking Adroa and Ikenga likewise opened up, sending a hail of fire directly into the flank of the advancing Raider formation.

Suddenly, the Basestar and its accompanying Raiders jumped…

And emerged behind Enceladus, just beyond optimum engagement range.

"Helm, hard a-Port! Bring us about for a full broadside," called Runel as he watched the Raiders move into a defensive position around their Basestar. "Order Adroa and Ikenga to continue ahead, establish a point defense position near Savitri and Rhapsody Station."

In case we fail, thought Runel to himself.

In an instant, the Cylons had changed the tactical situation.

Rather than allowing themselves to be boxed in, they had jumped out beyond engagement range in order to regroup for a more concerted attack. Deploying Adroa and Ikenga to defend Savitri and Rhapsody Station would, hopefully, deter the Cylons from pressing their attack on the powerless Combatstar and Station, however, it also meant that Enceladus would once again be grappling with a Cylon Basestar and its Raiders alone.

As he watched the Raiders spread out into a wide formation, a veritable wall in open space, Runel took a deep, steadying breath.

Per his order, the Enceladus brought her nose around, bringing the ship parallel to the line of Raiders; if they moved in, they would be flying right down a full-on broadside from the battlecruiser's barrels.

A surreal standoff ensued with the Enceladus on one side and the Cylons holding position on the other.

And then the wall of Raiders rushed in.

As the enemy craft charged headlong towards the Enceladus, each of the Raiders launched off a barrage of missiles towards the battlecruiser.

"Incoming ordnance!" shouted Lieutenant Thorpe.

His eyes locked on DRADIS, Runel could not help but do the math…

Two hundred Raiders…

One Enceladus…

Some days it just sucked to get out of bed…

"All batteries commence suppressive fire," said Runel evenly, swallowing the significant lump in his throat. "I want my sky filled with flak."

Instantly, the dull drone of the defensive guns throwing up a wall of shells, complemented by the heavy, cadenced thud of the heavy batteries firing reverberated throughout the Enceladus.

It was now a contest of attrition.

Could the Enceladus shoot down enough Raiders to survive?

Or, would the Cylons be able to overwhelm her defenses by sheer numbers?

As the wall of shells combined with the hail of flak being put down by Enceladus' main guns slammed headlong into the Raiders and the bevy of missiles they'd begun to unleash, Runel watched in grim satisfaction as their representative icons began disappearing from DRADIS in vast swaths.

The guns were punching a hole in the attack.

But it wasn't stopping it entirely…

ECM was scrambling some of the missiles' guidance systems.

But not all…

Within moments, the first missiles slammed headlong into the midsection of the Enceladus.

"Maintain all defensive fires!" called Runel as the Enceladus trembled beneath his feet.

Lieutenant Thorpe shouted a response, but Runel was not able to discern what the man said over the roaring of the impacts reverberating through the ship's hull.

Through the cacophony of impacts, the frantic cries of the crew, the low rumble of the Enceladus being shaken to its keel, the piercing shriek of the automated fire alarm cried out through CIC.

Overhead, one screens automatically brought up a schematic of the Enceladus, several areas of the midsection now highlighted in red to indicate fires breaking out within the stout battlecruiser.

Runel barely had time to glance over the readout when another screen echoed out a different and far more urgent warning.

"Radiological alarm!" burst Lieutenant Thorpe, his voice finally piercing the thunderous echo of impacts against the hull. "Three missiles inbound!"

With the ship shaking around him, Runel had difficulty focusing his attention on DRADIS, his thoughts utterly preoccupied with simply holding onto the plot board tight enough to keep from being thrown to the deck again.

As his eyes briefly glanced at the screen overhead, the DRADIS flared with the distortion effect of three nuclear detonations.

But to his surprise, Runel realized that the Enceladus had not been the target.

As the ship ceased pitching beneath his feet, Runel's eyes were finally able to focus in on the screen and saw that a vast swath of the approaching Raiders had been utterly pulverized.

Fired from the destroyer Ikenga, the three nuclear missiles had streaked past the Enceladus and detonated amid the advancing wall of Raiders.

With the Cylon air wing now devastated, their attack all but shattered, the few surviving Raiders and the Basestar jumped away.

For a few moments, Runel simply stood silent at the plot table taking in deep, steadying breaths, his eyes locked on DRADIS, waiting to see if the Basestar or its remaining Raiders reappeared.

"Status," he finally called, his eyes still locked on the screen overhead.

"Multiple fires amidships, Colonel," replied Lieutenant Thorpe, his own breathing heavy and ragged. "DC teams already on scene."

"We don't have time for containment, Lieutenant," countered Runel. "Order all DC teams to evac those sections and initiate emergency venting."

"Sir?"

"Now, Lieutenant," snapped Runel adamantly. "The Cylons have jumped away but we can't afford to risk their returning while we're still fighting internal fires."

"Aye, sir."

With that, Lieutenant Thorpe briskly stepped over towards the Damage Control station to carry out Runel's order.

Undoubtedly there was chaos below decks; a fire aboard ship was one of the single greatest dangers to a vessel's survival. But this was one of those terrible moments where a ship's commander had to weigh the possible lives of a few against the concrete lives of many.

"DC teams have pulled back, airtight bulkheads have been sealed," choked Lieutenant Thorpe. "Ready to initiate venting."

"Do it," replied Runel simply.

As Thorpe toggled the switch over, the myriad of damage indicators on the DC panel switched back from red to green, indicating the fires had been extinguished by exposure to the vacuum of space.

It would be a while yet before Runel would know how many crewmembers might have been trapped in those sections and lost in the fire and vent action.

Worse still, he knew he wouldn't have the luxury of time to mourn them once he did know.

Reaching down, he snatched up the handset on the side of the plot table and toggled the switch over to Engineering.

"Lidell here," snapped the voice of the Chief Engineer as the other end of the line connected.

"How did we fare, Colonel?" asked Runel simply.

"I'm not going to lie, we were still patching things back together from our last bout," began Lidell, his voice gruff and tired. "The cleanup amidships will probably be a double bitch now. But, we've still got the mains running and there appears to be no damage to the tylium storage or transfer systems."

"Just keep us in the fight, Colonel Lidell," stated Runel as he hung up the handset.

Taking another deep breath, Runel continued to eye the DRADIS.

"Mister Templeton."

"Yes, Colonel?"

"Get on the wireless to Ikenga-Actual," began Runel as he swept the beads of sweat away from his forehead with his sleeve. "Verify that they were the one who fired those nukes."

"Ikenga-Actual confirms the launch, Colonel," replied Templeton a few moments later.

Even with proximity safeties engaged on the warheads, firing nukes that close to a friendly vessel had been a damned risky decision on Major Jasper's part. Nevertheless, Runel couldn't argue the results, it had shattered the Cylon advance and apparently forced a retreat; no small feat considering.

"Extend my appreciation to Ikenga-Actual for her assistance," began Runel evenly as another bead of sweat rolled down his cheek. "And then relay my direct order for her to never, ever pull a stunt like that again."

"Aye, sir."

---

Colonial Fleet Reclamation and Reserve Maintenance Depot
Sagittaron Colony

Director Paul Bess, in spite of feeling as though he were walking the thinnest tightrope in history, couldn't help but feel a measure of satisfaction over what his people had managed to accomplish in these last few hours. As everything regarding the Cylon attack seemed to be going from bad to abysmally worse, Bess had quickly assembled together his supervisors and advised them of what he intended to do; they were going to evacuate the boneyard.

With virtually no protest from his supervisory staff, Bess put them and the over seventeen hundred personnel under his authority to work preparing that evacuation. With the vast bulk of the people working for him being former Colonial military, they were accustomed to orders and hierarchy.

To them, Paul Bess was the Commander, and he'd given them their orders.

And as the old saying went, 'when all else fails, stick with what you know'.

In one very relevant respect, the personnel at the depot were fortunate; most of their immediate families were stationed there with them, living within the small community beyond the perimeter. Indeed, many of the civilians now clustered out at the airfield gates had turned out to be the family of personnel working the boneyard, and that fact alone seemed to be providing his personnel with all the motivation they needed to put his evacuation plan into effect.

First came the priority of gathering supplies and equipment, a task eased by his decision to 'commandeer' the stockpiles stored at the fleet preposition warehouses. Boxes and crates of food rations, basic sundries, even some surplus uniforms items and bedding had all been moved over to the airfield in short order.

But even as they did so, the relevant question of where those supplies would eventually be moved to came to the forefront.

To answer that, Bess had only needed to point to the sky.

So it was that the former Battlestar Asterica, and Assaultstars Limnos and Kilkis, till this morning fated to be scuttled as targets, were suddenly given a new lease on life by Paul Bess. Although they were unarmed, their weapons mounts having been removed long ago when they were decommissioned, they were nevertheless large, armored and mobile; by Bess' reasoning, they were the perfect lifeboats for the thousands of people pouring into the boneyard to escape to.

With Captain Jordan Gaines and her Marines working to contain the ever-growing gaggle of civilians assembling outside the airfield gates, Paul Bess had next contacted the town council and advised them of his plans to evacuate. For their part, the council members had been on the verge of panic over the Cylon attack, the remoteness of their community leaving them with little hope the fleet would be able to defend them. When Bess informed them of his plans for an evacuation, they'd seized onto the hope it provided and immediately pledged their support for the plan.

Within minutes, the local police and emergency personnel arrived and were now assisting with the preparations, their support going a long way towards making Captain Gaines and her Marines' job of keeping the peace out at the landing field easier. With a semblance of order being imposed upon the situation, the civilian ships and refurbished Raptors were soon shuttling the amassed supplies and refugees to the three decoms in orbit.

One thing Paul Bess felt very much thankful for under the circumstances was the presence of the Combatstar Proteus. Having only just arrived for her decommissioning, unlike the others, Proteus still had her full weapons package installed. While the ammo supplies at the preposition depot were limited, it was better than nothing at all.

What had proven more problematic for Bess was convincing Major Amanda Tyle, the Proteus' CO, of the merits of his plan.

"You denied my request to depart so you could pack my ship with refugees?" she had scoffed when Bess got her on the wireless. "This is a combat vessel, and there is a war on."

"Major Tyle, I'm only going to ask you this nicely one more time," Bess had replied, his fingers wringing tensely around the handset. "Are you prepared to assist us in this evacuation or not?"

"No, Mister Bess, I am not," Tyle replied flatly. "I have no intention of taking civilians aboard when I intend to take this ship into combat."

"Then you agree that this is a combat situation?" stated Bess evenly, seeing an opening of sorts. "You agree that we are, in fact, at war?"

"Yes, sir, I do," replied Tyle evenly.

Bess smiled coolly.

"In that case, Major, I hereby order you to assist in our evacuation operations," snapped Bess. "You are to make a ready deck to receive refugees and supplies, and you are to immediately dispatch your full complement of Raptors to the surface to assist in our efforts down here."

"You order me?" scoffed Tyle, barely able to suppress a sardonic chuckle. "Under what authority do you presume to give me any orders, sir?"

"Under my personal authority as a retired Commander with twenty-two years of service in the Colonial Fleet," replied Bess flatly. "As you know, Major, any retired officer of the Colonial military is subject to recall back to active duty in their former capacity in time of military emergency."

"Now you yourself just agreed with me that the current situation fits the definition of open war, I must assume that my commission has been reactivated in accordance with the received Emergency War Plan Orange notification until such time as I am informed otherwise by proper, higher military authority."

"In addition, Major, as both a command level officer of sufficient rank to operate under brevet authority at a flag position, of which you yourself are not, and as the operational authority of this military shore installation, I am your final authority until such time as I am relieved of either position."

"Now, do I have to issue my order one more time, or should I have the commander of my Marine detachment make preparations to forcibly relieve you of command of Proteus?"

For a moment, Tyle did not reply.

On the one hand, by getting her to admit that this was in fact 'a war', he had surreptitiously maneuvered her into a corner for his verbal hammer-blow. On the other hand, he was absolutely correct in everything he'd said.

And from her silence, Tyle knew it.

"I'll be dispatching our Raptors to assist in the evacuation immediately, Commander," stated Tyle evenly.

Bess smiled.

He now had four ships to evacuate to.

---

Battlestar Pacifica Museum
Near Libran Colony

Adrian Kelso stood watching the DRADIS screen as the five civilian ships continued to move away from Pacifica.

In relatively short order, the civilian passengers from the ships had very quickly been moved over from the liners and freighter to the more protected areas of the Pacifica. True, it was getting a bit crowded below decks, but it was still safer for them than being stuck aboard one of the thinly-hulled civilian crates.

For his part, upon learning of the engineering technicians aboard the civilian charter Mike Franklin had expressed what can only be described as laconic elation; grateful for assistance, but still a curmudgeon in temperament. Moreover, the civilian captains had transferred over a good number of their support crews as well, retaining only the bare minimum number of bodies they needed to keep their ships running while they jumped ahead to Sagittaron. Very much thankful for the additional help, Kelso had very quickly assigned most of them to augment his decidedly diminutive CIC staff

And none too soon, either.

The Raptor's DRADIS feed was now showing two Cylon Raiders closing in at extreme range.

"Mister Cullen, are the civilian ships ready to perform their FTL jump?" asked Kelso evenly as he watched the two Raiders closing in.

"Affirmative, sir," replied Cullen. "The Cylons are still at maximum DRADIS range, so they shouldn't even see them yet."

A moment later, the five civilian ships disappeared from the DRADIS screen.

"They are away," stated Cullen evenly.

"Any indication the Cylons detected them?" asked Kelso evenly.

"None, sir, they haven't changed course at all," replied Cullen.

"Okay, now it's time for the big gamble," muttered Kelso as he looked across to Ensign Cole, reached down and picked up the handset on the side of the plot table and toggled the switch to buzz main engineering.

"Franklin, here."

"Mike, I need you to shut down the mains," said Kelso evenly as he eyed DRADIS.

Everyone in CIC, Ensign Cole included, looked over at him in shock.

"Uh, confirm you said 'shut down the mains', sir?"

"Affirmative, shut them down now, we need to cut our energy emissions to zero," replied Kelso as he watched the two Raiders near direct DRADIS detection range.

"Aye, sir, shutting down," sighed Franklin.

Instantly, all around CIC, the lights died, computer displays went blank, the sound of the ship's power waned.

"Sir, can I ask what it is you have in mind?" muttered Ensign Cole apprehensively.

"The only thing we can do," replied Kelso evenly as he glanced around at the other faces around the darkening CIC. "With the engines up, we put out an energy wake the Cylons will be able to detect and track with infra-red."

Looking back up at the blank DRADIS screens, Kelso began nervously biting the inside of his lip.

"Without any guns, right now our only hope is for the Cylons to think we're little more than a rogue asteroid or maybe debris."

"But what if they close to visual range, won't they be able to see we're not some aimless asteroid?" asked Cullen as he stepped over to the plot table.

Kelso mulled that for a moment.

"Helm, do we still have emergency thrusters?" asked Kelso.

"A few short bursts," replied McCall, shrugging slightly. "With power down, evasive maneuvering is out."

"We don't need to evade if we're playing dead," replied Kelso evenly as he held up his hand and began twisting it demonstratively. "Send us into a spin, slow, but uncontrolled, make us look dead."

"Aye, sir."

Ensign Cole stood looking across to him, her features barely illuminated under the emergency lights.

"If they do close to visual range, hopefully they'll just see us as a dead Battlestar, already out of action and, hopefully, not worth wasting the ordnance," stated Kelso as he looked up reflexively, anxiously at the blank DRADIS screen.

"What's to keep them from simply blowing us up just to be certain?" asked Cullen evenly as he leaned on the plot table.

"Nothing," replied Kelso simply.

As he said as much, Kelso couldn't help but remember that last terrible time he'd been in Pacifica's CIC while the power was down.

…Four decades after the fact and he swore he could still almost feel the deck beneath his feet quaking under a Cylon barrage…

Taking a deep breath, willing the ghosts in his memory away, Kelso made his way over to Capshaw at the Comm station. Without a word, Capshaw handed an emergency wireless headset over to Kelso. As he placed the headset into place over his right ear, Kelso made his way back over to the plot board.

"How long do we wait, sir?" asked Ensign Cole.

"That depends on the Cylons."

---

Colonial Raptor Three-One-One

"Nothing, I've got no wireless contact at all," muttered Lieutenant Lee as he scurried up into the Raptor's co-pilot seat.

"They must have lost power," noted Lieutenant Cooper as he looked out at the darkened Pacifica. "Damn, we should have known this crazy plan wouldn't work, that ship's systems are so fraking old, they were bound to crash."

"She's started listing," stated Lee as he pointed out at the powerless Battlestar.

Sure enough, the Pacifica had begun to slowly tumble, spinning along its axis as the nose pitched downwards.

"She's completely out of control," muttered Cooper as he gently shook his head.

Looking away from the listing Pacifica, Lee glanced down at the DRADIS.

"Well, maybe…son-of-a…" muttered Lee as he glanced over at a few other readouts. "Maybe Kelso's not so crazy after all."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, look at the readings," grinned Lee observed Lee, half-chuckling as he looked back up at the listing former Battlestar. "Pacifica is little more than a mass shadow on DRADIS, no energy emissions what-so-ever,"

"I guess it's a thin line between crazy and genius," countered Cooper, his fingers flexing around the Raptor's controls. "It's up to the Cylons to decide which he truly is."

As they continued to watch, the two Cylon Raiders continued to loiter at extreme DRADIS range, apparently trying to decide whether the 'mass shadow' they were detecting was worth investigating.

Suddenly, the two Raiders vanished…

…And then reappeared near the listing Pacifica.

---

Cylon Raider

Detection, unknown contact, probable Colonial warship.

Simple, ruthless and efficient, a Cylon Raiders' perception of the universe around it was tempered by its simple programming, something more akin to animalistic instincts than rational decision making.

By design, they were to follow a set series of protocols based on certain calculated outcomes and probabilities in whatever situation they encountered. In very real terms, their minds rationalized that if 'A' and 'B' were true then proceed to predetermined actions 'C' or 'D' with very little creativity or initiative beyond that, at least, not with the very little practical experience they had thus far acquired.

Quite simply, it was how efficient machines waged war.

So it was that when the pair of Raiders first detected the large mass on DRADIS, their simplified logic centers immediately recognizing the approximate dimensions as matching those of a Colonial Battlestar, the outcome dictated by their programming was to initiate an aggressive attack.

Turning to intercept, intent on fulfilling their directive to confront and destroy any Colonial warship they encountered, the Raiders confirmed with one another that the other was likewise prepared, then both spooled up their FTL drives; the assault would be far more difficult to counter and would have far greater impact if delivered at close range.

Jump complete.

Curious.

The Raiders were now well within weapons and interception range, and yet the contact was exhibiting no signs of evasion, no weapon systems were being brought online, no targeting solutions were being calculated, no fighters scrambled to intercept.

Unexpected.

The contact was not acting as a vessel capable of defending itself should.

Again the Raiders processed this through their simplified decision making procedures.

Neither Raider had transmitted the signal that deactivated the Colonial systems, and yet, this contact was already powerless and adrift, complete loss of attitude control indicated, no active energy emissions detected.

Conclusion; calculate a high probability that Colonial contact has already been neutralized by other Raiders and constitutes no further threat to Cylon forces.

Disengage attack protocols, continue search for viable targets.

---

Adrenaline surging through their tense bodies, the two Raptor pilots looked out, their hearts pounding as the two Raiders made a very close pass alongside the powerless Battlestar.

"Frak, frak, frak…" muttered Cooper as he watched the two Raiders streak along the listing behemoth.

"Shut up," hissed Lee, as if he truly believed the Cylons would be able to hear Cooper through the breathless void of space.

Then, almost as an afterthought, Cooper rapidly toggled a few control on the Raptor's panel that rapidly shut down the craft's systems.

Now, like the Pacifica, they too were little more than a 'mass shadow' drifting in space.

As the two Raptor pilots watched the two Cylon Raiders continue to circle near the Pacifica, Lee muttered a few unintelligible prayers on whispered breaths.

Suddenly, the two Cylon craft veered away from the Pacifica and raced directly towards the Raptor.

"Oh, frak!" burst Cooper as he reached for the control panel.

"No, wait!" snapped Lee as he slapped Cooper's hand away from the controls.

Out past the canopy, the forward-swept wings of the two Cylon Raiders shot past them.

Frantically, the two Raptor pilots glanced all around through the canopy desperately trying to relocate the two Raiders.

Jumping up from the co-pilot seat, Lee raced back to the side window on the entry hatch and looked out, barely catching a glimpse of the two Raiders as they suddenly disappeared in twin flashes of light.

Lee then let go of a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"They've jumped away," he sighed, practically collapsing against the bulkhead as he glanced back over at Cooper.

For his part, Cooper raised a hand to the side of his flight helmet, reflexively reaching towards the pounding in his temple.

"Un-fraking-believable," he muttered.

Walking with leaden feet, his heart pounding in his chest, Lee stepped back up to the co-pilot's seat and dropped down heavily.

"I think I need a clean pair of shorts," he muttered.

"You and me both," replied Cooper as he reached out and toggled the switches that brought the Raptor back to life.

Glancing apprehensively down at DRADIS, Cooper and Lee both saw with no small measure of satisfaction that the Cylon Raiders were no longer anywhere within range.

"Let's hope we never have to do that again," stated Lee simply as he toggled the switch for the wireless.

"So say we all," whispered Cooper.

---

Adrian Kelso stood watching the blank DRADIS screen, as if by sheer force of will he'd still be able to see what was happening outside the hull of his ship.

Glancing around, he could see, even in the dim glow of the emergency lighting, that everyone else in CIC was waiting with equally rapt anticipation.

"Raptor Three-One-One to Pacifica-Actual," crackled a voice over the wireless headset.

It was Lieutenant Lee.

"Raptor Three-One-One, this is Actual, send your traffic," replied Kelso as he pressed the headset closer to his ear.

"Both Raiders have departed the area, DRADIS is clear, Actual," stated Lee.

Kelso lightly thumped his fist against the plot board, smiled, and pulled the headset from his ear.

The collective tension around the CIC melted away at seeing Kelso's smile. Reaching down to the handset on the side of the plot table, Kelso toggled it over to buzz engineering.

"Franklin."

"Turn the lights back on, Mike," smiled Kelso as he glanced around at the relieved faces. "We've got to get this old girl to Sagittaron while our luck holds up."

---

Combatstar Savitri
Rhapsody Station
Colonial Viper Flight Training Range

Colonel Thadius Runel stepped aside momentarily to allow a group of rushing crewmembers by as he made his way along the corridor leading to Savitri's Combat Information Center. Once the Cylons had withdrawn, they had managed to establish emergency wireless contact with Savitri's commander, Colonel Brianna Webber. Maneuvering the Enceladus alongside the powerless Combatstar, they'd linked up with Savitri in order to send over DC and Medical teams to assist with Savitri's crew.

Turning a corner, Runel barely avoided being run over by a rushing DC team in fire suppression equipment, the racing cluster of crewmen barely visible in the dim emergency lighting.

Making his way a few more steps along the corridor, Runel soon caught sight of the somewhat jittery Marine standing post outside Savitri's CIC.

Pausing, Runel presented his ID card to the Marine, a formality, but one he indulged for the sake of settling the clearly agitated young man's nerves. After a few moments, the Marine returned the ID card to Runel, rendered a respectful salute, spun open the securing latch, and opened the hatch.

Stepping into the equally darkened chaos of Savitri's CIC, Runel noted the eerie absence of most of the sounds he normally associated with an active, operational CIC. Computer displays were blank, DRADIS was offline, and numerous service panels were open around CIC as technicians ran diagnostics on the electrical circuits inside.

In the dim light, Runel caught site of Savitri's CO, Colonel Brianna Webber, standing at the plot table conversing with two of her officers. Glancing up, she caught sight of him standing at the entry hatch. Within moments, she finished speaking with the two officers, both of whom then stepped away to whatever task she had charged them with completing. For a moment, she simply stood staring across the CIC at him, then absently motioned him over to the plot board.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked unceremoniously as he stepped closer.

"Good to see you too, Brianna," he replied simply.

"Colonel Webber will do," she replied as she continued to peruse a stack of printouts. "You surrendered the right to use my first name over three years ago. Besides, I was under the impression that you preferred following protocol."

"It does have its place," he said, leaning in over the plot table. "And while we're on the subject, as I recall, it was you who left me."

"Your memory was never very good," she quipped. "Probably why you keep that obsolete library of yours. In any event, I'm too busy to go through this with you right now."

"First off, it's an antique library," corrected Runel, much to Webber's obvious annoyance. "And second; I'm not here to take a nostalgic stroll down memory lane."

"Then why are you here?"

Runel and Webber stood simply staring at one another for a moment through the dim illumination.

"How go the repairs, Colonel Webber?" asked Runel evenly.

Webber let out a sigh and looked back down at the printouts in her hands.

"Most of the hard damage has already been patched," replied Webber as she took hold of yet another report from a crew member. "What we can't seem to solve is our current computer problems; none of the systems seem to want to come back online."

"So your computer systems crashed too then?" asked Runel as he looked about at the darkened CIC.

"What was your first clue?" she shot back acerbically, pausing for a second. "Wait, what do you mean 'too'?"

"Adroa and Ikenga suffered a similar computer crash when we ran into a Basestar out at Armistice Station," replied Runel as he leaned slightly on the plot table. "Cylons sent out a transmission right after we jumped in; both ships lost power instantly, almost like someone had just thrown a switch."

"How'd they get their systems back up?" asked Webber, absently wiping an errant lock of hair away from her eyes. "Wait a moment. Golan! Get your butt over here!"

Looking over his shoulder, Runel watched as a Captain, presumably Golan, stepped over to the plot board.

"Yes, Colonel?"

With a casual sweep of her hand, Webber pointed over to Runel, intimating that he continue.

"First off, forget trying to get the systems up as-is, there's a Cylon computer virus running rampant through your systems that you'll need to wipe the system hard drives to get rid of, a complete reformat," began Runel as he looked over to Golan. "When that's done, load the backups from primary memory storage."

"And what's to stop them from simply slipping another virus into our systems once we've done that?" asked Colonel Webber evenly.

"Best solution right now seems to be disconnecting every system from the ship network," replied Runel. "So far keeping the systems in stand-alone mode seems to be the only way to keep the Cylons from compromising them."

Golan hesitated for a moment, glancing over at Webber as if to confirm what Runel suggested was indeed what he was supposed to do.

"Get to it," she sighed.

"Aye, Colonel."

As Golan disappeared back into the veritable darkness around them, Webber looked back over at Runel.

"Is there anything else?" asked Webber impatiently.

"Admiral Ronas has ordered the evacuation of Rhapsody Station," said Runel evenly.

"I know, we've already begun receiving supplies, equipment and personnel transfers," replied Webber as she held up another small stack of papers.

"So have we," replied Runel.

"Yeah, well your crew isn't trying to load-in three squadrons onto an already heavily loaded deck without the benefit of power," countered Webber, crumpling up one sheet and tossing it into a trash receptacle.

"True," conceded Runel. "But I get the feeling we'll be taking on a lot of new challenges we'd never expected to in the days, weeks, hell, maybe months to come."

Webber looked up at him, scowling slightly.

For a moment, neither said a word.

"So I take it you're still angry with me," he said simply, leaning in a little towards her.

"Is that really something you're worried about right now?" she scoffed, barely keeping her tone low as she spoke. "The world is coming to an end and all you're worried about is whether an old lay is still pissed at you?"

"I wouldn't have worded it so crassly, but, yes," replied Runel.

Webber waved a dismissive hand at him.

"The only thing I need from you, Thadius, is for you and those gunboats of yours to cover us while we get our systems back up, that's it," said Webber firmly, again wiping away the same errant lock of hair from her eyes.

"Well, it's nice to know I'm needed," replied Runel as he straightened back up. "No telling when that Basestar will reappear, or how many of its friends it'll be bringing back for the next dance."

With that, Runel turned and began making his way back to the entry hatch.

Stopping, he turned back to see Webber still watching him.

"It's good to see you again, Brie," he said simply.

For a moment, her expression softened at bit.

"Good to see you too," she replied.

Runel grinned slightly.

"Now, please, get the hell off my bridge."

---

Colonial Fleet Reclamation and Reserve Maintenance Depot
Sagittaron Colony

Lance Corporal Bowman let out a long, satisfying yawn.

Satisfying in that he needed to yawn.

He was damned tired.

Flexing his fingers around the grip of his carbine, Bowman looked out at the gaggle of raving civilians still clustered around the gate.

"Frak, I'm tired," muttered the Marine next to him, Private Sati.

"I don't want to even hear it from you," growled Bowman as he glanced over at Sati. "At least you didn't just get off post this morning. Frak, my head had barely hit the pillow when they called 'REAC' and put us out here at the gate."

Reflexively, Bowman stomped his feet, the hard rubber soles of his boots making a dull thump against the airfield tarmac.

"At least it's not too hot this morning," muttered Sati as he reached up and gently tugged at the neck of his ballistic vest.

"Hot, cold, doesn't fraking matter," sighed Bowman as he continued to eye the civilians wearily. "All I know is I need some rack time."

Bowman let out another yawn, and, feeling a bit more frustrated by it, growled in annoyance.

"Why couldn't the Cylons attack when it was more convenient?" he muttered, looking up at the clear blue sky above.

"When exactly would it be 'more convenient'?" scoffed Sati. "In case you haven't heard, they're nuking the frak out of the core colonies right now. I've even heard some scuttlebutt that over half the fleet has already been knocked out of action."

"Lock it up you two," snapped a voice behind the two Marines, startling them.

Turning around, they found themselves looking directly into the indignant, if lovely eyes of Corporal Sera Lenore.

"Rumors are just that, rumors; you two just need to concentrate on keeping those people under control," snapped Corporal Lenore as she absently reached up and adjusted the slightly oversized helmet on her head.

"Aye, Corporal," smiled Bowman.

"Yes, Corporal," added Sati.

With that, Corporal Lenore continued off along the tarmac towards another pair of Marines a few yards off.

"What I wouldn't give to slide my hands along those hips…" began Sati as he stood leering at Lenore.

"One more word and I swear I will butt-stroke that thick skull of yours," warned Bowman as he glared over at Sati.

For a moment, Sati stood looking at Bowman, skeptical, even a bit surprised.

Finally, he simply shrugged and looked back over at the crowd.

Sergeant Gibbs was currently up in front of the crowd and using a bullhorn to shout out instructions to them until slowly, very slowly, the crowd began paying attention and formed up into a few lines at her direction.

Bowman looked from the crowd to the group of civilian ships sitting on the tarmac behind him.

The ships' engines were at high idle, preparing to take off.

An evacuation.

At his level in the food chain, that was about all he knew.

He was to stand there in full combat gear and keep the civvies in line, keep a riot from breaking out while they shuttled one shipload at a time into orbit.

He couldn't help but note the direct implication of that mission; he would be one of the last to leave.

He didn't like that idea.

But he had his orders.

Letting out another yawn, Bowman turned around, glancing over at Sati just in time to catch the Marine in the act of placing a pinch of moist tobacco leaves on the inside of his cheek.

"Give it up," he said, snapping his fingers and then motioning Sati to hand the pouch over.

Grudgingly, Sati handed the pouch to Bowman, who likewise took out a pinch-full of leaves and stuffed it inside his cheek.

Sati, obviously not thrilled at the amount Bowman had removed from the pouch, took back the pouch and slipped it into the cargo pocket on his thigh.

As the roar of the engines on one of the civilian liners behind him grew louder, Bowman spit out the ample tobacco juice in his mouth just as a gust of jet-wash kicked past, blowing dust, debris, and his spit, towards the gaggle of civilians.

As the gust died down, Bowman couldn't help but smile slightly as he caught sight of one of the waiting civilians brushing in clear disgust at a brown stain on the leg of his expensive suit.

Bowman might not know much about what was happening today, but at least he knew where his spit had gone.

---

The utility vehicle had barely come to a stop when Bess opened the door and practically leapt out onto the tarmac at the landing field.

Glancing around quickly, Bess could hardly miss the myriad of civilian ships off to one side of the field. Six were regular commercial passenger liners, another three were a mixed gaggle of freighters and lastly a handful of civil sector Search and Rescue Raptors that had managed to escape the conflagration of the major population centers.

While several of his personnel were feverishly packing the freighters with equipment and supplies, some from the depot's preposition warehouses, others culled from shops or stores in town. Off on the far side of the landing field, several long lines of people were being led over in groups to the liners and SAR Raptors for boarding and subsequent transport to the ships in orbit.

As he continued to glance around, Bess caught site of Captain Gaines as she stood conferring with three of her NCO's near the landing field's control tower.

Jogging over to her, Bess couldn't help but be bemused by the sight of the frankly small-statured Gaines decked out in full combat gear; helmet, ballistic vest, combat harness, carbine slung across her left shoulder.

"Captain Gaines!" called Bess as he stepped up to the Marine officer, just barely managing to make himself heard over the whine of the assembled ships' engines. "You have things under control here?"

"For the time being, Mister, I mean, Commander Bess," replied Gaines, grinning slightly as she corrected herself.

Crisis or not, it seemed the rumor mill was still efficiently passing gossip…

As Bess gently shook his head, another Marine in full combat gear stepped up.

"Sir, this is Captain Robert Brenner, the CO of the Marine Reserve unit that was being ferried home," stated Captain Gaines.

"Sorry for the detour, Captain," said Bess as he shook the young officer's hand. "But, we sure do appreciate your help."

"My pleasure," replied Brenner. "Believe me, better to have these apes out here, boots on the ground doing something useful rather than cramped up aboard a transport with nothing to do but listen to the wireless."

As he continued to watch the activities around the tarmac, Bess caught sight of a couple of his depot personnel and a couple individuals in Colonial pilot uniforms removing a small aircraft from the cargo hold of one of the liners.

"What the hell are they doing?" snapped Bess.

"That's my doing, sir," replied Captain Brenner evenly.

"What is that, a Raptor?" asked Captain Gaines.

"A Scimitar actually," replied Brenner evenly as he watched the crew move the craft. "Close Air Support ship; we were on our way back from CAS training at Helene. I asked them to pull it out of the cargo hold; figured we could use the extra space for other supplies."

"Might come in handy for some area recon," interjected Gaines.

"Hopefully we'll be out of here long before we need to start worrying about that," countered Bess as he turned back to the two officers. "How goes the evac of the civilians?"

"So far we seem to have a pretty good handle on things, sir," began Gaines, slightly adjusting her slung carbine. "We're dividing the groups off into boarding sticks based on the load capacity of the transports."

"One boatload at a time," observed Bess as he watched the civilians being directed about by the Marines.

"Turns out, most of the people we had assembling at the gate were the families of your own personnel," continued Gaines as she looked back over at the lines of people on the edge of the tarmac. "Once they found out you'd ordered an evacuation, they became quite cooperative."

"I'll bet they did, keep up the good work you two," replied Bess as he turned and headed over to the control tower.

Stepping in through the entry door, the ambient sound dropped off to virtually nothing, Bess took a quick breath and then proceeded up the stairway to the control tower. At the top of the stairs, he swiped his access badge through the card reader, waited for the indicator to turn green, then stepped through.

At the sound of the door opening, the control lead, Sal Coleman, turned around and motioned for Bess to come over.

"So what's so important you asked me to come over?" asked Bess as he casually glanced around at the myriad of DRADIS screens.

"Believe it or not we have five more ships requesting to land," replied Coleman, pausing a moment to acknowledge a wireless transmission over his headset.

"Did you advise them we were in the middle of an evacuation?" asked Bess as he glanced back over at Coleman.

"I did, but they asked to speak with the director of the depot," replied Coleman as he handed Bess a second headset.

As Bess slipped the headset over his ear and adjusted the mic, Coleman reached over to the wireless panel and toggled a switch.

"You're on, sir," stated Coleman simply.

"This is Sagittaron Depot, Director Paul Bess."

"Mister Bess, this is the freighter Jester, be advised I have some information for you," replied the voice on the other end of the transmission.

"Jester, be advised, we are in the middle of emergency evacuation operations at this time," replied Bess.

"We copy Director Bess, be advised, we are prepared to offer assistance in your evacuation."

"Our field is a bit packed right now, Jester, but as soon as we have some space, we'll be glad for the assistance," replied Bess as he looked out at the line of civilian ships on the strip as a few began sealing their hatches for lift-off. "Are you prepared to offload your current passengers and cargo in orbit?"

"Director Bess, be advised, we have already disembarked all passengers and non-essential personnel."

"Copy that, Jester," replied Bess slowly as he looked over at Sal Coleman. "Where exactly did you offload them?"

"We offloaded our people aboard the Pacifica, she's en route to Sagittaron at this time."

Bess couldn't hide his surprise at that piece of information; neither could Coleman.

"Jester, did you say the Battlestar Pacifica is en route here?" asked Bess evenly as he leaned forward onto the wireless console.

"Not exactly, Mister Bess," replied the voice aboard the Jester. "The ship en route is not the current active Pacifica, it's the original Pacifica, the Battlestar museum from Libran."

Bess paused, glanced up at Coleman, and then looked back out at the landing field.

"Uh, Jester, would you care to explain that please?" asked Bess evenly.

"Apparently the former crew were holding a reunion aboard her when the attack began," replied Jester. "They broke the ship from orbit and are en route at sub-light as we speak."

"Isn't that about the craziest thing you ever heard?" muttered Bess as he glanced back over at Coleman.

"Any crazier than evacuating all these people up to a collection of derelicts in orbit?" countered Coleman with a grin.

"Point taken," mumbled Bess. "Clear those ships to land as soon as possible."

"We'll have space in just a few minutes, sir," replied Coleman as he pointed out at the line of ships.

"Director Bess to Jester, we have several ships preparing to depart at this time, coordinate with our control tower here for landing instructions."

"We copy," replied the Jester. "Just one more piece of information we've been requested to pass on to you from Pacifica's CO."

"Go ahead and send it, Jester," replied Bess as he watched a few of the liners begin to lift from the tarmac.

"Pacifica's CO and Chief Engineer gave us a list of components they need to get their FTL systems back into operation and were hoping your people would be able to assist them."

"We'll see what we can do to accommodate him then," replied Bess evenly. "Director Bess, out."

For a moment, Bess stood looking out at the ships lifting off the tarmac.

"Well isn't that a kick in the groin?" he muttered.

"Pacifica," huffed Coleman as he too watched the ships begin to ascend. "Wasn't Mike Franklin supposed to be at that reunion?"

"Unless I miss my guess, he's probably the 'Chief Engineer' who sent along the parts request," replied Bess as he glanced down at the crowd waiting at the gate. "I suppose I'd better look into whether his family is among the evacuees down there."

"Since he was kind enough to commandeer us another ship for the evacuation, I suppose it would be the least you could do," replied Coleman wryly.

Toggling the switch on the wireless console, Bess switched frequencies.

"Sagittaron Orbital, this is Sagittaron Control, Director Bess," he stated evenly as he casually watched the departing liners disappear beyond some cloud cover

"Director? I thought you were going by 'Commander' now," replied a voice Bess immediately recognized as Mark Shipman.

"Mark, listen, we've just received some hot information," stated Bess, ignoring Shipman's quip. "First off, though, are those ships up there ready to fly?"

"I could spend a week and they wouldn't be 'ready'," quipped Shipman

"I don't have the time, Mark," warned Bess evenly.

"They'll do for what you've got in mind," amended Shipman a moment later, picking up on the slight impatience in Bess' voice. "Just keep the supplies coming."

"Will do; now, I've got some news."

"News, huh; how bad is it?" asked Shipman simply.

"Good news, actually; looks like we may have another ship for our evacuation. The newest civilian arrivals tell me Mike Franklin and some of his veteran cohorts got the old Pacifica underway before the Cylons hit Libran."

"Well if that isn't a swift kick to Zeus' left testicle," scoffed Shipman. "You'd better not be frakin' with me on this one, boss."

"She's supposed to be headed here right now, sublight only though," continued Bess, ignoring Shipman's crass blasphemy. "Think you might be able to scrounge together components to get their FTL back online?"

"Depends on what they need, but I'm pretty sure we have the parts lying about up here."

"As soon as I get the list I'll get it up to you so you can check; Bess out."

With that, Bess let out a long sigh.

"You know, Sal, I'm beginning to think we might actually be able to pull this off."

"Never would have pegged you as an optimist, Bess."

---

Battlecruiser Enceladus
Rhapsody Station
Colonial Viper Flight Training Range

"Isn't this a fraked up war," muttered Colonel Thadius Runel bitterly as he clutched onto the plot table.

All around him, the Enceladus' shuddered under a series of pounding impacts as Runel cast his eyes back up to DRADIS, focusing in on the four Cylon Basestars stalking in towards them.

"Templeton, get a hold of Savitri, find out how much longer it will be before they have their computer systems back on-line!" shouted Runel as the Enceladus absorbed another series of punishing missile impacts.

As if in answer to his question, Runel watched on DRADIS as the Savitri suddenly maneuvered out from behind the Enceladus and unleashed a barrage from her defensive batteries, thankfully knocking down another set of missiles streaking in towards the beleaguered battlecruiser.

The Adroa and Ikenga had already broken formation with Enceladus and were pushing out to try and flank the Cylon advance but it would still be several minutes before were in any real position to exploit such a maneuver.

The two freighters and tylium tanker which had also been assisting in the evacuation of Rhapsody Station were likewise maneuvering, though not into the fray but rather away from it; understandable considering their lack of any heavy weapons.

But from the outset, Runel understood all-too-well that one Combatstar, an already battered battlecruiser and two destroyers were no match for four fully operational Cylon Basestars and their complements of Raiders.

"New contacts; they're launching Raiders," called Lieutenant Thorpe urgently.

On DRADIS, Runel watched as dozens, tens of dozens, hundreds of Raiders suddenly emerged from the Basestars and began racing in towards the beleaguered Colonials.

Clenching his teeth, Runel snatched up the handset on the side of the plot table.

"Put me on ship-to-ship, Mister Templeton," he snapped as he held the handset up to his ear.

"You're on, Colonel," called Templeton as the ship shuddered under yet another series of impacts.

"This is Enceladus-Actual, all ships prepare to jump to prearranged coordinates," he said as another volley of missiles streaked in towards his ship.

"This is Savitri-Actual, be advised, we still have personnel awaiting evac from Rhapsody Station," countered Colonel Brianna Webber over the wireless.

"This isn't a request, Colonel Webber, it's an order; prepare to jump your ship now!" snapped Runel angrily as the Enceladus absorbed still more impacts.

"I do not recognize your authority to issue that order," snapped Webber.

"Then recognize mine," interjected another voice over the wireless.

It was the Commanding Officer of Rhapsody Station, Admiral Karee Ronas.

"Under my authority, Enceladus-Actual is to take command of all forces until relieved by higher authority," snapped Ronas. "Now get your ships the frak out of here, Colonel!"

Even before either Runel or Webber could respond, a barrage of Cylon missiles streaked past Enceladus and slammed into Rhapsody Station. Over the open wireless channel, the sound of men and women screaming out in sheer terror echoed against the frightful sound of metal rending under stress, the ear-piercing intensity of the cacophony sending a cold shiver through Runel's body. As the screams intensified, the equally chilling sound of explosions and rushing air filtered over the channel until it suddenly fell mercifully silent.

On the DRADIS display, Runel watched as still more missile impacts tore into Rhapsody Station, an urgent alarm echoing out through CIC as the returns indicated the station was beginning to break up under the relentless barrage, at last succumbing in a massive detonation that sent debris hurtling every direction into the cold void of deep space.

With Rhapsody Station gone, Savitri, Adroa and Ikenga all acknowledged Runel's order and signaled they were ready for FTL jump. The two freighters and the tylium tanker also acknowledged the order, jumping away from the hellacious firestorm as several squadrons of Raiders vectored in towards them.

"Start the clock!" snapped Runel as he looked over at Lieutenant Thorpe.

"No, sir, we have to check for survivors!" snapped Thorpe as he practically ran towards the plot table. "There could still be people…"

Dropping the handset with a clatter onto the plot table, Runel shoved Thorpe aside and raced over to the FTL panel as another series of impacts slammed into Enceladus.

On DRADIS, Ikenga and Adroa, followed closely by Savitri all disappeared, jumping away per his order as the Basestars closed in on the Enceladus.

As he reached the panel, Runel quickly glanced over the readouts, verified that the rally point coordinates had been entered, that the FTL system was spun and ready, and then slammed his hand down onto the activation button. Looking back over at the DRADIS, Runel was immersed in the sensation of the ship executing the FTL jump. Reality itself, his own perceptions, everything seemed to both stretch and contract at the same moment, a bending of awareness that almost defied explanation to anyone who'd never experienced a Faster-Than-Light jump.

Within the span of a few moments, the Enceladus went from being the focus of a harrowing exchange of fire to sailing unaccosted in clear, open space.

The change was so abrupt in fact that it alone threatened to unnerve Runel almost as much as the pounding of Cylon missiles.

Looking up at DRADIS, Runel saw that the Basestars, the Raiders, the shattered remains of Rhapsody Station, all of it, were now gone from the screen.

All that remained were the newly reappeared signatures of the Savitri, Adroa, Ikenga, the two freighters and the tylium tanker.

Bowing his head for a moment, Runel closed his eyes and whispered a prayer for the souls of those he'd been forced to leave behind.

Taking a deep breath, he then looked back up at the expectant faces around CIC. He knew he didn't need to defend his actions; truly, there had been no other alternatives but to make the jump.

Staying there and fighting would have been suicide.

Rhapsody Station was lost, the chance of survivors from the Cylon barrage far too low to even risk returning.

Nevertheless the decision to abandon them to the Fates still held an acute bitterness for him.

With a heavy heart, Runel knew his only choice was to keep moving forward.

Reaching down, Runel picked up a handset and toggled the switch for the ship's One-MC.

"All hands, maintain Condition One, all stations submit damage and casualty reports to CIC immediately."

Hanging the handset back up, Runel's attention slowly focused back in on Lieutenant Thorpe.

The young officer simply stood there, hunched over the plot table, sobbing openly.

Anger welling up in him, Runel practically vaulted back over to the plot table, and to the universal shock of everyone in CIC, grabbed hold of Lieutenant Thorpe. Snatching the man up by his lapels, Runel practically lifted the officer off his feet as he slammed him up against a nearby bulkhead.

"Don't you ever question my orders on the bridge of my ship again, do you hear me, Mister?" shouted Runel ferociously as he looked Thorpe squarely in the eye.

As the junior officer stood squirming against Runel's grip, the Marine posted at the hatch broke from his shock and quickly stepped over, attempting to pull Colonel Runel off of Thorpe as several other crewmen rushed in as well.

Shrugging the Marine off, Runel let go of Thorpe, the young officer slumping back against the bulkhead, thoroughly stunned.

"You think I wanted to leave those people behind, Lieutenant?" burst Runel angrily. "You think I wanted to leave them to be slaughtered by the Cylons?"

"I'm sorry, sir, it's just, my sister," muttered Thorpe weakly, tears streaming down his cheeks. "My sister was still aboard Rhapsody; she was the only family I had left."

Runel, silent, his breathing still heavy, looked down at Thorpe. Slowly, he turned to look at the others around CIC, who themselves were likewise watching him intently.

He could tell by the looks in their eyes they never could have imagined seeing their CO so enraged.

Suddenly, Runel felt ashamed, as though he had let them down.

Looking again at Lieutenant Thorpe, Runel saw that the young officer was still trying to gather himself back together.

"Resume your post, Lieutenant," was all Runel could say as the man avoided the Colonel's gaze.

"Aye, sir."

Runel then watched as the visibly distraught Lieutenant Thorpe stepped back over to the Operations panel and dropped down heavily into the seat.

Taking a deep breath, Runel glanced one last time over at Thorpe, ran his hand through his sweat-dampened hair, then quickly stepped back over to the plot table.

"Isn't this is a fraked up war," he muttered bitterly.

---

Battlestar Pacifica Museum
Near Sagittaron Colony

Each time he heard a dull thump reverberate through the hull of the Pacifica, Adrian Kelso's ears perked up just a bit.

It wasn't that he was surprised by the sounds of the light impacts, it was more that he hadn't ever expected to voluntarily fly a ship, much less the Pacifica, into a situation where she would be subjected to such a continuous pelting.

But what else could be expected when one was hiding their ship within the tail of a comet?

Thus far, Adrian Kelso had been counting blessings on top of blessings that the Cylons had not found the FTL-less Pacifica and blown her out of the stars. Indeed, ever since the near miss where he'd had no option but to shut down all the ship's systems and play dead, DRADIS hadn't picked up so much as a blip.

But while he was more than appreciative to the gods for the luck that had been bestowed upon them thus far, he wasn't about to push that luck by continuing to sail his ship in open space if he didn't have to.

So it was that as the Pacifica came nearer to Sagittaron, the Raptor acting as their eyes and ears had picked up a rogue comet passing very near to their destination. Slipping the Pacifica in behind it, concealing her within its vast tail of debris, Kelso gambled that even Cylon efficiency wouldn't necessarily anticipate so unorthodox a maneuver.

What he hadn't anticipated, however, was the curious sense of boredom he now felt as he paced slowly around the center plot table.

With little to do but watch and wait, most everyone around CIC was in the same proverbial boat as he was; nervous, bored, anticipating that something could happen at any moment, but at the same offering up prayers that nothing would happen.

The lull between the action…

Everything had come together so quickly, the escape from orbit around Libran, the efforts to evade the enemy, to have nothing to do now but wait was in its own way even more unnerving. And with nothing for the people around him to do but sit and think, the shock of their situation was beginning to wear off, and the understanding about the true, horrible magnitude of what was happening was now beginning to sink in.

The human race was being systematically exterminated by the Cylons.

Ruthlessly, efficiently…

Looking into the faces of his aged crew, the haunted looks in their eyes, it was clear, their new and frightening reality was beginning to hit home.

They were thinking of their own children, their grandchildren, those who weren't fortunate enough to have been aboard Pacifica for the reunion.

With nothing to do but wait, their own thoughts were beginning to torment them.

At the helm, Eriana Barris stifled a sob as she cradled a picture in her hands; Aaron McCall reached across to console her, himself surreptitiously wiping a tear from his eye.

Kelso, seeing this, took a deep breath.

For his own part, he'd stopped listening to the wireless messages being broadcast in the clear; the news had simply become too grim.

Caprica, Picon, Scorpia were all but devastated by thermonuclear blasts. Tauron, Aerilon, and Libran had also gone silent; apparently they'd made their escape from Libran' orbit just before the arrival of more significant Cylon forces.

Further reports of nuclear attacks on Aquarion and Gemenon were relayed by Admiral Nagala's battlegroup just prior to their own apparent destruction during Atlantia's abortive counterattack near Virgon.

Live broadcasts were becoming scarce as Colonial news networks and military units alike succumbed to what was clearly a widespread, well-planned and utterly ruthless assault by the Cylons.

No; 'assault' wasn't the right word, it seemed to imply a limitation of sorts which did not exist; this was genocide, plain and simple.

"ETA to Sagittaron?" he asked as he stepped back over towards the plot board.

"We're still about fifteen minutes out, sir," replied Theo Cullen as he lightly drummed a grease pencil on the Operations console.

"Capshaw, get on the shortwave wireless, have the Raptor push ahead, try and get a clear DRADIS picture, last thing we need right now is to stumble into a Cylon ambush."

"Understood, sir."

As he settled back in at the plot table, Kelso looked across at Ensign Cole. As he watched her youthful eyes continue to stare intently at the overhead DRADIS, Kelso couldn't help it when his thoughts began to dwell on his own son, Sean.

With most of the Colonies now little more than radioactive slag and the fleet all but destroyed, Adrian Kelso fought to keep from dwelling on the all-too real likelihood that his own son, his only son, was amongst the staggering casualties. He tried not to dwell on the idea, but with nothing but his thoughts to torment him, Adrian Kelso found himself wondering if it truly was any sort of a mercy at all that they had managed to escape.

If only the gods could have bestowed that luck upon his son instead…

No; he didn't, he couldn't mean that…

His son might be dead, but those that were still alive, the survivors huddled below decks, they deserved to live every bit as much as Sean; he had no right to entertain for even one moment the selfish desire that they'd suffered instead for the sake of tipping some unseen, ethereal scale in favor of his son's survival.

If it was for the gods to choose that his son die, he'd push himself through that terrible reality, do everything within his mortal power to ensure the survival of those now in his charge.

And when it was indeed his turn to die, he'd take up the issue of his own son's death with the gods face-to-face.

"Sir, Raptor Three-One-One is reporting a clear entry corridor to Sagittaron," called Peter Cullen.

Shaking himself from the lingering thoughts regarding Sean, Adrian Kelso looked up at the DRADIS feed.

Sure enough, no Cylon or other 'unknown' contacts were on the screen.

But while there was no direct contact with any Cylon ships, their presence was nonetheless keenly felt.

As the Raptor continued to close with Sagittaron, the telltale distortion effect of radioactive particles in the colony's upper atmosphere began to cloud DRADIS.

The devastation thus far appeared to be limited to the more densely populated regions on the far side of the colony, far removed from the surface installation that made up the Colonial Fleet Reclamation and Reserve Maintenance Depot. Moreover, the orbital annex and mothballed warships holding geosynchronous position above the Depot likewise seemed untouched.

His eyes narrowing, Adrian Kelso felt his pulse quicken a bit.

While the radiation being ejected into the upper atmosphere increased the likelihood that they'd be able to achieve orbit undetected, the reverse was equally true; any enemy vessels that were potentially lying in low orbit would be effectively hidden until it was far too late.

It was a gamble he had no real choice but to take.

Glancing away from the DRADIS screen, Kelso saw Ensign Cole looking over at him, or more precisely, over at his hand.

Looking down himself, he realized he'd subconsciously begun drumming his fingers on the top of the plot table.

"Sorry," he said. "Old habit."

Cole nodded slightly, then looked back up at DRADIS.

"Okay, moment of truth," sighed Kelso, looking out around CIC. "Barris, McCall, let's go ahead and bring her out of the tail, slow and easy."

"Aye, sir," replied McCall as he took hold of the vessels controls.

Barris tucked the photo back away in her blouse pocket, wiped a tear from her cheek and nodded.

Taking a deep breath, Adrian Kelso returned his attention to the DRADIS.

As the ship slowly emerged from the dense particle trail behind the comet, the constant rain pelting the former Battlestar's thick hide began to abate, finally ceasing altogether as the ship withdrew into clear space.

"Raptor Three-One-One is holding position, sir," called Theo Cullen as he set the grease pencil he'd been fiddling with down on the console. "Still no contacts on DRADIS."

"Here's to hoping there are no monsters hiding in the bushes," muttered Kelso as he continued to watch DRADIS intently.

"So say we all, sir," replied Ensign Cole evenly.

For several tense minutes, Pacifica continued to creep closer to Sagittaron.

All the while, the distortions on DRADIS continued to worsen.

"Contact!" burst Theo Cullen.

His heart skipping a beat, Kelso's already hawkish eyes focused in even more intently.

"Correction, multiple contacts," continued Cullen as the DRADIS picture intermittently cleared to show several 'unknown' icons hovering near their destination.

"Number and type," rattled off Adrian Kelso as his pulse quickened.

"Half a dozen contacts, close orbital range above the depot," replied Cullen.

"What type of ships are they, Mister Cullen?" asked Kelso as he keenly watched the 'unknown' contacts appear and disappear intermittently within the radioactive soup of Sagittaron's upper atmosphere.

"I'm not picking up any Colonial transponders, sir," replied Cullen as he continued to review the data on his screen. "But, their signatures are too large for Raiders."

"Capshaw, get on the wireless to the Raptor, order them in for a pass, make a visual ID on those contacts," called Kelso as he watched the signals.

"Should we hold our position here, sir," asked Ensign Cole as she leaned in over the plot table.

"We're already committed," replied Kelso evenly. "Even with all the disruption from the fallout, at this range they'll have already picked us up on their DRADIS. All we can do now is hope they're friendly."

"And if they're not friendly, sir?"

Kelso didn't answer; he didn't have to.

With the Pacifica unable to jump away, if the contacts were Cylons, everyone aboard would have barely enough time to say a few abbreviated prayers before Raiders or perhaps even a Basestar jumped in on top of them and tore the unarmed ship to pieces.

As Kelso mentally counted the seconds in his head, he watched the DRADIS screen intently as the Raptor closed in on the contacts holding close orbit to Sagittaron.

"Sir, Raptor Three-One-One reports they've closed to within visual range," called Capshaw, a slight smile creeping across her lips. "The contacts appear to be several civilian freighters and passenger liners."

Letting out a distinct sigh of relief, Kelso likewise began to grin.

Reaching down, he grabbed up the handset on the side of the plot table.

"Get me a channel to those ships on wireless," called Kelso as he glanced over at Capshaw.

"No need, sir," replied Capshaw, letting out a half-chuckle. "We're already receiving a low-band wireless transmission from the surface."

"Pipe it here, please," said Kelso as he held the handset to his ear.

Initially, all Kelso could hear over the line was a heavy clutter of static hissing over the wireless; the radiation in the atmosphere was also playing havoc with communication; but soon a deep, authoritative voice cut through the static.

"…I say again, this is Director Paul Bess, do you read me?"

"Director Bess, this is Pacifica, we read you," grinned Kelso, pushing his free hand against his open ear to better concentrate on the garbled transmission.

Finally frustrated by the effort, Kelso reached down and toggled the switch to pipe the transmission to the overhead speakers in CIC.

"…was beginning to wonder if you'd show," continued Bess, his voice echoing out through CIC.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, did you get the parts request we sent ahead with the civilian ships?"

"…affirmative…we have the parts you need to get you FTL back up…"

"How quickly can you get the components up to us?" asked Kelso evenly.

"…need to maneuver into…ry-dock B at the orbital annex…ark Shipman has teams ready to get the parts installed…sooner the better…"

Glancing over at Barris and McCall, Kelso saw the two nod slightly as they altered the Pacifica's approach, following the Raptor as it turned to lead them towards the dry-dock indicated by Bess.

"I don't suppose you have any other supplies you can spare," asked Kelso evenly. "When we pulled out of Libran, we did so with little more than the shirts on our backs…"

Kelso paused and looked down at his own civilian attire…

"…literally."

"…already have teams…together supplies for you, we'll be shuttling…up to you within the hour…"

"Well, I don't know how much the Ministry of Defense pays you, Bess, but I don't think it's enough; you're a life saver," continued Kelso.

"…all part of the service…"