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.

4. Part 3 - Defying the Fates

Battlecruiser Enceladus
Near Emergency Fleet Rally Point 486SE

Absently scratching at the bandage covering the stitches in his scalp, Colonel Thadius Runel stood looking over the latest series of damage and casualty reports.

Both the Adroa and Ikenga had come through the engagement at Rhapsody Station relatively unscathed, their maneuver out to the flank having removed them from the center point of the Cylon advance on the outpost. The Savitri, in maintaining its position with Enceladus at the center of the action had taken some damage and casualties, but was still reporting their status as fully operational, their computer systems again up and running in stand-alone.

Enceladus, by contrast, had barely come through the engagement intact. Prior to actually dealing their deathblow to the station itself, the Cylons had clearly made taking the Enceladus out of action their primary effort.

And they'd very nearly succeeded.

Although their jump had prevented the Cylons from delivering an outright deathblow to the Enceladus, the exhausted Damage Control teams had nearly lost the battle to put down the fires amidships. Raging throughout sections that had already been gutted by both the engagement at Armistice Station as well as their tangle with the first Basestar when they reached Rhapsody Station, physical damage had been so extensive that a full vent action had not even been possible, forcing his people to put out the flames compartment by compartment.

Casualties were heavy, and the fatalities were still being counted.

Included among the casualties was the Enceladus' Chief Engineer, Caiphus Lidell. Defying the fires raging out of control in the engineering spaces, Lidell had guided several injured crewmembers out of the area, only to return and seal himself inside the damaged compartment in order to isolate a ruptured tylium transfer line. Braving his way back through the flames, Lidell had literally sacrificed himself in order to shut down the entire tylium transfer system, preventing the ruptured line from adding literally more fuel to the fires. While Lidell's selfless sacrifice had prevented the Enceladus from exploding from within, saving thousands, it also meant the battered vessel was dead in the water until repairs were complete, repairs that would have to be made without the benefit of their most skilled officer.

Although Adroa, Ikenga and Savitri had already deployed themselves defensively around the wounded battlecruiser, Runel was still none-too-comfortable with having his ship in so helpless a position.

Perhaps the only bright spot of the whole affair was that in spite of the loss of the Rhapsody Station itself, over two-thirds of the outpost's personnel as well as the station's entire complement of Vipers, Raptors and shuttles had been transferred over to Runel's battlegroup prior to its destruction. Furthermore, the two freighters and tylium tanker that had also managed to escape from Rhapsody with Runel's group carried a good number of vital supplies and fuel that was already being divided out amongst the surviving warships.

Bright spots…

With a heavy sigh, Runel set the thick stack of reports down and looked up at Lieutenant Thorpe, the young officer fully engrossed with directing the truly formidable DC efforts. Runel still felt a measure of regret over how poorly he'd handled the situation with Thorpe before.

Runel was an only child, a bachelor, his own parents long since passed away. For better or worse, Runel knew he was more-or-less insulated from feeling the full impact of the tragedy unfolding around them. He had some friends, to be sure, mostly other officers in the fleet, and from all reports, most of them had likely already killed by the Cylons. But still, he knew it wasn't the same; he simply couldn't feel the loss to such a personal depth as those amongst his crew who were losing family.

Except perhaps for Brianna…

If something happened to her…

Shaking his head, Runel brought himself back to the concrete here-and-now.

With his ship adrift and powerless, Runel had to seriously consider the possibility that he might have to evacuate and scuttle the Enceladus. If she couldn't be bought back to fighting trim, and soon, she would be a liability in any further engagements with the Cylons.

Still, rational assessments aside, he was not yet resigned to leaving behind the Enceladus as an inevitability; indeed, he could barely stomach the idea of abandoning his first command.

Runel wanted to be sure all avenues had been exhausted first; the Enceladus had served them well so far, she was too good a ship to simply write off without making every effort to save her first.

It would just take time to repair her.

And time seemed to be the thing they lacked most.

"Colonel, we're receiving a message over priority channel one, sir," called Petty Officer Templeton.

"Bring it here," replied Runel, rubbing his tired eyes as he stood up a little straighter at the plot table.

As Templeton printed the message for Runel, the Colonel pondered the implications.

If a message was being sent over the priority channel, it meant that there were other Fleet units still in the fight.

And if they weren't alone, then there was still a chance to link up with friendly forces.

Taking the printout from Templeton, Runel quickly scanned over the text of the message.

"To all Colonial Units; am taking command of Fleet. All units ordered to rendezvous at Ragnar Anchorage for regroup and counterattack. Acknowledge by same encryption protocol. Adama."

Colonel Runel took in a deep, steadying breath.

Commander Adama was still alive.

Somehow, that didn't surprise Runel; Galactica's CO was truly the definition of an 'old salt' warship commander; tough, thoughtful and pragmatic, if anyone could survive this mess, it made sense that Bill Adama would be just such a man.

"Shall I acknowledge the message, sir?" asked Templeton.

Playing with the paper between his fingers for a moment, Runel considered Templeton's question.

"No, not yet," said Runel finally. "As long as our FTL system is down, we can't risk the Cylons tracing our transmission back to us. Besides which, at this range, this message is already a couple of hours old."

Rubbing his eyes…

When was the last time he'd slept?

…Runel looked back down at the message.

"However, get a hold of the other ships on short-wave; verify that they've received the message as well. Advise them that once our FTL is back online, we will be jumping to Ragnar to link up with the Galactica. Let's just hope that Adama is still there by the time we're able to get back underway."

"Understood, Colonel," replied Templeton dutifully as he returned to the Communications station.

Looking over the brief message one last time, Runel then set it down on the plot table.

Everything else aside, Runel now focused on one single objective; strength in numbers, they had to link back up with the Battlestar Galactica.

---

Battlestar Pacifica
Colonial Fleet Reserve Depot Orbital Annex
Sagittaron Colony

As he rounded the last corner to the airlock, Adrian Kelso caught sight on Mike Franklin and a couple members of his team from engineering, both veteran and ad hoc assignee alike, waiting for the airlock indicator to signal a hard seal.

"You ready to get the parts installed, Mike?" asked Kelso as he stepped up next to the old engineer.

"As long as they also remembered to bring along the tools I asked for," replied Franklin as his eyes stayed focused on the indicator gauge. "It's a bit more complicated than simply slipping a paperclip into a socket."

"How long do you think it will take?"

"Installation is pretty straight forward, provided the parts are in order," shrugged Franklin. "Whether or not some damned rats have chewed through some wiring somewhere, that's a whole other matter."

"Have I ever told you what an optimist you are?" grinned Kelso as he heard the dull thud of machinery working just behind the airlock.

"I don't have time for optimism," replied Franklin flatly. "I've got a ship to fix."

Kelso couldn't help but shake his head over how quickly the previously jovial Mike Franklin had once more taken on the acerbic edge he'd carried so long ago during the war. Moreover, Kelso realized he could understand why; with the survival of his own grandsons, Joshua and Alexander, at stake, Franklin had concrete reasons to return to laconic pragmatism.

At last, the indicator gauge on the airlock changed from red to green, signaling a hard seal. But as he pressed the switch to cycle the door open, Kelso frowned; nothing happened.

Without missing a beat, Franklin stepped forward and delivered a hard punch against the panel.

Instantly the airlock door groaned, but nevertheless slid open.

Although he wasn't quite certain what he'd expected to see as the hatch slid open, Adrian Kelso was nonetheless surprised when several dozen people in civilian attire and worker's overalls began making their way through the airlock, a heavy train of equipment and supplies in tow.

"Mark; should have known Bess would have your ugly ass up in orbit," quipped Franklin as one of the workers stepped up to him with a sizeable binder.

"Nice to see you too, Mike," replied the man with a grin.

"Commander, this is Mark Shipman," stated Franklin as he motioned towards the man.

"Damned glad to meet you," smiled Kelso as he shook Shipman's hand. "I'll be even happier if you've got the parts we need to get our FTL online."

"Got everything here but the ambrosia to rechristen her," replied Shipman as he motioned to the myriad of personnel shuttling boxes of equipment in the hatchway.

"Not to sound ungrateful or anything, Mark, but how the hell did you have this equipment at the ready like this?" asked Franklin as he perused through the binder Shipman had handed him.

"Haven't heard yet, huh?" chuckled Shipman somewhat acerbically.

"We've been a bit busy," replied Kelso, himself ironing over the magnitude of the understatement.

"Paul Bess has been moving people and supplies into orbit for a couple hours now," replied Shipman as he pressed himself up against the bulkhead to allow two workers to push a rather sizeable container past. "Ever since the Case Orange message hit the wireless, we've been in evacuation mode."

"Evacuate to where?" asked Franklin as he glanced up from the binder.

"What, you think you're the only one who can get a decom moving again?" countered Shipman as he shuffled a few more workers by. "We have three ships we were already preparing to FTL out to the weapons range for use as targets, and a fourth ship that arrived yesterday for decommissioning, so her systems were still intact."

Kelso and Franklin exchanged a quick glance.

"When it became apparent things were going from bad to worse, Bess decided to go ahead and bug out before the bombs started falling here too," continued Shipman as he again stepped aside to allow a large pallet by. "We had a few civilian ships land when the attack began, and we've been using them to move supplies and refugees up."

"What refugees?" asked Franklin flatly.

"Just about everyone within several dozen kilometers of the depot," replied Shipman as he waved still more workers through. "We started with the families of the depot personnel and moved right on to the local townies."

As he turned back to Kelso and Franklin, Shipman saw that Franklin was staring at him quite intently.

"How many people have been brought up so far?" asked Kelso evenly.

"Maybe fifteen thousand, somewhere about there," replied Shipman as he looked over his shoulder. "They'll be packed in tighter than a temple virgin's panties, but it's better that than the alternative."

Kelso nodded his head.

"Well, we're already packed in pretty tight here on Pacifica, but if it speeds up the evac, we might be able to take on a couple hundred more in the short-term," stated Kelso as he looked over at Franklin. "What do you think, Mike?"

For a moment, Franklin did not respond, his expression somewhat distracted.

"Mike," prodded Kelso. "What do you think; can Pacifica carry any more refugees?"

"Oh, sorry," muttered Franklin, slowly nodding his head. "Yeah, without an air wing aboard, we should still have space on the flight pods if need be."

Noting the distraction, nigh concern on Franklin's face, Kelso looked back over to Shipman.

"I don't suppose anyone's been out to Franklin's house," asked Kelso pointedly, voicing what was clearly on the old engineer's mind.

"Oh, yeah, son-of-a-bitch, Mike, I almost forgot," burst Shipman as he snapped his fingers and looked over at Franklin. "Bess sent a runner over to your house when he found out you and the Pacifica were on the way here. Last I heard your wife and daughters were waiting down at the field for evac."

Although it lasted for only the briefest of moments, the relief that passed across Franklin's face was evident enough that Kelso reached over and clasped on his old friend's shoulder.

"Thanks, Mark," said Franklin simply, his voice cracking a bit.

Franklin stood there for a moment, silent, absently tapping the clipboard against the palm of his hand.

"Well, if you two will excuse me, I need to get these parts installed," sighed Franklin, fighting to keep his tone even as he suddenly turned and made his way off down the corridor.

As both Kelso and Shipman watched him disappear around a corner, Shipman took a small step towards the Pacifica's old CO.

"What's with him?" muttered Shipman as the last workers slipped by with the final pieces of equipment. "You'd think I'd just told him they were all dead, not waiting for evac."

"Mike has probably spent most of the morning getting himself ready for the idea that they were dead," began Kelso as he absently watched the last workers, disappear beyond a turn at the end of the corridor. "Now you tell him they're alive; well, that's enough to play with anyone's mind, don't you think?"

Shipman seemed to consider that for a moment.

"I'll call Bess, make sure they're sent up here to Pacifica, by Raptor or transport, whatever it takes," said Shipman as he reached out to Adrian Kelso. "I'll make damned sure."

"I appreciate it," grinned Kelso as he took hold of Shipman's hand in a firm, brisk handshake.

With that, Shipman turned and headed back out the airlock.

Curiously, Kelso realized he was now alone at the airlock.

Looking around somewhat awkwardly, Kelso turned and began making his way back down along the corridor, heading back to CIC.

As he walked alone through the stark corridor, Adrian Kelso's mind again drifted back to thoughts of his own son, Sean.

He knew Sean was assigned to the Scorpion Fleet Shipyards, and at last report, the shattered remains of the facility had begun to fall from orbit even as the Cylons were dropping nukes onto Scorpia itself.

Damn, if there was only some way to know for certain what had happened to his son.

Dead or alive, at least knowing for certain was better than not knowing and always wondering.

Clenching his fists, Adrian Kelso felt his pulse quicken bit, his steps quickening along with it.

He might not ever know his son's fate, not with any certainty, but he refused to simply wallow in helplessness.

Forty years ago, he'd faced and fought the Cylons…

Forty years later, he now found himself in a fight with them again…

Maybe not with weapons, but he was fighting with them, fighting them the only way he still could; by making sure, by every means he could find, every ounce of strength and gall he could muster, that everyone aboard the Pacifica made it out of this hell alive and safe.

He would fight the Cylons by making sure their quest to destroy the human race failed.

And he would continue to fight them, until the day came when he no longer could.

---

Battlecruiser Enceladus
Near Emergency Fleet Rally Point 486SE

"Main engineering is reporting full power restored," called Lieutenant Thorpe as he hung up the handset at the Operations console. "FTL drives one and two are being spun up, Colonel."

"Excellent work, people," snapped Runel as he looked around CIC, the main lights and several computer readouts flashing back to life. "Mister Templeton, get on the short-wave wireless and advise the other ships that we are back online; prepare for immediate combat jump to the Ragnar Anchorage."

"Aye, sir," replied Templeton as he absently adjusted his headset and sent out the message. "Savitri, Adroa and Ikenga all acknowledge signal and are ready to jump, Colonel."

"Very well," answered Runel as he looked up at the still blank DRADIS screen above. "Status of final evac from the tanker and freighters?"

"All supplies and personnel have been moved over, Colonel, ready to cut the ships loose on your order," replied Lieutenant Thorpe.

"Issue the order, Lieutenant," replied Runel flatly. "Set the scuttle charges for complete detonation ten seconds after we jump."

"Aye, sir, timers have been set."

"Action Stations," said Runel as he leaned in over the plot table and focused his eyes back in on the DRADIS as the system came back to life.

Snatching up his handset again, Lieutenant Thorpe toggled the switch for the overhead One-MC.

"Action Stations, Action Stations; set Condition One throughout the ship; all hands prepare for combat jump; Action Stations, Action Stations; set Condition One throughout the ship; all hands prepare for combat jump; this is not a drill."

Straightening back up, Runel reached back and massaged the significant knot in his lower back, then stretched a bit till he felt a satisfying crack, then looked back over to Lieutenant Thorpe.

"All decks report Action Stations, manned and ready, Colonel," began Thorpe as he stepped over to the FTL console. "We are ready to jump on your order, sir."

Taking a deep breath, Colonel Thadius Runel couldn't help but remember that two out of last three jumps had resulted in the Enceladus popping right into the middle of a vicious firefight.

Cracking his knuckles, he couldn't help but hope, silently, that this jump would be relatively uneventful; that they'd be able to jump out to the Ragnar Anchorage and link up with Commander Adama and the Battlestar Galactica without a hitch.

"Start the clock, Lieutenant Thorpe," said Runel as he leaned back in over the plot table, his eyes locked intently on the screens overhead.

"Aye, sir, jumping in five, four, three, two, one."

As before, but not nearly as distinct or overwhelming, Runel felt his perceptions skewed by the Enceladus' transition, literally, the folding of space, the infinity of creation contracting as the ship moved instantly from one point in space to another.

"Jump complete, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe a moment later as the young officer turned and hurried back over to the Operations panel.

Focusing his eyes back in on DRADIS, Runel saw Savitri, Adroa and Ikenga, all holding in neat formation with Enceladus.

And then he scowled.

"Contact!" snapped Thorpe as he dropped back into the seat at Operations. "Correction; multiple contacts, Colonel. Range; twenty-five hundred kilometers directly ahead."

"Battery plot, get me a firing solution on the double," snapped Runel as he focused in on three new icons on the DRADIS screen.

Then more appeared, several dozen more, smaller signatures…

Raiders…

"New contacts appear to be holding position near the mouth of the Ragnar entry corridor, Colonel," continued Thorpe.

Reaching down, Runel snatched up the handset on the side of the plot table.

"Templeton, put me on short-wave to the other ships," snapped Runel as he held the handset up to his ear.

"Sir, I'm picking up a Colonial transponder signal," called Lieutenant Thorpe urgently.

Runel paused, his eyes locked expectantly on Thorpe.

"Sir, I've got positive ID on the Battlestar Republica," continued Thorpe a moment later. "Sir, she is under attack, two Cylon Basestars confirmed, multiple Raiders."

Looking back up at DRADIS, Runel watched at the centermost icon changed to denote the position of the Battlestar Republica; the hapless vessel was clearly in distress and pinned between two Basestars, a deadly, swarming mass of accosting Raiders swirling around her.

So much for uneventful…

"Sir, we're receiving a message from Republica," called Petty Officer Templeton. "They request immediate assistance, Colonel."

"Helm, full ahead, get me a firing solution for the main bow batteries for the Basestar off the Republica's port bow," snapped Runel as he momentarily moved the handset mic away from him mouth.

"Aye, sir, answering full ahead," replied Petty Officer Pardi.

"Enceladus-Actual to Adroa and Ikenga," said Runel as he moved the mic back to his mouth.

"Adroa-Actual, go ahead Enceladus."

"Ikenga-Actual, send it."

"Break formation and execute a wide flanking turn off our Port, put down some covering crossfire for our approach," snapped Runel as he watched the Raiders continuing to swarm around Republica.

"Understood Enceladus."

"Copy that."

Runel went to hang the handset back up when the voice of Savitri's CO, Colonel Brianna Webber, broke in over the wireless.

"This is Savitri-Actual, I don't know what you've got in mind, but there's no way we're going to just sit this one out."

"This is Enceladus-Actual," began Runel pausing as he watched the Raiders continue to pound the Republica. "Keep to our stern and follow us in, when you reach your optimal engagement range, lay down cover fire for us by turning your ship for a full broadside against the Cylon lines."

"Copy that Enceladus, but what exactly are you planning to do?" asked Colonel Webber flatly. "You just got that bucket of yours operational again, can't imagine she'll be able to handle much punishment."

"We're going to rush the Basestar to port of Republica, try and get close before they have a chance to hit us, now just get me that cover fire," snapped Runel, slamming the handset down a moment later.

"Sixty Cylon Raiders have broken their attack on Republica, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe. "They're now closing with us, CBDR directly off our bow."

"Very well."

Focusing back in on DRADIS, Runel watched as the Adroa and Ikenga began a wide turn that was taking them outboard of the advancing Raiders. With Savitri falling in behind the Enceladus, the stout battlecruiser began a headlong rush towards the nearest of the two Cylon Basestars hammering the Battlestar Republica.

"ECM systems are active, Colonel; DC teams standing by," called Lieutenant Thorpe.

"Understood," replied Runel simply as he watched the advancing wall of Raiders continue to close the distance on the Enceladus.

"We have closed to optimum engagement range, Colonel," stated Lieutenant Thorpe urgently. "Main bow batteries have a firing solution."

"Order main bow batteries to commence fire, multiple inbound targets, flak loads," replied Runel evenly as he pointed up at the Raiders on DRADIS. "I want to punch a hole right through those Raiders and continue on to the nearest Basestar."

"Aye, sir."

A moment later, the dull thud of the bow batteries firing echoed throughout CIC.

On DRADIS, several of the Raiders at the center of the Cylon formation instantly vanished as the explosive flak loads tore them apart in a hail of shrapnel.

"Fifteen enemy targets destroyed, Colonel."

"Helm, maintain course and speed."

On DRADIS, Runel watched as per his order, Savitri stopped following the Enceladus, turned and opened up with a full broadside directly into the still-advancing Raiders. Although the idea that Savitri's ordnance was literally streaking by the Enceladus chilled Runel somewhat, he was nonetheless filled with satisfaction as still more of the Raiders were pummeled into oblivion by the hail of fire.

"Remaining Raiders are breaking off their attack, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe as Runel watched the advancing Raiders turn away and make a break back towards the Basestars.

"Oh, no you don't," whispered Runel venomously.

After pushing the Enceladus through two engagements where she'd been the one at the disadvantage, Runel suddenly felt a surge of bloodlust.

"Does Republica have any Vipers in the air?" asked Runel.

"Negative, Colonel," replied Thorpe. "Savitri reports they are ready to launch a sortie of their own fighters on your order."

"Tell them to hold for now," replied Runel as he glared up at DRADIS. "The less friendlies we have in the air, the less chance we have of knocking down one of our own in the crossfire."

"Aye, sir."

On the screen overhead, Runel watched as the Raiders continued their retreat away from the charging Enceladus with satisfaction. Nevertheless, he could not miss his intended target, the looming Cylon Basestar directly ahead that was still launching volley after volley into the faltering Battlestar Republica.

"Do we have a firing solution for our prime target, yet?" snapped Runel.

"Affirmative, Colonel, bow batteries are ready to fire on your order."

"Hot load, one-to-one HE to AP," said Runel as his hawkish eyes focused on the Basestar directly ahead. "All bow batteries, fire at will."

Again the dull thud of the bow batteries firing echoed through the air, the heavy ordnance racing out and ripping into the Cylon Basestar.

"Battery plot reports multiple impacts on target, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe.

"At the rapid rate, continue firing," replied Runel, leaning in over the plot table, his right hand clenching into a tight fist. "Break their backs."

"Adroa and Ikenga report they've reached optimum firing position for primary target," called Lieutenant Thorpe.

"Acknowledge and clear them hot for engagement of primary target."

"Aye, sir."

On DRADIS, the melee joined, Runel watched as the Cylon Baseship off the Republica's Port Bow began absorbing not only hits from Enceladus, but the fire now being laid down by the two destroyers as well.

"Change in aspect and range to target, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe as DRADIS continued to register multiple impacts on the enemy Baseship. "Looks like our primary target is attempting to break contact and retreat."

"Order Adroa and Ikenga to step up their rate of fire," snapped Runel. "Keep the pressure on; give them no quarter."

"Second Basestar has broken contact with Republica, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe. "Looks like they're trying and push out to our starboard flank."

Watching the DRADIS intently, Runel felt emboldened; the Cylons were losing.

And they knew it.

"They're trying and draw us away from our attack," noted Runel as he watched the second Baseship attempt to move out to Starboard of Enceladus.

Reaching down, he snatched up the handset and looked over at Templeton.

"Get me the Savitri."

"You're on, Colonel," replied Templeton a moment later.

"Enceladus-Actual to Savitri-Actual, you wanted in on the action, here's your chance; bring your ship around, wide turn off to our Starboard, drive that second Baseship off our flank."

"Will do, but we're not going to be able to stand toe-to-toe with that Basestar for long on our own," replied Colonel Brianna Webber flatly.

"You won't have to; just pin them in, rob them of their ability to maneuver freely," replied Runel flatly. "If you can hold them, they'll be right in position for a full broadside from our main dorsal batteries."

"Copy that, Enceladus."

With that, Colonel Webber terminated the transmission.

Hanging up the handset, Runel watched as the Savitri accelerated and turned into the second Basestar's axis of advance, effectively blocking it in. With their maneuver countered, the second Baseship now found itself in the crosshairs of both the Savitri and the Enceladus.

"Battery plot reports critical damage to primary target, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe. "Cylon Baseship is beginning to break up."

A moment later, the Cylon Baseship, its structural integrity compromised by the hammer blows being delivered by Enceladus, Adroa and Ikenga, vanished from DRADIS, succumbing to the withering fire.

But with the second Baseship still off to Enceladus' Starboard flank, Runel didn't skip a beat.

"Get on the wireless, order Adroa and Ikenga into a sweeping turn to Starboard, close the circle in around the second Baseship."

Watching DRADIS, absorbing the battle on a visceral level, Runel's attention focused in fully on the remaining Cylon Basestar as the Adroa and Ikenga again turned to engage.

With its own initial maneuver now having brought it into a position to be assailed from not just two, but now three different angles, the Cylons apparently conceded the contest, the Baseship vanishing from DRADIS as it performed an FTL jump.

"Cowards," hissed Runel bitterly under his breath even as several crewmembers around CIC let out shouts of exultation.

As the moment of euphoria faded, Runel turned to Templeton.

"Get on the wireless to Republica, find out what they need in the way of medical and DC teams," said Runel as he reached up and rubbed at the knot in his neck.

"I have Republica-Actual on wireless, sir," replied Templeton as he pointed over at the handset beside Runel.

"Pipe the feed over here," began Runel as he reached down and picked up the handset. "Also get Savitri, Adroa and Ikenga on the line as well."

"Aye, sir."

Holding the handset to his ear, Runel gave DRADIS one last glance before looking over at Templeton again, receiving a silent thumbs-up, indicating that all ships were now linked into the same wireless transmission.

"Battlestar Republica, this is Enceladus-Actual, what's your status?"

"Enceladus, this is Republica-Actual, thank you for the assist," began the audibly tired voice on the other end of the wireless transmission.

"Republica, we're mustering medical and DC teams at this time, we'll get them over to you shortly," continued Runel, still absently massaging at the knot in his neck.

"Belay that Enceladus," replied Republica's CO evenly. "The Cylons inflicted severe damage to our propulsion systems, FTL is a hopeless wreck at this point. At this time I'm ordering my crew to prepare to abandon ship."

Runel paused, taking a deep breath as he glanced up at the Republica's icon on DRADIS.

Having only just recently faced the very real possibility of having to abandon Enceladus, though thankfully not ultimately being forced to do so, Runel understood quite well the ramifications of such a decision; the damage must have indeed been severe for Republica's CO to decide to abandon her.

"We copy, Republica, you are abandoning ship," sighed Runel evenly as he continued to look at the crippled Battlestar's icon on DRADIS. "Are the outer airlocks along your flight pods still operational?"

"That's affirmative, Enceladus," replied Republica's CO, her voice sounding utterly exhausted, the sound of shouting crewmen echoing in the background.

"Very well, I'll maneuver Enceladus in alongside your Port pod," continued Runel as he cradled the handset against his shoulder and motioned with his hands to Petty Officer Pardi at the helm to begin the maneuver. "As soon as we've got hard-seal, we'll start the evac of your crew."

"Thanks again, Enceladus, I wasn't looking forward to putting my people off in lifeboats," continued Republica-Actual. "I see you have a Combatstar with your group, are they able to take on our air wing; abandoning Republica is bad enough, I'd hate to have to leave my Vipers and Raptors as well."

"Savitri-Actual, did you copy last?" asked Runel flatly.

"That's affirmative Enceladus, we copied," replied the voice of Colonel Brianna Webber. "We're already carrying a heavy deck right now; we'll have to do a bit of shuffling to make room, but we should be able to accommodate Republica's air wing."

"Republica copies, thank you Savitri, we'll be getting our birds aloft momentarily; easier to launch and land them under their own power than transfer them by EVA."

"Enceladus-Actual to Republica-Actual, no disrespect, but how is it your birds were on the deck and not in the air during the battle?" asked Runel flatly.

Runel internally winced after the words left this mouth. As honest an inquiry as it was, he realized that the words had lacked some tact, perhaps even sounding like some form of recrimination.

Gods he felt tired…

Nevertheless, if Republica's CO had taken any offense to the question, he didn't note any change in her tone when she in fact answered a moment later.

"I presume you've received the reports of our ships losing power as they moved to engage Cylon units?"

"Affirmative," replied Runel, remembering all too well when the same happened to Adroa, Ikenga and Savitri.

"Well, it seems that whatever is affecting our ships is also affecting our Vipers and some of the newer Raptors as well. Since we haven't yet figured out the cause of the problem, I simply kept them aboard. We already lost our escorts to this damned Cylon virus, or whatever it is, I wasn't about to lose good pilots as well."

"Copy that," sighed Runel as he watched Republica bloom with the signature icons of her launching air wing.

Within moments, the Vipers and Raptors had covered the short distance and were lining up for landing on the already packed decks of the Savitri.

"Be advised, all of our aircraft are off deck, Enceladus," stated Republica's CO. "We are prepared to take you alongside at this time for offload of crew, confirm you'll be docking along the Port flight pod?"

"Affirmative."

"This is Savitri-Actual," broke in Colonel Webber over the wireless. "Be advised, as soon as we've finished recovery of Republica's air wing, we'll pull in alongside the Starboard pod to expedite the evacuation."

"Copy that Savitri," replied Runel, somewhat relieved that the entire complement of the larger Republica wouldn't be trying to cram aboard his battlecruiser alone. "Enceladus-Actual to Adroa and Ikenga, maintain covering positions while we conduct evac."

Almost as soon as Adroa and Ikenga had confirmed the order, Runel watched on DRADIS as the two destroyers began a wide circle around the larger warships, covering them as the Enceladus and Savitri moved into the vulnerable docking positions along the flight pods of the crippled Battlestar Republica.

"Enceladus-Actual to Republica, inquiry; have you had any contact with the Battlestar Galactica?" asked Runel as he watched the Enceladus maneuver in alongside Republica for docking. "Last report we received Galactica-Actual was assuming command of fleet and had ordered a regroup here at Ragnar."

"That's a negative, Enceladus," replied Republica's CO. "We received the order for rendezvous but came under assault the moment we arrived, haven't had time to investigate the Ragnar Anchorage yet."

"Copy that," sighed Runel, feeling a slight rush of frustration.

While he knew his first duty lay in evacuating the Battlestar Republica, he nevertheless felt impatient about having to postpone his still-hoped-for rendezvous with Galactica.

Within minutes, the Enceladus had achieved a hard seal with several of the docking ports along Republica's Port flight pod. Savitri, having finished recovery operations for the Republica's air wing, was now likewise moving in for docking along the Starboard pod.

"We've begun receiving evacuees from Republica, Colonel," stated Lieutenant Thorpe.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," replied Runel as he continued to stand with the handset to his ear, waiting.

With his latent impatience still gnawing at him, Runel found himself quite literally gnawing at the inside of his lip.

"Lieutenant Thorpe, have repairs been completed on our hangar deck doors?" asked Runel flatly as he watched the Savitri complete her docking maneuver with Republica.

"Affirmative, sir."

"Prep a Raptor for a recon run down the chute," snapped Runel as he gently shifted his weight form one leg to another, his body feeling stiff. "We need to determine whether the Galactica is still at the Ragnar Anchorage."

"Copy that, sir," replied Thorpe as he picked up the handset at his station and called down to Enceladus' flight deck.

Reaching down, Runel flipped a switch that changed one of the overhead screens to a live camera feed from the security cameras down by the airlocks. At each open airlock, a long line of Republica's crewmembers, a good number of whom were wounded, shuffled their way aboard the Enceladus.

The expressions on their faces looked so defeated…

Taking a deep breath, Runel looked back over at DRADIS as the tracking icon for one of Enceladus' Raptors streaked away from the cluster of warships towards the entry corridor to the Ragnar Anchorage.

"Raptor is away, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe as he hung the handset back up. "Approximate travel time down the chute is forty minutes."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

His eyes settling back in on the security camera feeds, Runel was surprised when the DRADIS suddenly let out an alarm.

His attention snapping back, Runel's eyes darted about the display, searching for what he was sure would be the icon for a Raider, a Baseship, and entire Cylon fleet.

Within moments, however, Runel realized the alarm was not because of a returning Cylon warship, but rather because DRADIS was picking up a pilot's emergency distress beacon.

Somewhere out in space nearby, a Colonial pilot was signaling for rescue.

And then, to Runel's surprise, a second beacon was also activated.

---

Lieutenant Kieran Trevino, call sign 'Huffer', cradled the emergency wireless beacon in his shaking hands.

With hopeful anticipation, he sat strapped to the ejected cockpit seat looking out at the small cluster of Colonial warships that had driven off the Cylons.

He only vaguely recalled the harrowing experience of having the old Mark II Viper blown out from under him; the briefest recollection of engaging a trio of Raiders, an alarm going off on his panel, then his ejection system launching him clear of an erupting fireball. He'd survived the destruction of his Viper only to find himself floating amid the continuing battle surrounding the Battlestar Galactica's escape.

Huffer had haplessly been given a sideline seat as the remainder of the battle had unfolded around him. He'd watched as the civilian ships hiding behind Galactica's cover fire had jumped away one by one.

He'd watched as the two Basestars had pummeled the Galactica with their ordnance, a third arriving in the midst of the battle to try and prevent the venerable Battlestar from escaping.

He'd watched as the collection of antique Vipers had executed a last minute emergency landing.

And finally, he'd watched as the Battlestar Galactica herself jumped away.

For a while, he expected that at any moment he would see a Raider sweep in towards him, certain the last thing he would see in this life would be Cylon tracers stitching their way across space towards him.

And yet, miraculously, the Cylons didn't seem to know he was there.

Before long, one of the Basestars jumped away, leaving two to guard the entry corridor to Ragnar Anchorage.

As he sat watching the two Cylon Baseships, Huffer passed the time pondering which ultimate fate would be worse; allowing his oxygen supply to simply run out, or releasing the sealing clamps of his flight helmet and surrendering himself to the cold vacuum of space.

As his thoughts fought back and forth between the two possibilities, he continued to watch the two hovering Basestars, wondering time after time why they did not simply depart.

Surely they didn't expect the Galactica to return.

He certainly didn't expect the old Battlestar to come back, not for one lone pilot.

Indeed, from his vantage point it was clear that Galactica and the civilian ships had just barely escaped being destroyed. Commander Adama was too pragmatic to risk returning, not even a search and rescue mission, especially since Huffer doubted anyone aboard Galactica even knew he was still alive.

So it was that as Lieutenant Kieran 'Huffer' Trevino sat pondering his own demise, reconciling himself to simply letting his oh-two run out and fading away from oxygen deprivation, he was profoundly surprised when he saw the tell-tale flash of an FTL drive.

It was a Battlestar.

Far enough away that he had no way of knowing which Battlestar it was, he had nevertheless been given yet another sideline view of the battle as the two Basestars turned to engage the new arrival. Just as they'd done to Galactica, the Cylons mercilessly pummeled the newly arrived Battlestar. As the ship shuddered under the brutal Cylon barrage, it was clear, it would only be a matter of time before the Colonial warship succumbed.

And then the Fates turned the tables against the Cylons.

Several more Colonial ships jumped in and proceeded to execute a highly aggressive counterattack that managed to destroy one of the Basestars and drive off the second.

As the battle ended with the Cylon retreat, Huffer had broken from his stunned awe; hell, how often did one get such a stunning if terrifying view of so many leviathans mercilessly pounding one another; and fumbled to retrieve the emergency wireless beacon from his flight gear.

He'd almost lost his grip on the small device, his heart skipping a beat as it began to tumble away into space, but, thank the gods, he'd remembered to tether it to his gear. Within moments he managed to toggle the switch, sending out a distinct wireless signal that he hoped would allow the newly arrived Colonial ships to get a fix on his position.

All he could do now was wait.

Then, without warning, he was blinded by a bright light.

---

"Raptor crew reports they've picked up two pilots, Colonel," called Petty Officer Templeton.

"Did the pilots say which ship they're from?" asked Runel flatly as he watched the Raptor's icon on DRADIS.

"Affirmative, sir," replied Templeton as he glanced absently up at the DRADIS himself. "They say they're from the Battlestar Galactica."

"I want those pilots back here, ASAP."

"Aye, sir."

---

Letting out a hoarse cough as he took his first deep breath inside the Raptor, Lieutenant Kieran Trevino reached over and gratefully shook the hand of the ship's ECO.

"Thank the gods you found me," he muttered, the ECO simply smiling back at him as Trevino slowly set his helmet down on the deck.

Then, to his surprise, the next face Trevino saw was that of Lieutenant Shara Talbot, a fellow Viper pilot from Galactica.

"I thought I told you to jink to Port," she smiled as she reached down and gave him a nudge on the shoulder. "Got your ship blasted to pieces 'cause you didn't listen to your wingman."

"What about you?" countered Trevino with a smirk. "I don't exactly see a Viper strapped to your ass right now."

"I went to Starboard," shrugged Talbot. "What can I say, there were a lot of those bastards out there."

Letting out a chuckle, interrupted by another cough, Trevino looked out the forward cockpit of the Raptor as it raced back in towards its presumed carrier.

No, not a carrier, it was a battlecruiser.

The ship was docked alongside the Battlestar it had rescued from the Cylons.

Stepping up between the flight seats, Talbot looked out to try and get a view of the names of the ships.

The Battlestar was the Republica, her proud name scarred by impacts from Cylon ordnance.

The battlecruiser's name, no less marred, was Enceladus.

"Holy frak," he muttered. "Enceladus; never thought I'd see that ship again."

"Alive and kicking," replied the Raptor's pilot. "We've been jumping from one firefight to another ever since we broke off from escorting the Galactica two days ago."

"Adroa and Ikenga are tagging along as well," chimed in the ECO from the rear seat. "We jumped out to Armistice Station soon after we separated from the Galactica and it's been one frakin' Cylon mess after another ever since."

"What's that other ship along Republica's Starboard pod?" asked Talbot as she too stepped up next to Trevino.

"That's the Combatstar Savitri," replied the Raptor pilot as he lined up for final approach on Enceladus' comparatively diminutive flight deck. "Pulled their fat from the fire too, out near Rhapsody Station. In fact, you might find some friendly faces over there; the squadrons Galactica dropped off at Rhapsody before the attack are aboard her right now."

"No fraking way," scoffed Talbot as she glanced over at ECO.

"What can I say, we're building a real reputation for being in the right place at the wrong time," continued the ECO, his tone initially an odd mix of earnestness and sarcasm as he kept his eyes on his displays. "Too bad we didn't get here sooner though, damage to the Republica is too heavy; she's being evacuated as we speak."

Letting out a long sigh, Trevino stepped back towards the rear of the Raptor to retrieve his helmet.

"Colonel Runel wants to speak with you two," continued to ECO, the Raptor shaking slightly as it settled onto the deck of the Enceladus.

"No time for some chow and a shower I take it?" asked Trevino lightly.

"Not right now, my friend," replied the ECO as he began securing the Raptor's systems. "What can I say; it's been a fraked up day all around."

---

Colonel Thadius Runel cradled the cup of coffee in his hands as though it were ambrosia handed down from the gods themselves.

"Do we have that emergency escape jump plotted yet, Lieutenant Thorpe?" asked Runel as he gently blew at the misting cup in his hands.

"Affirmative, sir," replied Thorpe as he stepped over with a chart and spread it out across the plot table. "Emergency escape coordinates have been plotted and relayed to the other ships."

"Very well."

Leaving the chart overlay at the plot table for Runel to look over, Thorpe made his way back over to the Operations console.

Taking a tentative sip from the steaming cup, Runel looked up as a Marine in full combat gear ushered two pilots into CIC and directed them towards the plot table.

Harried as they look, hair matted by a thin layer of sweat, the two pilots nonetheless stepped up to the table, crisply came to attention, and rendered salutes.

"Lieutenant Kieran Trevino, Battlestar Galactica, reporting as ordered, Colonel."

"Lieutenant Shara Talbot, Battlestar Galactica, reporting, sir."

"At ease," replied Runel evenly, setting the cup of coffee down as he returned their salute.

As the two pilots went to parade rest, Runel looked over at them.

"No, I mean, it," said Runel as he motioned over at the two pilots. "At ease, before someone mistakes you for mannequins or something."

Relaxing a bit more, Trevino couldn't help but stifle a chuckle at the Colonel's comment.

As he continued to look them over, Runel picked the cup of coffee back up and took another sip.

The two pilots looked every bit as tired as he felt…

And by the way they were enviously eying the cup of coffee in his hands, they must have been feeling that every bit as tired themselves; punching out from a Viper in deep space in the middle of a firefight had doubtless ripped a few years off the ends of their lives…

But, they were at least still alive.

"First off, are either of you injured, need any medical attention?" he asked as he set the cup back down on the table.

"No, sir," replied Trevino and Talbot simply.

"Good to hear," sighed Runel, glancing warily back up at DRADIS. "While I'm sure you two have one hell-of-a story to tell, I'm afraid I'll have to wait for your formal after-action reports for the whole story; right now I just need you to tell me where the Galactica is. Is she still docked down at the Ragnar Anchorage?"

"Negative, Colonel, she's already departed the area," replied Trevino, his voice a touch hoarse.

"Do you know where she went?"

"Not precisely, Colonel," replied Talbot evenly. "After Galactica docked with the Ragnar Anchorage, several civilian ships arrived at the station seeking sanctuary. The President ordered Commander Adama to escort them out of the combat zone to safety."

"President Adar is alive?"

Talbot and Trevino both paused, exchanging a clearly hesitant glance with one another.

"No, sir, President Adar is dead," began Trevino evenly. "The office of the Presidency has been assumed by Laura Roslin."

The look on Runel's face must have conveyed that the name hadn't quite registered.

"The Secretary of Education, sir," offered Talbot.

"You're fraking kidding me right?" asked Runel, stifling a chuckle as he glanced at the duo.

"No, sir," replied Trevino flatly.

Runel took a deep breath as he stood silently looking at the two pilots. Then, wordlessly, he picked his cup back up, took an even deeper drag off the coffee, sincerely wishing for a moment that it were something a bit stiffer, then set the empty cup back down on the table.

"Well, that would be consistent with all the other crazy turns this day has taken," he said finally. "So where exactly did the 'President' order Commander Adama to escort the civilians too?"

"The Prolmar sector, sir," replied Trevino.

"The Prolmar sector," echoed Runel, absently looking down at the chart laid out on the plot table before him.

A thick red line ran across the far edge of the chart, denoting the farthest reach of known, charted space. Beyond that line was a simple label reading 'Prolmar sector'. Below that label, between two hash marks was the ominous sub-label 'unknown'.

"Prolmar sector is awfully big," sighed Runel simply as he looked over the chart. "Do you know of any time-table for the Galactica's return?"

"Galactica won't be returning, Colonel," replied Talbot evenly.

"What do you mean 'won't', Lieutenant?"

"When President Roslin ordered Commander Adama to escort the civilian ships out of Ragnar, it was quite clear she meant it to be for good."

"With no way of knowing whether any other ships survived, the President assumed no one else was left and made the decision to abandon the Colonies completely," finished Lieutenant Trevino.

Rubbing his aching eyes, Runel straightened up to stretch the significant ache in his lower back as well.

"We could follow them, couldn't we sir?" asked Talbot evenly.

"Without a better idea of where Adama may have jumped to, it would be like trying to find one particular needle in a mountain of needles, Lieutenant," replied Runel, glaring back down at the chart with tired eyes.

For a moment that harsh fact hung thick over the atmosphere in CIC; Runel looking at the chart, his crew looking over to him. Shoving the chart aside in mild disgust, Runel looked back up into their expectant eyes, sensing the question that hung over all their heads.

What do we do now?

No single act could shatter a ship CO's ability to control his crew than to admit he had no idea what to do next. He couldn't afford to make that mistake, especially after all they had endured so far.

His crew deserved better than indecision on his part.

"All right people, listen up," he snapped, straightening up and looking out at the crew around CIC. "I know we were hoping to be able to link back up with Commander Adama and the Galactica, but, until we have a better idea where they are, we can't afford to waste fuel searching for them. With a little luck, maybe a well-placed prayer to the gods, perhaps we'll find a way to catch up to her. But for now, right now, I need you all to keep your heads in the game, we still have a mission; we'll continue search and rescue operations, try to link up with any other scattered Colonial units that might still be out there."

Clearly disheartened and every bit as tired as he was, most of his CIC crew nevertheless nodded in acknowledgement.

Taking a breath, Runel looked back over at Talbot and Trevino for a moment.

"Now, I need you all to understand, above all else, this isn't over," he continued, his tone firm, full of conviction. "The Cylons may have started this fight, but that doesn't mean they've won it. We will take every opportunity to hit the Cylons where it hurts, as hard as we can and as often as we can. We'll fight these bastards, and continue to fight them until we can't!"

Runel paused, taking a moment look once more around at his CIC crew, catch eyes with each and every one of the expectant faces looking to him.

"So say we all?" he asked expectantly.

Instantly, everyone in CIC chorused, "So say we all!"

Heartened, each of the faces around him seemed to have a renewed resolve, the moment of uncertainty once again dissolving into determination. For Runel, it felt like electricity pouring over his tired body, invigorating, rejuvenating him.

"So say we all," he whispered, nodding in approval as he looked into their resolute faces. "Okay, we have an evacuation to complete, let's get back to it people."

As everyone around CIC refocused themselves on their work, Runel turned back to Lieutenants Talbot and Trevino.

"Main galley is still picking up the pieces after a Cylon missile strike, but the Officer's Mess should still have some Mid-Rats available; grab some chow and then head down to sickbay for a full physical, just in case."

"Aye, sir," replied the two pilots in unison as they turned and headed out of CIC.

"Lieutenant Thorpe, status of Republica evac?"

"Nearly three quarters of the crew have been transferred, sir," replied Thorpe instantly as he stepped over to Colonel Runel with a few hand-scribbled notations. "We've even begun receiving some supplies; food stuffs, small arms and related munitions, spare parts…"

Overhead, DRADIS suddenly let out a shrill alarm.

His attention snapping back to the overhead displays, Runel watched in repressed horror as six Cylon Basestars jumped into range.

"Contacts!" shouted Thorpe instinctively as he dropped the hand-written notes down on the plot table and practically vaulted back over to the Operations console.

"This is Republica, we've got six Basestars bearing down on us Enceladus," snapped the voice of Republica's CO over the overhead speakers.

"We confirm, Republica," said Runel a split second after snatching up the handset on the side of the plot table.

"They're launching Raiders!" shouted Thorpe as the closing Basestars blossomed with literally hundreds of smaller signatures. "Estimate two minutes till they're within weapons range."

"Copy," snapped Runel simply.

As he moved the handset back in over his mouth, Runel was suddenly knocked off balance, dropping the handset he reached out and grabbed hold of the plot table.

Instantly, his mind raced to figure out what it was that was happening to his ship; they were still well outside Cylon engagement range…

"Decompression alarms along Starboard airlocks," called Thorpe as the shuddering continued. "We are losing hard seal with Republica!"

No, it wasn't weapons impacts…

In horror, Runel suddenly realized what was happening…

The Republica was trying to break away…

"Seal all airlocks, now, Lieutenant!" shouted Runel as he fumbled to get a hold of the dangling handset. "Emergency breakaway!"

Finally grabbing hold of the handset, Runel snapped it up to his ear.

"This is Enceladus-Actual, what in the name of the gods do you think you're doing, Republica?"

"Savitri has achieved emergency break-away, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe, a split second before Enceladus herself ceased shuddering. "All airlocks are sealed; we have full breakaway."

"This is Republica, get clear, Enceladus, that's an order," replied the voice of Republica's CO flatly. "Execute your jump, get my people out of here, we'll keep these mother-frakers off your backs."

Speechless, Runel watched on DRADIS as the crippled Republica, now clear of Enceladus and Savitri quickly began accelerating towards the closing Cylon Raiders and Baseships.

For a split instant, Runel wondered just how many crewmembers had been lost when the gantry ways broke loose, trapped in between the ships as the Republica had literally torn herself loose, condemned to a cold, harsh death in the vacuum of space.

No, Republica's CO had made the right call, however harsh; the breakaway had been necessary.

Linked together, they'd all been vulnerable.

Runel looked back up at DRADIS, was about to speak, but stopped.

Even at full strength, his group would never have been able to fend off six full Basestars.

In the battered condition they were in now, a fight would be a rapid suicide.

They'd run out of time.

They'd also run out of options.

"Templeton, send out the order; all ships execute emergency jump, now," said Runel, his eyes never leaving DRADIS.

"Aye, sir," answered Templeton simply, his tone somber.

Within moments, Runel watched as first the Adroa, then Ikenga, and finally Savitri jumped away.

"FTL drives are spun and ready to initiate jump on your order, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe.

Runel stood there for a moment, watching DRADIS as Republica charged headlong into the wall of approaching Raiders. Pouncing upon the crippled Battlestar, the Raiders swarmed around her like angry insects trying to take down a big game animal, their individual stings insignificant, but their collective strike exacting a harsh toll upon the dying warship.

The Republica had no weapons left…

She had no fighters…

No FTL…

No hope for survival…

Nevertheless, she pushed relentlessly through the brutal attack, her path clearly a collision course with one of the Cylon Basestars.

"Colonel?" snapped Thorpe urgently.

"I heard you, Lieutenant!" barked Runel as the sound of Republica under punishing assault filtered through the overhead speakers.

"I said get the hell out of here, Enceladus, that's an order!" crackled the voice of Republica's CO, her frantic voice barely audible over the terrible pounding of Cylon ordnance and the terrified cries of her remaining crew in the background.

A moment later, the line went dead, dissolving into static.

With a sense of finality, Runel hung up the handset.

"Go with the gods, Republica," he whispered. "Initiate jump, Lieutenant Thorpe."

His eyes locked on DRADIS, Runel watched as the Republica, the Cylons, and Ragnar itself, the gas giant standing like an apathetic witness to the death being dealt in its orbit, disappeared.

---

Battlestar Pacifica
Colonial Fleet Reserve Depot Orbital Annex
Sagittaron Colony

"We're running out of time," sighed Adrian Kelso as he watched the six Raiders pass out of DRADIS range.

Pacifica herself, of course, wasn't sending out active DRADIS sweeps. Instead, the feed was coming from one of the Raptors that had been deployed to the edges of the mothballed fleet anchorage to act as pickets for this very reason.

As sad a truth as it was, it was better to have the Raptors detected and lose their two-man crews than to risk losing the Pacifica or any of the other ships being pressed back into service for the evac.

Taking a deep breath as the Raiders disappeared from view Kelso, watched as a few civilian ships, nestled just above the heavily irradiated upper atmosphere, powered back up and completed the last leg of their journey to the waiting decommissioned vessels at the Orbital Annex.

"Sir, I'm receiving short-wave wireless from Asterica," called Capshaw as she motioned for Kelso to pick up the handset on the side of the plot table. "Director Bess wishes to speak with you."

Picking up the handset, Kelso kept a keen eye on the overhead DRADIS.

"One of these days we'll have to meet in person you know," said Kelso evenly as he continued watching DRADIS. "Glad to see you finally made it into orbit, though."

"Not as glad as I am to be in orbit," replied Bess evenly. "Weather down there is turning pretty foul."

"I see that," replied Kelso somberly as he watched the screen waver from the ever-increasing amounts of radioactive fallout in the upper atmosphere.

"The last of evacuees are being loaded up now," continued Bess. "We should be able to get the hell out of here within the hour. How go the repairs on your FTL systems?"

"Well I'd be overstating the matter if I said Franklin was singing praises to the gods right now," replied Kelso with a wry grin. "But now that his wife and daughters are up here as well as his grandsons, he's got all the motivation he needs. We should be ready to get underway as soon as the last evac loads reach orbit."

"Let's hope so," sighed Bess. "Those Raiders passed just a little too close for my comfort; I don't want to be here if the skies get crowded again."

"How many people do you still have down on the surface?"

"Marines, tower personnel, local law enforcement helping keep the crowds under control, some civilian medics," muttered Bess, apparently attempting to figure out the answer off the top of his head. "Probably around five hundred or so."

---

"I hope they plan on keeping one of those ships on the deck for us," muttered Private Sati as he glanced over his shoulder at the two remaining civilian liners on the tarmac.

Casting a glance back, Lance Corporal Bowman also found himself hoping the same, though he didn't say so openly.

The last load of civilians was already being hurried aboard one of the transports. Ostensibly, that meant the last transport was waiting for the Marines.

Suddenly, a shot rang out…

Dropping to the deck, Bowman practically had to drag the stunned Sati along with him.

His eyes darting about, carbine at the ready, Bowman scanned the tree line beyond the fence, the entry gate, everything, searching for the source of the shot.

Just as quickly, Bowman heard a commotion erupt back over near the control tower.

Looking over, Bowman saw a local police officer was struggling with another man dressed in civilian attire. Over beside the Control Tower, a Marine medic knelt beside another figure writhing on the tarmac.

Peeling himself up off the tarmac, Bowman dashed the short distance over towards the struggle. As the police officer continued to struggle with the man, Bowman brought his carbine up, delivered a quick butt stroke to the man's cheek and then deftly thrust it into his stomach. Crumpling over from the impacts, the stunned man wheezed from having the wind fully knocked from him. As the man crumpled to the ground, Bowman dropped his left knee down onto the man's wrist, his right knee squarely in the middle of his chest, stripping the pistol from his grip as the police officer pulled a pair of mechanical restraints from a pouch on his belt.

"Flip him over," grunted the officer after he fastened the restraint to one of the struggling man's wrists.

As Bowman pulled his knee from off the man's chest, the shooter gasped for air as he was unceremoniously flipped over onto his stomach. Pulling the man's other arm in behind his back, the police officer went to fasten the restraint around the second wrist.

"Alright, he's secured," announced the officer as he roughly snapped the mechanical restraints into place around the shooter's wrists.

Panting heavily from the exertion of subduing the shooter, both Bowman and the police officer stood up, leaving the still gasping man lying on the tarmac.

"What the frak is going on?" shouted Captain Gaines as she jogged up to the scene.

"Mother-fraker apparently wasn't happy with his place in line," replied the police officer as he motioned over to where the Marine medic was tending to another man lying on the ground. "He fired off a shot, hit the tower controller in the shoulder."

"Doc, is he going to make it?" asked Gaines as a couple of civilian medics rushed up to assist the Marine Medic.

"Round went clean through, got entry and exit," replied the Medic, Corporal Jenna Peters, as she pressed down on the wound with a clean dressing. "But, he could still go into shock, we need to get him up to a sickbay."

"Just when I thought this day couldn't get any more fraked up," muttered Sal Coleman as he grunted against the pain of the medic pressing down on the dressing.

"Get him aboard the transport," said Gaines as Peters and a couple of the civilian medics who'd likewise rushed over helped Coleman to his feet. "You can get a better dressing onto the wound while you're moved up into orbit."

"Aye, Captain," replied Peters as she and the civilian medics began to lead the injured Coleman off towards one of the two remaining transports.

Looking down at the shooter as he lay on the deck, Gaines shook her head.

"Get him up," hissed Gaines as she stepped back over.

As Bowman and the police officer hoisted the man up to his feet, the short-statured Gaines stepped right up into the man's now-bruised face.

Gaines was about to speak, but she paused, and instead looked back over at the police officer.

"You got another set of those restraints?" she asked simply.

"Yes I do, Captain," replied the police officer, pulling a second set from his belt pouch and handing them to Gaines.

Taking them, Gaines motioned with her head for Bowman to bring the man along with her.

Stepping back over towards the control tower, Gaines stopped next to an electrical conduit running along the side of the tower.

"Here," she said, pointing at a spot next to the conduit.

As Bowman shoved the man over the spot Gaines indicated, the Captain suddenly kicked out with her foot, her boot making solid contact with the backside of the man's knee, crumpling him to the deck.

As he lay writhing in new pain on the ground, Gaines reached down, and with a grunt, yanked him closer to the conduit, snapped one side of the mechanical restraint around the set already in place around the man's wrists, and then secured the other end firmly to the conduit.

That done, Gaines stood back up and keyed her wireless handset.

"All units, this is Junkyard-Six; prepare for evac; last boat out; team leaders prepare to get everyone aboard; assemble on me at the tower."

As the individual team leaders acknowledged, the Marine Reserve Officer, Captain Brenner stepped up.

Looking around the tarmac, Gaines and Brenner watched as the deployed Marines, civilian police and medics began to pull back towards the control tower.

"Looks like we pulled it off," said Brenner as he watched the teams jog in from the fence line.

Glancing up, Gaines caught sight of the Scimitar gunship as it made a wide pass over the perimeter, the tiny ship having made use of itself ever since being unloaded from the transport carrying Brenner and his Reservists by keeping watch on the surrounding countryside.

"Will they be able to make it up into orbit on their own?" asked Gaines as she watched the Scimitar begin another wide turn over the two remaining transports.

"They should have enough fuel," replied Brenner as he looked back around the tarmac.

All around the area, opened and unopened crates littered the once immaculately clear tarmac; debris from the efforts to move as many supplies into orbit along with the evacuees.

"What about him?" asked the police officer as he pointed over at the restrained gunmen.

"Frak him, we should leave him for the Cylons," replied Gaines bitterly.

"You can't do that!" shouted the man, his voice utter panic. "You have to take me with you!"

"Hate to admit it, but he's right," muttered the police officer. "Bit of a violation of his civil liberties."

"It would be kind of tuff to explain why we left a civilian cuffed to the control tower," interjected Captain Brenner.

"I don't have a problem with it," shrugged Bowman, immediately drawing a few curious glances.

Letting out a long sigh, Gaines looked over and saw that most everyone had finally reached the control tower, Marines, civilian police, emergency workers, everyone still left planet-side at the depot. Behind them, one of the transports started to lift away from the tarmac, the other still sitting with its hatchway open, waiting. Overhead, the Scimitar made another low pass.

At last, the final team assembled on Gaines at the control tower.

"Okay Marines, we've pulled off one hell-of-a damned good job today," she said simply as she pointed over towards the final waiting transport. "Now it's our turn to get the hell off this rock. Civilians first; police, EMT's form up into your evac sticks, two by two, ten meters between each pair, everyone else spread out and wait your turn. Let's get it done!"

With that, the assemblage spread back out into a wide circle around the assembly area, some taking a knee, others simply standing; half their attention on the trees, half their attention on the waiting transport.

As the whine of the transports engines coming up to an idle echoed out across the tarmac, Gaines looked over at the horizon; the sun had begun to set casting surreal hues of orange through the distant plumes of dust being carried skyward.

If those dust clouds had been anything else but the radioactive plumes of nuclear ordnance snuffing out cities, it might have been a lovely view.

Looking back over at the transport, Gaines saw that most of the civilian police officers and EMT's had made their way aboard the transport, their eagerness to leave creating its own efficiency in that regard.

"Okay, Reservists next, two by twos," snapped Gaines evenly as she toggled the transmit switch for her wireless set.

Again, at the ends of the wide circle, Marine Reservists two at a time began to jog away towards the transport.

"Well," sighed Brenner, grinning widely as Gaines turned back to look at the Reserve Captain. "Looks like we did it, none too soon either, the Scimitar thinks it saw…"

The round ripped through Brenner's head so suddenly, so explosively that Gaines felt the mortally wounded officer's blood spray across her face before she heard the thunderous crack of the shot echo through the air.

Stunned, Gaines watched as Brenner's limp body, the entire left side of his head shattered, crumbled to the ground.

Absently wiping the warm blood from her face, Gaines suddenly had the wind knocked from her as the Private Kevin Sati tackled her, more shots echoing through the air as they tumbled to a stop.

Finding herself looking up into Private Sati's dead eyes, Gaines slowly, desperately swam back to coherency as she shoved the dead Marine's body off of her, flopping it over onto the tarmac, blood pouring from the gaping wounds through his chest.

"Cylons!" shouted someone.

With the sound of rapid gunfire echoing out across the area, a thunderous barrage began ripping up the concrete, ripping up Marines, medics and police, everything.

"Take cover!" shouted Gaines, at last breaking from her shock.

The first pair of Marines who'd set off towards the transport, apparently not hearing the order to take cover over the transport engines, disappeared in a hail of gunfire, the rounds tearing up the tarmac around them as they collapsed. Stunned, the attendant at the top of the transport's entry gantry ducked back inside the hatchway.

Total chaos erupted all around the landing field.

Marines caught in the open dropped down to the ground, clutching at their helmets as neat impact lines stitched their ways towards them, around them, and in some cases, through them. Still more made mad dashes towards the storage crates littering the airfield.

Some made it…

Others didn't…

Gaines's eyes darted about the tarmac; all around, bodies lying still, blood pouring out of wounds; one Marine lay writhing on the ground, clutching his belly as another Marine dashed across the open, grabbed hold of his belt and began desperately pulling the injured man, only to be cut down himself.

Slowly, a few of the Marines recovered from the shock of the sudden ambush and began returning fire towards the tree line bordering the airfield.

Focusing her attention again, this time on the tree line, Gaines watched as first one, then three, a dozen, two-dozen chrome figures emerged from the underbrush.

They were Cylons, no doubts about that.

That menacing red eye pulsating back and forth…

But they were not like the ones Gaines was used to seeing in museum display cases; they were newer, larger, more angular and severe looking, with slender limbs and arm-mounted cannons that were laying down a terrifying hail of gunfire, raining death across the huddled figures strewn about the flight line.

Deftly bringing her carbine up, Gaines clicked the safety off and fired a few rounds at the chrome figures.

No effect…

She aimed in again, center mass, and pulled the trigger.

If the rounds had hit, and Gaines was certain her aim had been true, it didn't seem to have any effect.

Barely fazed, if at all, the Cylon she'd been aiming at turned and returned fire in Gaines's direction.

Dropping flat to the deck, Gaines watched as the rounds, rounds meant for her, ripped into the already still form of Captain Brenner and then into the hapless man cuffed to the control tower.

Peeking her head up ever so slightly to reacquire sight on the Cylons, Gaines watched in horror as still more rounds fired by some of her Marines slammed into the chrome figures and literally bounced off.

Their standard issue soft-core ammo was completely ineffective…

"Oh, frak me…"

---

Bowman huddled in closer behind the half empty crate of soap, or beans, whatever the frak had been inside, and closed his eyes as Cylons rounds ripped the upper edges of the crate into splinters. Slowly ducking down a little more with each impact, Bowman peaked his eyes open and looked around.

Bodies lay strewn out across the tarmac, some clearly dead, others writhing in horrific pain, some actually continuing to shoot back defiantly until another neat line of Cylon rounds stitched their way towards them, finishing them off.

"Motherfrak me, our rounds aren't doing a fraking thing to them!" shouted someone over the wireless, Bowman wasn't quite certain who.

Peeking out from around the corner of the crate, Bowman watched as the rounds being fired back at the Cylons did indeed do little more than plink harmlessly against their armored hides.

As if not believing his own eyes, Bowman drew down with his own carbine, and fired off a few rounds.

Nothing…

"Oh, that's just not right," he grunted as he slumped back in against the crate.

Looking down, Bowman caught sight of his holstered sidearm.

One thought flashed through his mind.

Explosive rounds…

Yanking the sidearm clear of the holster, Bowman reached into an ammo pouch on his gear, pulled an explosive round out, slipped it into the sidearm's under-slung launcher, then peered out around the corner of the crate again.

The range was a little far, but…

Aiming in, Bowman slowly lifted the barrel of the sidearm a bit higher to arc the round a little further, and then fired the explosive round.

With a satisfying thud, the explosive round hit home, tearing a significant hole in the Cylon's chest armor. Stunned, malfunctioning, the Cylon twitched for a moment where it stood, then dropped to the ground in a heap.

"Explosive rounds!" shouted Bowman into his wireless mic as he ducked back in behind the crate and fumbled in the ammo pouch for another round. "Use your sidearms!"

After loading another explosive round into the sidearm's launcher, Bowman again peered around the crate, looking for another target.

At first he wasn't sure anyone else had heard him, but as he began to drawn down on another Cylon with his side arm, two explosive rounds fired by someone somewhere else ripped into the Cylon, dropping it.

Looking for still another target, Bowman caught sight of two Cylons erecting something at the edge of the tree line.

As they slid a cylinder into place, he realized what it was; a mortar.

As one of the Cylons dropped the first round down the mortar tube, the projectile launched skyward with a cracking thud, falling back down and exploding a few meters away, right in the center of a cluster of Marines.

Aiming in, he fired another explosive round.

One of the Cylons manning the mortar was thrown back by the impact, tumbling back into the bushes with a crash.

A hail of gunfire slammed into the crate next to him, shredding it still further, kicking up a torrent of splintered wood that rained down around Bowman.

Looking up, Bowman caught sight of Corporal Sera Lenore as she dashed over towards one of the Marines who'd been hit by the mortar blast.

Glancing back over at the lone Cylon still manning the mortar, Bowman saw the machine preparing to load another round into the tube.

His attention snapping back to Lenore, Bowman saw her trying to pull one of the still writhing Marines back in behind cover.

"Get out of there, Lenore!" he shouted into the wireless.

If she'd heard him, she gave no indication.

"Frak!"

Jumping up, Bowman sprinted out across the tarmac, the crisp crack of rounds ripping through the air around him spurring him still faster.

Not looking away, not slowing, Bowman dashed headlong towards Lenore as he heard the low thump of the mortar firing.

A split second later, Bowman slammed full force into Lenore, the two of them collapsing hard against the ground, tumbling away as the mortar round, fortuitously a ground-burst rather than an air-burst, exploded on the exact spot they had occupied only a moment before.

His ears ringing, Bowman lay prone across Lenore as the dust and concrete tossed up by the blast rained down around them.

"Get the frak off of me!" shouted Lenore as she shoved at Bowman.

"You're welcome," huffed Bowman as he scooted back in behind another crate, all but dragging Lenore behind him as he moved.

"Let go of me!" snapped Lenore as she shoved at his arm.

Fumbling with another explosive round, Bowman loaded the round, peaked around the crate, aimed in and fired, knocking out the second Cylon at the mortar.

"With all due respect, Corporal, stay here, you'll live longer!" barked Bowman as he looked back over at Lenore.

Her expression utterly shocked, Lenore was speechless but nevertheless remained behind the crate as Bowman reaching down into his ammo pouch, his hand fumbling about fruitlessly inside.

It was empty…

He was out of explosive rounds…

Glancing around, Bowman caught sight of the shredded remains of the Marine Lenore had been trying to pull to safety.

Although little remained but a torso, Bowman saw an intact explosive round lying near the body.

Slowly, mindful of the rounds ripping through the air all around, he began to crawl back out across the tarmac.

Looking back over at the tree line, he saw that the mortar was still out of action, at least, the Cylons manning it were, but about two-dozen more stood firing from the tree line with relative impunity, their withering fire keeping the Colonials completely pinned down.

As he again began making his way towards the explosive round lying on the ground, Bowman glanced up just in time to see one of the Cylons turn his direction and raise up its arm-mounted weapons. With a slight kick, Bowman quickly rolled to his side, back towards the crate as a line of rounds stitched across the concrete where he'd just been lying.

With a thump, he slumped back in against the crate, bumping into Corporal Lenore, who simply sat glaring back down at him.

"Hello again, Corporal," he grinned. "Don't suppose you have any explosive rounds on you?"

---

Captain Gaines glanced rapidly around the flight line.

For all the shock of the initial ambush, her people had seemed to recover enough to at least consolidate into small groups behind cover.

Huddled in behind crates, debris, whatever they could find, several of them continued to brave the withering fire being laid down by the Cylons to fire off explosive rounds from their sidearms, apparently the only ammo they had that was having any effect.

Unfortunately, not everyone was armed with the sidearms, most simply had the relatively ineffective carbines.

Those that did were for the most part able to fire off their rounds and duck rapidly back down behind cover.

A few were not so lucky.

All about the tarmac, bodies lay writhing, screaming, several more not moving at all, sickening pools of blood collecting beneath them.

Marines, Reservists and Active alike, as well as a few of the civilian cops and EMTs who hadn't yet made it aboard the transport were pinned down, dead or dying.

With a grunt of angry frustration, Gaines slammed the crate with her elbow.

Looking out across the tarmac, she caught sight of the transport still waiting, engines at high idle, the attendant who had been waiting at the entry hatch now lying crumpled at the bottom of the loading stairwell.

The Scimitar gunship was on the horizon making a wide arc back towards the airfield.

Suddenly, a dull thump echoed out across the flight line, punctuating the deafening staccato of small arms fire.

Peeking over the crate, Gaines saw that the Cylons had managed to set up a second mortar position.

The crisp crack of the round exploding startled Gaines.

With horror, she realized the Cylons were attempting to shell the civilian transport.

Fortunately, the first round had landed short.

"Junkyard-Six to Colonial-Heavy Two-Zero-Seven," snapped the Captain as she toggled the switch for the wireless. "We can't get to you, seal up and get the frak out of here while you still can!"

For a moment, she received no response from the crew of the civilian liner.

Another dull thump, and another round landed, still closer to liner, close enough that debris clattered down against the hull.

"Junkyard-Six to Colonial-Heavy Two-Zero-Seven, do you copy? Get the frak out of here now!"

"We copy, Junkyard-Six," replied the audibly somber voice of the liner pilot.

As the low whine of the engines at idle was replaced by them throttling up, the civilian liner began to lift from the ground, knocking over the roll-away stairs as the ship trembled for a moment then jumped into the air.

A hard gust of wind blasted across the debris strewn tarmac, sending a roiling mass of flotsam tumbling across the ground as the ship ascended into the air, the sound of its engines fading as it rapidly ascended away.

In the distance, Gaines saw the Scimitar continuing to turn back in towards the airfield.

"Junkyard-Six to Scimitar One-Zero-Five, do you copy?"

"This is Scimitar One-Zero-Five, we copy, send your traffic."

"You are to provide escort for Colonial-Heavy Two-Zero-Seven; get them into orbit."

As with the civilian liner, there was a pause.

---

Scimitar One-Zero-Five

"She can't be serious," muttered Lieutenant John Becker. "They're getting ripped to shreds down there; they'll be trapped."

Holding the controls of the Scimitar steady, Lieutenant Samantha Larson hesitated to answer.

Under fire, Captain Gaines had basically consigned herself and her people to die at the airfield by ordering the liner to lift off without them.

True, the Cylons had them pinned down.

Still, in the midst of all that had already been lost, it was hard to leave people behind.

"Do you copy, Scimitar One-Zero-Five?" barked the voice of Captain Gaines over the wireless, the sharp snap of an explosion echoing in the background.

"Scimitar One-Zero-Five copies," growled Lieutenant Larson as she reluctantly pulled back on the stick, nosing the Scimitar skyward after the rising civilian liner.

Angling the agile craft slightly to the left, Larson looked back down at the airfield.

In the fading light of the setting sun, the distinct muzzle flashes of the Cylons and Marines exchanging fire could be seen.

And there were a lot of muzzle flashes.

Rolling the craft back away, Larson forced herself to look skyward, focusing in on the sight of Colonial-Heavy Two-Zero-Seven's stern directly ahead.

"Scimitar One-Zero-Five to Colonial-Heavy Two-Zero-Seven," sighed Larson as she slipped in neatly behind the rising liner. "We've got your tail."

---

Watching the Scimitar rise away after the liner, framed against the setting sun, Gaines felt her heart sink a bit.

True she was the one who had ordered the two craft away, but damned if she wasn't able to feel the impact of the decision, the sense of looming hopelessness at consigning not only herself but her people as well to being slaughtered on the ground by the Cylons.

"This is Junkyard-Six, team leaders give me a status report," snapped Gaines as she glanced over the top edge of the crate.

A dull thump, no two, the first mortar had another crew and was back in action, and two distinct explosions ripped out across the tarmac.

"This is Junkyard One-Three, I've got twelve people over here pinned down, three wounded, no eyes on target."

"Junkyard One-Five, seven down, two KIA, unable to get a good bead on them here either."

The next several transmissions pretty much told the same story; everyone was pinned down; between the mortar and small arms fire being put down by the Cylons, breaking from cover had become veritable suicide.

A few people had managed to pick off a couple of the Cylons with explosive rounds, but with the sun beginning to set and most of the rounds having already been fired, Gaines felt her already too few options whittling down to even fewer.

"Can anyone break out to the flank?" she huffed, flinching as another mortar round exploded, this one much closer.

Several brisk replies of 'negative' left Gaines searching for something, anything.

If she was going to die, she didn't want to do it huddled behind a crate.

---

Lieutenant Samantha Larson slowly, tensely flexed her fingers around the control stick, her eyes practically glaring at the aft end of Colonial-Heavy Two-Zero-Seven.

Over the wireless, the chatter between the Marines on the ground left little doubt about the inevitable outcome of the battle taking place; the grunts were going to be blasted, shot up and slaughtered unless something, someone, intervened.

Larson felt her jaw beginning to ache; she hadn't even realized she'd been clenching her teeth.

"Colonial-Heavy Two-Zero-Seven, what's your status?" asked Larson.

"Everything is fine over here, should be breaking atmo in a few minutes."

"Copy that," replied Larson simply.

Looking down at DRADIS, even through the interference being created by the radiation, Larson saw nothing in the skies except for Colonial-Heavy Two-Zero-Seven.

"What are you thinking, Sam?" muttered Becker warily from the rear seat.

"I'm thinking we're flying a bit heavy right now," replied Larson evenly as she punched a few keys that ran the computer through a check on the small ship's ordnance inventory. "Thought we might try and drop some of this ordnance we have tucked underneath, bring our weight down a bit before we break orbit."

"Uh, huh," replied Becker dubiously. "And I'm sure you already have an idea of where you'd like to drop it?"

"I have an idea, yes," answered Larson, grinning. "Any objections?"

"I'm just along for the ride," replied Becker flatly as he reached out to the weapons control panel before him and began arming the small craft's weapons systems.

"Scimitar One-Zero-Five to Colonial-Heavy Two-Zero-Seven," began Larson as she reached up and tightened the chair retention straps draped over her shoulders. "Your escape trajectory is looking good and the skies are clear of bandits; we've got something we need to take care of really quick back down on the surface."

"This is Colonial-Heavy Two-Zero-Seven, we copy you Scimitar One-Zero-Five," replied the civilian liner's pilot, his tone indicating he already understood what it was the Scimitar crew was about to do. "Gods be with you, and good hunting."

With a hard yank on the control stick, Larson nosed the Scimitar over, the gut-wrenching turn rapidly shifting the view through the canopy from the endless sky above to the vast, darkening ground below.

"Hold on tight, Becker, cause I'm kicking in the turbos," said Larson as she flexed her fingers around the small ship's throttle controls.

"No point going anywhere if you're not willing to get there fast; let's do it."

Pushing the throttles open all the way, the kick of acceleration pushed Larson back into her seat, the Scimitar, pulled by gravity and pushed by its own powerful engines, dove in, crashing through the sound barrier.

---

With the sun fading fast on the horizon, Gaines knew the coming dusk and darkness did little to help the Marines pinned down by Cylon fire.

Cylons had infrared.

Gods damn it if most of their own night-vision gear wasn't sitting in the equipment locker back at the guard shack.

Another mortar round exploded, this time far too close for Gaines's comfort, concrete and other debris raining down around her, the dust blinding her momentarily.

With the Marines spread out, holding to whatever cover they could find, the Cylons were beginning to shell the area, methodically peppering them with indirect fire.

As the dust cloud around her cleared a bit, she again peered over the crate.

Damned Cylons had put a third mortar into place…

A round slammed into her helmet, the impact tossing her over onto the tarmac.

Stunned, her head aching, Gaines reached up and unhooked her chinstrap.

Dazed, Gaines held up her helmet and saw two holes ripped through the laminate construct; one entry and one exit.

Tossing the now-useless helmet aside, Gaines reached up, touched her head, and felt a sharp pain. Pulling her hand back down, she saw that her fingers had blood on them.

Ignoring the pain, Gaines pressed down on the wound and scooted back in behind the crate as another mortar round exploded even closer, raining more debris down upon her.

Flopping back down against the crate, Gaines retrieved her wireless headset and slipped it back into place over her ear, then reapplied pressure to the throbbing wound on her scalp.

"…say again this is Scimitar One-Zero-Five to Junkyard-Six, do you copy?"

Groggy, her head spinning a bit, Gaines reached down and toggled the wireless set to transmit.

"This is Junkyard-Six, send your traffic."

---

"Captain, I need you and your people to mark your lines for me," said Lieutenant Larson as she looked out the canopy at the darkened ground beyond.

With the sun fully set, night was closing in, robbing Larson of a great deal of visibility.

Reaching out to the console, a difficult prospect under the several G's-worth of force pinning her to the seat as the Scimitar continued its turbo-accelerated freefall, Larson toggled the full canopy HUD in front of her for light enhancement. Instantly, the view went from almost complete dark beyond her canopy to a surreal mix of varying hues of green as the IR enhancement gave her a crystal-clear view of the ground rushing up from below.

"This is Junkyard-Six, why do you need us to mark our lines?" asked Gaines over wireless.

"With all due respect, I don't have time for chit-chat," replied Larson as she watched the ground below looming ever closer, ever more rapidly. "I need you to mark your lines now!"

Pulling back on the stick, Larson brought the nose of the Scimitar back up, rocketing along the high ridges lining a deep valley, slipping the agile craft into the terrain features to mask its approach from any possible DRADIS track.

---

Stunned, both from the wound to her head and from the unexpected wireless message from Scimitar One-Zero-Five, Gaines looked up into the darkening sky, the first stars beginning to twinkle through the fading dusk.

"I thought I ordered you into orbit," snapped Gaines.

"You did," replied the Scimitar's pilot flatly. "Now I say again, mark your lines unless you want my ordnance to drop short!"

Gaines sat there, uncertain.

How the hell was she going to have her people mark their positions?

In the dark, smoke grenades were worthless…

No, wait; the dark…

"Junkyard-Six to all units, I say again, all units; airstrike inbound, we need to mark our lines visually; flashlights, chem-lights, your lucky lighter, anything, just mark your positions right fraking now."

A quick series of acknowledgements filtered in over the wireless as all around the area several lights burst to life.

"Okay, we've got you Junkyard-Six," replied the Scimitar pilot.

"Be advised, your targets are approximately two dozen plus Centurions holding position in the tree line approximately one hundred meters to our South," stated Gaines as she too pulled out her own flashlight and shined it skyward.

"Copy that Junkyard-Six; we'll be coming in low and fast from your East-North-East; tell your people to hug the ground because we are bringing the rain."

---

"You got that target position locked in yet, Becker?" shouted Larson as she streaked in over the far end of the boneyard, the airfield coming up rapidly before her.

"Targets acquired," replied Becker as he reached up and toggled a couple last switches on the board in front of him. "Master arm is active, weapons are hot."

On the HUD before her, Larson watched as the system highlighted several targets on the ground; Centurions lined up at the edge of the underbrush, including the three mortar positions.

Reaching over, Larson toggled the switch that locked the targets on the HUD in the Scimitar's targeting computer. As the system quickly zeroed in on the Cylon positions, Larson gently, expectantly flexed her fingers around the control stick, ready, indeed, eager to raze the area with the auto-cannon mounted under the chin of the Scimitar.

"This is Scimitar Zero-One-Five, targets acquired, weapons free, committing," called Larson as she pulled back on the trigger.

Instantly, the multi-barrel cannon mounted under the nose erupted to life, unleashing a hail of high-explosive armor piercing rounds that ripped satisfyingly into the tree line.

---

Almost as soon as she'd heard the Scimitar rocketing in from the darkness, the deafening drone of the craft's chin-mounted cannon startled Gaines as it burst to life. Sounding nothing like the rhythmic staccato of normal gunfire, the cannon instead let out a thunderous, sonorous drone that roared out across the tarmac.

Behind her, Gaines heard a deafening racket as the hail of several hundred rounds of HEAP ammunition crashed into the tree line. Cylons, trees, rocks, it didn't matter, everything was mowed down as the Scimitar rocketed past, the strafing run all but shredding every last Centurion in a matter of moments.

As the Scimitar began a wide turn to come back around, Gaines continued to watch the tree line suspiciously. Through the darkness and the dust, it was hard to see, but the terrible hail of gunfire that had been coming from the Cylons had ceased.

Poking her head up a little further, very much cognizant of the fact that she no longer had a helmet, Gaines was startled when rounds once again slammed into the crate.

Slumping back down a bit as a few more rounds slammed into the already shredded crate, Gaines muttered a low curse before toggling the switch for her wireless set.

"This is Junkyard-Six, I don't suppose you have something a little heavier to bring to the party; our 'friends' still want to dance."

---

"Becker?" shot Larson as she brought the Scimitar back around onto the same attack angle.

"Patience is a virtue," muttered Becker as he toggled a few more controls on his panel.

"Not right now it's not," shot back Larson as she watched another couple dozen more Centurions emerge from the shattered tree line on her HUD.

"Optimum dispersal for ground strike plotted, weapons set to drop free as we make our next pass," called Becker an instant later.

Looking down at the fire control display on her own panel, Larson verified that a drop solution had indeed been locked into the system, the fire control computer ready to drop the half dozen cluster munitions tucked underneath the craft right in the middle of the Cylon positions.

Lining back up, Larson again looked out through the HUD and brought the gun to bear on the targets below.

Just because the computer had control of the bombs didn't mean she couldn't have a little more satisfying fun of her own on this pass too.

Pulling the trigger, the HUD in front of her lit up as the rounds erupting from the chin cannon ripped into the tree line once again.

As the ground and the targets below rushed by, Larson felt a distinct jolt as the under slung ordnance dropped away.

---

To be sure, however many Cylons had managed to survive the Scimitar's punishing strafing runs were now without a doubt shattered by the thunderous explosions that ripped along the tree line and lit up the night sky. Engulfing the entire length of the Cylon position, the detonations shook the ground beneath Gaines as she huddled down behind the crate. An instant later, a hot gust of wind and hail of debris from the shattered tree line blew past as plumes of fiery dust rose into the darkness.

Gaines was startled when the severed arm of a Centurion dropped down onto the ground beside her, the razor thin fingers shuddering spasmodically for a moment before curling eerily into stillness.

Nevertheless, the gunfire from the tree line had been silenced.

Not taking any chances this time, Gaines reached up and toggled her wireless.

"This is Junkyard-Six to all units, let's get the frak out of here while we still can!" burst Gaines as she snatched up her carbine, jumped to her feet and began running off across the landing strip away from the tree line. "All units to fall back to Post Five-Echo for regroup and consolidation!"

Looking back hesitantly, Gaines was grateful when she saw no more Centurions emerging, their former lines shattered, small fires sporadically crackling over the devastated area. Overhead, the low rumble of the Scimitar's engines could be heard, even if the craft itself was now obscured by the night sky.

"This is Scimitar One-Zero-Five, good luck to you Junkyard-Six," said the Scimitar pilot over wireless as Gaines caught sight of the glowing flames from the craft's engines begin to rise once more skyward.

"To us all One-Zero-Five, go with the gods," replied Gaines as she continued to watch the Scimitar rise up into the night sky.

At last, the several small clusters of Marines who'd survived the Cylon ambush began to rise up from behind their cover.

"Let's move it people!"

---

The Three and the Six stood on the small hill looking down as the humans began moving away from their positions along the shattered airfield.

"These humans are real nuisance," muttered the Three disgustedly as she watched them retreat back towards the boneyard.

"Our attack on the Colonies is going better than our most optimistic projections," replied the Six as she too watched the humans go.

"Maybe so, but there are still numerous pockets of resistance," countered the Three as she looked down at the fires crackling in the underbrush of the shattered tree line. "They simply refuse to accept that they've lost."

"Chasing down the Galactica is only a matter of time," said the Six evenly.

"It's the Ones who are obsessed with finding that pitiful old Battlestar, not the Threes," replied the Three bitterly. "I'm talking about the other ships we haven't been able to account for yet; there are other Colonials still out there…"

"And they too will be dealt with in time," continued the Six as she turned away from the airfield and looked up at the night sky above. "They cannot hope to avoid destiny; God is on our side."

Just then two Raiders shrieked by overhead, turning skyward in pursuit of the attack craft that had shattered the Centurion assault.

Looking back over at the Three, the Six smiled.

"And if God be with us, who can stand against us?"

---

"Frak! Bandits, six o'clock low, coming up fast," shouted Becker as the Scimitar continued to hurtle spaceward.

Glancing down at DRADIS, Lieutenant Samantha Larson had no trouble seeing the two Raiders closing in fast from behind.

Looking back away in mild disgust, Larson flexed her fingers around the control stick.

"We can't go into orbit," she muttered a moment later.

"What, why?"

"If we go up into orbit with those two Raiders following us, it will give away the position of the evacuees," replied Larson as she glared back down at the DRADIS. "We compromise the civilians and this whole thing will be for nothing."

"So what do we do?" asked Becker flatly.

With her eyes still locked on DRADIS, Larson wondered as much herself. The Scimitar was a gunship, optimized for ground attack, not dogfighting.

"Well, we can wait for them to fire some rounds right up our ass," offered Larson.

"Pass on that; next option?"

"Well, when did you last eat?"

"Hours ago, breakfast, why?"

"Oh, no reason," replied Larson with a wry smile. "It just means you won't have anything to throw up when I do this."

With a hard yank on the control stick, Larson nosed the Scimitar back over into a near vertical dive back towards the darkness below.

The already rapidly closing Raiders on DRADIS zoomed in even fast.

"A little more warning next time," moaned Becker from the rear seat.

"Unless I can pull this off there won't be a next time," countered Larson flatly.

As the HUD locked onto the two approaching Raiders, Larson flexed her fingers around the control stick, her finger poised over the trigger as she focused her attention on keeping the HUD crosshair on one of the two Cylon fighters rushing up at her.

Buffeted hard by turbulence, the small craft shook as it dropped back through the thickening atmosphere, complicating Larson's attempt to sight in.

"Come on, come on," she hissed through clenched teeth.

Out of the darkness, two sets of tracers stitched the air towards the Scimitar, missing the mark, but not by much.

Another hard lurch of turbulence and Larson brought the crosshairs back onto one of the targets.

Pulling the trigger, the air lit up with another bursts of tracers, her own this time, as they ripped through one of the closing Raiders.

As the shattered fighter exploded, the second veered away as the Scimitar rocketed past the falling debris.

"Aren't you going to pull up now?" shouted Becker as he watched the ground continue to grow closer.

"Got an idea," snapped Larson as she continued to hold the craft steady in the buffeting turbulence. "Bring the FTL online."

"What, you want me to do a jump from inside the atmosphere?"

"Do you really think we have time to argue this?" shot Larson as she watched the surviving Raider fall back in on their tail.

"Coordinates?"

"Use your imagination."

Reaching out to his panel, Becker frantically set about bringing the small craft's FTL online.

"You've got about forty seconds before we hit the pavement," called Larson. "No rush!"

"Thanks!"

As the craft's FTL was spinning up, Becker snatched up his flight book and rapidly flipped through it, searching for the page that held the several sets of preplotted coordinates.

Hard as it was to focus in on the print, much less actually hold the book with the Scimitar shaking about, Becker nevertheless managed to punch in the coordinates for one of the Fleet's emergency rally points.

"Wait, was that a five or a six?" burst Becker, as he frantically searched for the correct page in his binder, the book having been slammed shut by the shuddering of the ship.

Her eyes intently locked on the onrushing ground ahead, Larson nevertheless kept glancing back at DRADIS, the surviving Raider once more their tail growing ever closer.

"Becker!"

"Frak it!" burst the Weapons Officer as he tossed the book over his shoulder and punched in the final coordinates into the console. "Spun, synched, FTL ready!"

Without another word, Larson dropped the throttles to idle and pitched the Scimitar into another acrobatic turn that still left her craft plummeting towards the ground, only now it was doing so backwards.

Larson fought against the massive increase in turbulence, and not waiting for a firm lock with the HUD, began laying down a suppressive barrage back up at the pursuing Raider, throwing it off its course for one critical moment.

"Do it, Becker!"

Slamming his hand down on the activator switch, the small Scimitar was enveloped in a flash of light a scant few meters above the surface of the ground.

Instantly, very far away from the surface of Sagittaron, the Scimitar emerged from the jump into clear, serene deep space.

No longer caught in the gravity well of a planetary body, nor plummeting through a thick atmosphere, the Scimitar became eerily quiet.

As the small gunship drifted along on inertia, both Larson and Becker sat silent, stunned, only the sound of their own heavy breathing filtering in over the helmet speakers.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Larson gulped down the lump in her throat.

"Well," she panted. "That was different."

"We might need to go back," groaned Becker.

"Why?"

"I'm not sure my stomach made the jump with us."

At that, both Larson and Becker let out a tension-shattering chuckle.

"So, where are we Becker?" asked Larson as the laughter faded.

Leaning back in over his panel, Becker tapped a few keys on his panel, and then scowled.

"Um…"

"Um?" echoed Larson, straining against the seat restraints to turn and look back at her WO. "What's 'um'? I don't like 'um', Becker."

"I guess it was a six after all," he muttered weakly as he settled back into his seat and looked out past the cockpit canopy.

"Becker, don't you dare tell me you have no idea where we are."

There was a pause.

Then Becker shrugged.

"I have no idea where we are, Sam."

"I just told you not to tell me that," groaned Larson as she looked out at the endless backdrop of stars.

"Couldn't think of a wittier way to tell, you, sorry."

Slumping back against her seat, Larson kept looking out at the endless expanse of deep space.

Shaking her head slightly, she couldn't help but grin a little as she released her hold on the controls.

For several moments, the air was silent, Larson just sat staring out past the canopy, Becker at the readouts on his panel.

"Oh, what, one little nav error and you're not going to talk to me now?" asked Becker as he began pouring over the star charts in the Scimitar's computer.

"You want me to say something?" began Larson, shaking her head as she fixated on one particularly bright star an eternity away. "Fine I'll say something."

Pausing, Becker looked forward at the Larson as she in turn unbuckled the restraints and looked back at him, the barest hint of a grin still creasing her lips.

"You're fired."

---

Colonial Fleet Reclamation and Reserve Maintenance Depot
Sagittaron Colony
Post Five-Echo

Captain Jordan Gaines slowed from a near sprint and looked around at the other Marines who'd made it through to the assembly point at Post Five-Echo.

Tired, bloodied, some wounded and being helped along by other Marines, it was the first concrete chance Gaines had to gauge how costly the Cylon ambush had been.

By all accounts it seemed she may have lost as many as one fifth of her Marines in the ambush. Most of the civilian police and emergency personnel, as well as a good number of the Marine Reservists had made it off world on the last transport.

But not all, a few straggled in alongside the rest of her people

"Team Leaders, on me," huffed Gaines as she motioned them over.

As the tired cluster of Team Leaders moved in, Gaines kept a wary eye on the boneyard, on edge, half expecting more Centurions to emerge any second.

"All right, listen up, team leaders, reassemble your teams, squad leaders, take head counts," began Gaines through gasps. "Also, check your people, anyone with Five-Seven sidearms, find out how many explosive rounds they have left..."

Gaines's voice trailed off as another sound echoed out between the rows of decommissioned Vipers.

It was a vehicle…

And it was getting closer…

"Spread out!" snapped Gaines.

Instantly, the small group broke away, everyone at the assembly area spreading out to find cover.

The one good thing about being surrounded by decommissioned junk, there was plenty of cover.

The few Marines armed with Five-Sevens aimed their weapons towards the sound of the closing vehicle. A few of the Marines armed with carbines, in spite of the relative ineffectiveness of the weapons against Centurions, also aimed their weapons at the approaching vehicle.

Even in the low light, Gaines was able to see the cloud of dust being kicked up in the vehicle's wake as it made its way up one of the lanes.

"Steady," hissed Gaines, toggling her wireless set as she began to see the outline of the vehicle. "Short, controlled bursts, people."

"Hold your fire!" burst a voice over the wireless.

Stunned, Gaines watched as the detachment's own transport vehicle suddenly emerged from the darkness and slid to a halt a few meters from her.

Instantly both the doors of the cab flew open, Corporal Lenore emerging from the passenger side, and Lance Corporal Bowman from the driver's side.

Letting out a deep sigh of relief, Gaines stood up from behind the decrepit Viper she'd taken cover behind and made her way over towards the vehicle. As she did so, Gaines was surprised to see a couple more Marines hop out from the rear compartment of the vehicle as well.

"Corporal Lenore reporting, Captain," began Lenore as she snapped to attention and raised her hand to salute Gaines.

Even before Lenore's fingers reached the edge of her helmet, Gaines swiped out with her hand and knocked away Lenore's hand, leaving Lenore utterly shocked by the sudden strike.

"No salutes," growled Gaines as she reflexively looked out into the surrounding darkness. "I don't feel like being Centurion sniper bait today."

Still taken aback by Gaines's smack at her hand, Lenore took a step backward.

"Sorry, Captain, I was just…" stammered Lenore, recovering a moment later enough to continue. "I ordered Lance Corporal Bowman to rendezvous per your orders but he insisted on returning to the guard shack first."

"What of it, Bowman?" snapped Gaines, instantly redirecting some of her ire on the junior Marine. "Why didn't you follow my order to regroup, bringing this damned vehicle here only increases the risk the Cylons will be able to locate us and press their attack…"

"And with all due respect, Corporal, Captain," began Bowman as he reached back inside the driver's door and withdrew a substantial looking assault rifle. "Considering the fact that the carbines and standard rounds proved pretty much worthless, I thought it might be a good idea to have these along if they did press their attack."

It was then that Gaines noticed that the Marines who'd jumped out of the back of the vehicle were quickly handing out several more of the heavier weapons to the Marines assembling around the vehicle.

"Mark Forty-Six belt-feds, G-Thirty-Six rifles, a couple SA-Eighties, even a few MGLs and all the hard AP rounds we could find," continued Bowman as the Marines continued to pass out an armory's worth of heavy hardware. "Everything a few restless Marines need to scrap some Toasters."

"You took it upon yourself to go back to guard shack and retrieve these weapons?" asked Gaines as she watched the Marines start handing out boxes of armor-piercing ammunition for the heavier weapons.

"And these as well, Captain," continued Bowman as he handed a pair of night vision goggles and an undamaged helmet to Gaines.

Taking them, Gaines began to nod approvingly.

"Well, sorry to say I can't offer you an extended weekend liberty pass, Lance Corporal Bowman," began Gaines as she plopped the new helmet down onto her head. "Unfortunately about all I can do right now is promote you to Corporal, effective immediately. I'd say enjoy the raise in pay, but we've got bigger issues to deal with right now."

"Yes, ma'am, we do," replied Bowman as he slapped a magazine into the G-Thirty-Six he'd pulled from the vehicle and cycled the first round into the chamber.

"Now we need to figure out where we're going to go," continued Gaines as she pulled out a map and spread it across the hood of the vehicle.

Gaines was about to pull out a flashlight and was about turn it on, but again glancing into the suffocating darkness all around, thought better of it.

Motioning for her primary team leaders to follow, Gaines jumped up into the covered rear section of the vehicle, spread the map back out across a few ammo crates, toggled the flashlight to its red lens and then shone it down upon the map.

"Okay," she sighed as her team leaders leaned in over the map with her. "At this point we have to assume most of the major population centers are radioactive dead-zones."

Gaines knew she was intentionally 'glossing over' the horrible implication behind that statement, but also knew she didn't have time to allow either herself or her people to dwell on it.

"Prevailing winds are going to be pushing fallout over this area for weeks at best, so as I see it, we only have one real direction to go."

With that, Captain Gaines moved her finger in over a large section of the map to the North East of the depot.

"Serenity Valley," she said simply.

Looking up at her assembled team leaders, Gaines saw the hesitation in their eyes, and with good reason.

Serenity Valley was a massive 'no-go' zone, several times larger than the boneyard itself. On the map, the entire area was cross-hatched with several large, thick red lines, indicating that it was a place that no one was meant, or even allowed to enter.

"No offense, Captain, but that's not possible," began Sergeant Zaida Gibbs as she gave her ballistic vest an uncomfortable tug. "Sagittaron's Parliamentary Council designated that a protected reserve almost forty years ago. Hell, you're not even supposed to land a burning ship there under emergency situations."

"Considering Sagittaron's Parliamentary Council is likely already dead, I doubt they're in much of a position to protest," replied Gaines flatly as she pulled out a compass, map protractor and a pad of paper and began scribbling down directions and bearings. "My job is to get my Marines to safety, keep them alive, and await rescue, and that's what I intend to do, Parliamentary decree or not."

Pausing, she looked back up at the assemblage around her.

"Believe me, if we make it out of this fraked up mess alive, I'll be happy to face a court-martial."

A few silent nods of agreement later, Gaines returned to scribbling down the proper bearings, taking out a map pen to mark out her intended route before continuing.

"Now, before we move out, I want you to check your teams," continued Gaines as she began mapping out the last few legs of the route. "I want to know food, water, ammo, med supplies, everything…"

The sound of several Marines outside shouting immediately cut into the assembled concentration.

"This is Gaines, give me a status report," snapped the Captain, toggling her wireless as she quickly turned off the flashlight.

"This is Sims, I've got movement approximately forty meters to my South," replied the Marine over the wireless.

"Get ready to move, people," snapped Gaines as she gathered up the map and other equipment.

Jumping back out of the vehicle, Captain Gaines and her team leaders filtered back out into the darkness as the sound of someone or something moving about in the boneyard continued to echo forth through the stifling black of night.

Pulling out the NVG's Bowman had given her, Gaines looked out towards the sound of movement.

Through the soft green glow of the light-enhancing device, Gaines caught sight of several more Marines making their way cautiously up one of the lanes.

"Sentries, issue a challenge," muttered Gaines, toggling her wireless set as she watched the small team, barely a full squad, continue to inch forward.

Up ahead, one of her Marines, aiming in on the approaching bodies from the cover of a collapsed Mark Two Viper, issued a verbal challenge.

Instantly, the approaching personnel took a knee as one of them made his way over to the challenging sentry.

"Junkyard-Six, be advised, looks like we've got some stragglers from the Reserve unit," called the sentry over the wireless. "Twelve total; Corporal Candor is NCOIC ."

"Junkyard-Six copies, go ahead and bring them into our main body," replied Gaines evenly.

Gaines let out a long sigh as she watched the sentry lead the Marine Reserve squad closer. As she was about to drop the NVG's down away from her eyes, Gaines caught site of more movement beyond the approaching Marines.

Although everything was cast in several garish shades of green, what she could not miss was the single oscillating eye.

"Contact!" burst Gaines as she slapped her hand down on the transmit switch of the wireless, several more Centurions emerging from the cluttered boneyard. "Targets, direct front, to the South, range seventy meters!"

Just then, the Centurions stepped out from behind a row of old Vipers and opened up with the weapons mounted on their forearms.

Dropping down to the ground, Gaines heard the rounds rip into the canvas covering of the vehicle behind her.

Almost as instantly, the boneyard around her lit up with the muzzle flashes of automatic weapons fire as her Marines returned the exchange.

Unlike at the airfield however, these Centurions, maybe half a dozen total, were overwhelmed as the heavier weapons brought by Bowman let forth a hail of rounds that easily tore into the light armor which had so easily defeated the lighter carbines.

Within seconds, all of the Centurions had been ripped to shreds, lying shattered and still on the dusty ground.

"Cease fire, cease fire!" called Gaines as she looked out again through the NVG's at the unmoving heaps of scrap.

Spooked, trigger happy, a few Marines let off a couple more sporadic rounds, but soon the air was again as still as the unmoving Centurions.

Slowly lifting herself back up from the ground, Gaines looked around at her team leaders, and saw the form of Sergeant Gibbs writhing on the ground as the Medic, Corporal Peters, frantically slapped a compress bandage against the flowing blood coming from the young woman's neck. After a few moments, however, Gibbs' frantic, panicked movements began to cease as the soaked bandage began to seep blood through Peter's fingers, the Medic muttering a bitter curse before looking up at Gaines and shaking her head.

"Frak," muttered Gaines as she stepped over to Peters and Gibbs, leaning down just in time to hear the mortally wounded Gibbs take her last, desperate gasp of air.

Reaching down, Peters closed the unseeing eyes of Sergeant Gibbs.

"Should we get a burial detail?" asked Peters as she absently wiped some of Gibb's blood on her trouser leg.

"There's no time," sighed Gaines, stifling a curse. "Those won't be the last Centurions coming this way, best if we're not here when they get here."

Silent, Peters was about to protest, but instead simply nodded her head as she folded Gibbs' arms serenely across her chest.

Leaning in close, Peters whispered a quick prayer, then stood up, wiping a tear away as she shuffled past Gaines.

"This is Junkyard-Six, we're moving out," began Gaines evenly, toggling her wireless as she continued to look down at the unmoving body of Sergeant Gibbs. "Staggered column; first squad, you're on point; fourth squad you're to the rear, everyone else in the center of the formation. Let's get it done people."

As a few more Marines yanked the last ammo from the back of the vehicle, they quickly divvied it out to the passing column of first squad.

Stepping up to the locked fence, newly promoted Corporal Bowman looked down at the heavy rust-flecked padlock holding it shut.

"Ah, my old nemesis," he said lightly. "I don't suppose anybody's found the keys?"

"Improvise, Corporal Bowman," replied Gaines evenly as she stepped around to the front of the vehicle.

Without missing a beat, Bowman pulled his sidearm out, aimed in on the lock, and fired a single round through the large padlock, shattering the interior mechanism. With a grunt and a kick, the lock snapped loose as the gate swung wide open for the first time in uncounted years, the hinges squeaking horribly.

"You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that," muttered Bowman, smirking as he slapped the shoulder of one of the first squad Marines next to him.

With the gate now open, first squad, weapons and eyes scanning in all directions ahead, began making their way tentatively out along the overgrown road into the brush beyond.

Turning back, Captain Gaines reached out towards a passing Marine, pulled a thermite grenade from his gear, then motioned for a couple other Marines to load Sergeant Gibb's body into the back of the vehicle. Once they had put the body in the back, Gaines motioned them back towards the formation as she pulled the pin on the grenade, then set it down on the hood of the vehicle

With a pop, the grenade began burning its way first through the reinforced polymer hood, then through the vehicle's engine block.

Blocking her eyes to the near-blinding light of the thermite grenade burning its way through the engine, Captain Gaines turned and headed off through the gate as her Marines continued to march out around her. Behind them, the grenade ignited the vehicle's fuel tank, quickly enveloping the transport, and the body of Sergeant Gibbs in a billowing column of fire.

Swallowing the lump forming in her throat, Gaines turned away from the ad hoc funeral pyre and began leading her surviving Marines into the unknown.

---

Battlestar Pacifica
Colonial Fleet Reserve Depot Orbital Annex
Sagittaron Colony

"Think good thoughts," muttered Adrian Kelso as he leaned in over the plot table, his eyes intently locked on the DRADIS overhead.

With baited breath, everyone in CIC watched as the DRADIS feed from the loitering Raptors showed a pair of Raiders race in along the long lines of decommissioned warships.

"They know something's up," sighed Ensign Jinara Cole as she too stood watching the DRADIS intently. "They wouldn't be making another pass unless they suspected something."

Even though he didn't say as much, Adrian Kelso was thinking very much the same thing himself.

The ground assault on the depot had left little doubt the Cylons not only had dominating control over the system and surface, but had likely also begun to take note of their efforts.

Exactly how much they knew was still a matter of debate; the Raiders might have detected the activity around the decoms, or, they might have been just trying to provoke a response.

Either way, Kelso realized that time had run out; they needed to get underway.

At his side, the handset buzzed for his attention.

"Mike, I need some good news, old friend," muttered Kelso as he lifted the handset to his ear.

"Good news is we're still alive," replied Franklin flatly. "Bad news is, we spin these FTL cores up with those Raiders lurking about out there, they'll be able to detect the power signature and be on us long before we can jump."

"Commander, I've got an update from Director Bess," called Aria Capshaw from the Comm station. "Evacuation is complete, all ships ready to get underway."

"Not quite all," muttered Kelso wryly as he watched the Raiders continue to stalk along the rows of obsolete warships.

Then, as quickly as they'd come, the two Raiders jumped away.

Kelso's heart jumped.

"Get on the horn to Bess," snapped Kelso as he looked back over at Capshaw. "Time for us to get the hell out of here, now."

Nodding her head, Capshaw pressed her headset a little tighter to her ear and sent out the message.

On DRADIS, Kelso watched as several ships, fourteen civilian freighters and liners, the former Combatstar Proteus, the old Assaultstars Limnos and Kilkis, and his own Pacifica's sister Battlestar Asterica, began to break away from their moorings.

"Mike, how quickly can you get the FTL drives spun up?" asked Kelso flatly as he watched the first civilian ships begin to jump away, presumably to the prearranged coordinates.

"Ten minutes at best, Commander," replied Franklin flatly. "I'm running diagnostics at the same time I'm bringing the cores online; it's slowing the process down."

"Do you need the diagnostics?"

"Yes," replied Franklin flatly. "One short wire could overload the entire system; I didn't just get done putting this ship back together just to have the Cylons rip her apart because someone put a fuse in backwards."

Kelso knew it wasn't as simple as Franklin letting on; true to his word, Shipman had managed to reroute the evacuation transport bearing Franklin's wife and two daughters up to the Pacifica. With not only his beloved spouse and two children, but also his two grandsons and an unborn grandchild on the line, Franklin had more reasons than most to ensure that everything worked without a hitch.

"Then I suppose I'd better shut up and let you get back to work," replied Kelso evenly.

"Yes, sir," agreed Franklin a split second before he hung up his end of the line.

Putting the handset back in its place on the side of the plot table, Kelso looked up at DRADIS in time to see the former Battlestar Asterica jump away.

Now all that remained in orbit was the Pacifica and two Raptors providing the DRADIS picture.

Emerging from nowhere, a pair of Raiders raced in, quickly joined a moment later by another pair, then four more pairs, a dozen pairs, two-dozen pairs.

The blood draining from his face, his skin going cold, Adrian Kelso watched as the Raiders swept in along the rows of decommissioned derelicts and unleashed a withering barrage that began to tear into the unmanned hulks.

"Commander!" burst Ensign Cole.

"I see it, Ensign," replied Kelso, his voice carrying a calm he didn't quite feel inside.

Continuing in along the rows of the derelicts, the Cylons continued to fire missiles, breaking the ships in half, sending them hurtling into still more derelicts in cataclysmic explosions.

Systematically, efficiently, the Cylons were wiping out the mothball fleet.

"Order the Raptors to jump away," snapped Kelso as he glanced over at Capshaw.

His eyes returning to the DRADIS in time to see the Raiders wipe out several more empty hulks, Kelso heard as Capshaw sent out the message to the two Raptors.

'No need for them to die as well', thought Kelso bitterly.

One Raptor jumped away, but the other, Raptor Three-One-One, piloted Lieutenant Lee and Lieutenant Cooper, did not.

As Kelso stood there, the former Commander watched as the lone Raptor instead emerged from hiding and charged headlong towards the vast formation of Raiders.

With their throttles seemingly full open, the Raptor boldly streaked in perpendicular to the Raider advance, their course little more than a challenge for the Cylon craft to give chase, a challenge that instantly prompted several of the enemy fighters to break from their bombardment.

In open space, Raiders had a significant edge in speed over the much slower Raptor. But within the confined and relatively cluttered spaces between the long rows of decommissioned warships, that advantage was negated; in there it was all about maneuverability.

Kelso watched as the Raptor, death quite literally nipping at their heels, began weaving its way through the remaining derelicts, popping off ECM decoys to confuse a barrage of missiles launched off in their direction by the pursuing Raiders.

Maneuvering their Raptor with a surprising dexterity that would have put many a Viper pilot to shame, the lone craft continued to evade, confuse and draw the Raiders away from the Pacifica.

Watching the deadly dance, Kelso, quite literally dumbstruck by the audacity of the two young men, nevertheless knew he could do nothing to help them; all he could was pray silently as another barrage of missile streaked in towards the Raptor, converging at a single point just as the Raptor's icon disappeared, along with the DRADIS picture itself.

Kelso's shoulders drooped a bit, certain that the Raptor crew had perished…

…Only to see the DRADIS picture return a moment later as the Raptor amazingly reappeared a short distance away on the other side of the mothball fleet.

As the initial group of Raiders which had given chase came about to reengage the tenacious Raptor crew, the other Raiders which had not taken the bait, now much closer to the stubborn target, turned away from their continued strafing run to likewise give chase.

Again turning away from their pursuers, the Raptor began another series of acrobatic evasive turns that sent a pursuing missile hurtling into a derelict, the old hull shattering as the surprisingly nimble ship continued to lead the enemy away from the Pacifica.

So fully was his attention on the bedazzling display of acrobatics unfolding on the screen overhead that when the handset beside him buzzed for his attention, Kelso was actually a bit startled. As the Raptor pulled another tight turn around an old line of decommissioned destroyers, Kelso snatched up the handset and lifted it to his ear.

"Now or never, Commander," barked Franklin simply.

"What about the diagnostics?"

"Frak'em, either it works or it doesn't, either way, we don't have time," snapped Franklin. "Spinning up FTL drives one and two."

Without another word, Kelso slammed the handset back down and looked over at his former Tactical Operations Officer, Theo Cullen.

"Let's get out of here, Mister Cullen," shouted Kelso as he returned his attention to the overhead DRADIS in time to see the Raptor pull another near miraculous turn between two shattered sections of an old warship.

"Aye, sir," burst Cullen.

As he inserted the jump key, liberated from its dusty display case down in the museum exhibit, into the FTL panel, Cullen gave it a quarter turn, his expression clearly hesitant over whether or not it would work. Blessedly, as the key locked into place, several counters appeared on several screens around CIC and began rapidly counting down.

"Clock is running, Commander," sighed Cullen, clearly relieved. "Initiating FTL jump in five, four..."

Looking across the plot table at Ensign Cole, Adrian Kelso found himself looking into her hauntingly familiar eyes as he heard the audible hum of the massive FTL cores winding up for the jump.

"I've always hated this part," muttered Kelso with a wry smile.

"…three, two, one, jump!"

Casting his eyes back up at DRADIS, Kelso felt his perceptions skew as the Pacifica performed its first FTL jump in nearly forty years.

In an instant, the sensation then fell away.

Blinking his eyes against the slight queasiness he felt, it having been nearly as long since he'd been through an FTL as it had been for the Pacifica, Kelso looked up at DRADIS, and was surprised to see nothing.

"Damn, bring our DRADIS back online," winced Kelso when he remembered that the ship's own array had been shut down.

With yet another low whine of electrical systems coming online, the overhead screen quickly resolved into a picture of the space surrounding the old Battlestar.

As he watched the system complete its restart sequence, Kelso readily saw that Sagittaron was no longer below them, that the long rows of derelicts were gone, and thankfully, that the formation of deadly Raiders was nowhere to be seen.

The only things now within detection range of the Pacifica were the civilian liners, freighters, and other former Colonial warships that had made good their escape from Sagittaron, all of them now sailing serenely in open space.

But what about the Raptor?

For several tense moments Kelso eyed DRADIS with baited breath, eager for a sign that the Raptor crew had likewise managed to escape. As the seconds continued to tick away, Kelso felt his heart begin to sink, a foreboding sense of certainty taking hold that the Raptor crew, in spite of their truly audacious and epic efforts to divert the Raiders away from Pacifica in order to allow her escape, had perished as a result of their bravery.

Taking a deep breath, Kelso lowered his head, the first whispers of a prayer crossing his lips…

Suddenly, a new contact jumped into range on DRADIS.

His attention snapping back to the overhead screen, Adrian Kelso watched as the system performed a quick IFF check.

The newly arrived contact had a Colonial transponder, tag designation, Raptor Three-One-One.

Letting out a long sigh of relief, Kelso leaned back in over the plot table, gently shaking his head as a wide grin began to crease his lips.

"Capshaw, get me Raptor Three-One-One on wireless," muttered Kelso as he picked up the handset, the device feeling like a leaden brick in his hand.

"You're on, Commander," replied Capshaw a moment later.

"This is Kelso; I and a lot of other people over here owe you two gentlemen a case of ambrosia."

"Right about now I'd settle for a warm shower and a clean pair of shorts, Commander," replied the raspy voice of Raptor Three-One-One's pilot, Lieutenant Cooper.

"We'll see what we can do," chuckled Kelso as he watched the Raptor move back into formation around the small refugee fleet. "In any event, you gentlemen have my sincerest thanks; we couldn't have gotten away without your help."

"All part of the service, sir," replied Cooper evenly.

Chuckling slightly, Kelso hung the handset back up and looked across the plot table at the visibly relieved Ensign Cole.

"Looks like we made it, Commander," she said simply.

Kelso took in a deep breath.

"Now we just…" he began.

"Contact!" snapped Theo Cullen.

His grin disappearing just as quickly as it had come, Kelso's eyes darted back up to DRADIS.

Sure enough, at extreme range, DRADIS showed not one, but several new contacts coming into view.

"Director Bess is on the line for you, sir," called Capshaw.

Again yanking up the handset, Kelso lifted it to his ear, his eyes never leaving the 'unknown' icons moving into view.

"This is Bess, what do you make of it?"

Watching the signature returns, Kelso saw that whatever they were, they were big, much bigger than Raiders.

"Could be Baseships," offered Kelso evenly as he watched the new contacts on the screen. "And if they are, it means we could be in deep trouble."

Deep trouble indeed.

Even if Kelso or Bess' people, as out of practice as they were, were able to muddle through plotting another FTL jump so quickly, the older generation FTL cores aboard the decoms, Pacifica included, would need at least twenty minutes to recharge, more than enough time for the Cylons to begin ripping into them.

"We transferred some older Vipers up to Proteus," continued Bess as the distant contacts continued to grow closer. "They're not state-of-the-art, a mixed bag of Mark Sixes and Mark Twos, and just enough rusty pilots to man them, but it's better than nothing."

"Considering how poorly the 'state-of-the-art' has been faring thus far, it might be better," replied Kelso flatly as his eyes remained locked on DRADIS. "In any case we'd better get ready to defend ourselves and get another jump plotted while we wait for the cores to recharge."

With that, Kelso looked over and nodded over at Theo Cullen.

For his part, Cullen let out a long sigh as he pulled out the few charts they been fortunate enough to receive from Bess and his people back at the depot. Rolling the chart out over the larger plot table near the Operations console, Cullen began to mull over the calculations.

"Let's send one of the Raptors to recon ahead, try and get a better handle on what we're dealing with," continued Kelso as he looked back up at DRADIS.

"I agree," stated Bess evenly. "I've ordered Major Tyle to push Proteus out ahead of the formation and also for the liners and freighters to pull to the rear just in case it does become a firefight."

"Let's just pray it doesn't come down to that," sighed Kelso as he looked up at the unknown contacts. "Capshaw, raise me Raptor Three-One-One on this same wireless frequency."

"This is Raptor Three-One-One, go ahead Pacifica," broke in Lieutenant Cooper a moment later.

"As much as I hate to do this to you, I need you gentlemen to push ahead and scout those new contacts," said Kelso evenly.

"Close to visual and try to get a firm ID," interjected Bess over wireless. "No heroics, just get us a better idea what we're dealing with."

"Understood," sighed Lieutenant Cooper, tired but resolute. "We'll get the job done, sir."

With that, the wireless line closed as Kelso watched Raptor Three-One-One break formation and streak off towards the unknown contacts.

For a moment, Adrian Kelso mused over how only a few hours ago, Lieutenant Cooper and his ECO, Lieutenant Lee might just as well have attempted to have Kelso committed for the insane idea of getting the old Battlestar Pacifica underway when the attack began. Now fully invested themselves in protecting the cluster of refugee ships, the two young officers were giving Kelso the greatest sign of respect they possibly could; they'd simply accepted him as their Commander.

As the seconds ticked away, Adrian Kelso began to drum his fingers on the plot table, the handset held expectantly at his ear as he waited for Lieutenant Cooper to report back in.

Surprisingly, unnervingly, if the contacts were Cylon, they had yet to give any notice to the ad hoc refugee fleet.

No Raiders were being launched, no course changes were being made.

They just continued to loiter at extreme range, motionless and foreboding.

All the while, Adrian Kelso continued to drum his fingers.

"Raptor Three-One-One to Pacifica."

"This is Pacifica-Actual, go ahead Raptor Three-One-One"

Kelso took a deep breath, tension gripping his body.

"We have closed to visual with the contacts, sir," began Lieutenant Cooper. "Be advised, looks like we have friendlies here."

At that, the tension fell away as a few of his old crew let out sighs of relief.

"Are you certain, Raptor Three-One-One?" asked Bess flatly over the channel.

"Affirmative, sir," replied Lieutenant Cooper. "They've taken heavy damage, all ships appear to be powerless and adrift, but they are definitely Colonial military."

"Can you ID them?" asked Kelso as he continued to tap his fingers lightly.

"The escorts have sustained too much damage, looks like they've completely broken up, probability of survivors is doubtful," continued Lieutenant Cooper evenly. "However, I do have one ship, a Battlestar, she still appears mostly intact, there could be survivors aboard her."

"Copy that, Raptor Three-One-One," sighed Kelso as he watched the Raptor continue its pass near the contacts.

For a moment, Kelso simply stood chewing lightly on the inside of his lip.

"Well, Pacifica, what do you think?" asked Bess evenly over the wireless.

"I don't know about you, but I'm for taking a look," stated Kelso as he eyed the contacts.

"So am I," replied Bess flatly. "Enough good people have died today; I don't much like the idea of abandoning more if I don't have to."

"Neither do I," agreed Kelso. "Let's see if there's anyone we can help out over there."

---

Battlecruiser Enceladus
Near Emergency Fleet Rally Point 731NE

Colonel Thadius Runel awoke with a start.

Disoriented, he barely noticed when the stack of reports and printouts he'd fallen asleep reading fell from his lap onto the deck.

As he fumbled to collect back up the reports, another series of knocks against the hatch echoed out through Runel's quarters.

Rubbing his eyes, Runel looked over at the clock on the wall, then redundantly at his watch.

How long had he dozed off?

"Colonel, sir?" called the voice of the Marine posted outside his door.

"Yes, what it is, Corporal?" called Runel as he straightened up in his chair, reaching down to gather the spilled papers back together.

"You have a visitor, Colonel."

Letting out a sigh, Runel rubbed his eyes again, put the somewhat disorderly stack down on his footrest and stepped over to the hatch.

With a dull thud, Runel opened the hatch and found himself face-to-face with Colonel Brianna Webber.

Letting out a sigh, he reluctantly motioned her inside.

Stretching his back, Runel let out a yawn as Colonel Webber closed the hatch once more.

"That might give the Marine outside the wrong idea," he muttered as her heard Webber engage the lock on the hatch.

"In your dreams," replied Webber derisively.

"Not quite," quipped Runel as rubbing his eyes with one hand he reached out with the other and picked up his uniform tunic. "If I remember right, I was just dreaming about a couple co-eds I met once near Pailyn Beach."

"Definitely just in your dreams," scowled Webber as she stepped over and picked up the errant stack of reports.

"As fun as this is, did you really come over here just to insult me?" sighed Runel as he slid his arms into the sleeves of his uniform tunic. "Because you can do that just as effectively over the wireless, you know."

"You probably would have just hung up the line," replied Webber flatly.

As she leaned over and began to fiddle with the stack of reports, Runel began to pick up on her hesitancy, an undercurrent of expectation in her body language.

"Spit it out, Brianna," said Runel flatly as he began fastening the buttons on the tunic.

"I was just wondering what it was you planned to do next?"

"Again, something you could have asked over the wireless."

Webber paused, set the stack down and turned back to Runel.

"Will you cut the by-the-book crap for just one moment," sighed Webber as she turned back to Runel. "I'm here to find out just what is going on inside that thick skull of yours."

"I intend to continue the fight," replied Runel flatly as he fastened the last button, reaching down a moment later to give the tunic a slight tug.

"How exactly? By continuing to jump from one empty rally point to another?"

"Are you questioning my orders, Colonel?"

"More to the point, I'm questioning your lack of orders," snapped Webber as she stood glaring at him across the room, arms folded across her chest. "Chain of command says you command this task force, fine. But command it. What are we doing just floating about in the middle of nowhere?"

"I hardly need a lecture from you right now, Brianna," sighed Runel, holding his hand up towards her as he began making his way over to the sink in his private head. "From the moment we set out for Armistice station, this ship has been jumping from one battering encounter with the enemy to another. We need time."

"Time for what, exactly?"

Putting his hands beneath the running water, Runel wrung them together for a few seconds, then splashed a bit of water on his face before reaching for a towel. Quickly drying his face and hands, Runel lightly tossed the towel down onto the edge of the sink as he again looked at himself in the mirror, his gaze inevitably settling on the now-disheveled looking bandage wrapped around his head.

"To take a breath, to assess the situation without a fraking Basestar launching volley after volley at us," replied Runel, his tone clearly frustrated as he reached up and began slowly unwrapping the gauze. "I've got an overworked crew hustling like hell to repair a list of damage twice as long as my arm. Moreover, I have about half-again a boat load's worth of displaced crewmembers from Republica sitting on their hands in the corridors because I don't have a place for them to bunk down."

With the bandage now unwrapped, Runel cautiously pulled it free, wary of tearing open the scab and dried blood surrounding the stitches. Content that the wound was still closed, Runel reached over, picked up a towel, dampened it under the sink, and carefully dabbed some of the dried blood away, attempting to make it more-or-less presentable.

"Right now, Colonel Webber, my priority is to patch up our damage, tend to our wounded, and with a little luck find a way to link back up with the Battlestar Galactica," stated Runel flatly as he tossed the bloodied towel over onto his bunk. "But if we are not able to locate them, we will continue to fight the Cylons, fight them effectively but not suicidally."

"A textbook answer ripped right from the pages of the Colonial Officer's manual," sneered Webber.

"What is it you expect right now, Colonel?" snapped Runel as he stepped back out into the main area of his quarters.

"Well since you consider yourself such a scholar of military history, I'd expect you'd understand this is not the kind of situation covered by the manual," burst Webber, her tone almost exasperated.

Reaching down, Runel picked up some of the papers and made an abortive attempt to put them back in order.

"No, this is exactly the kind of situation covered by the most fundamental imperative laid out in the manual," countered Runel as he finally tossed the papers down the pile in frustration and then looked directly over at Webber as she stood, arms crossed, fuming silently. "In the absence of orders, a commander is to do anything and everything to ensure that their ship and their crew survive; stay in the fight, win the war."

"I don't know why I'm the one who has to point this out to you, Thadius, but the war is over," scoffed Webber. "We've lost."

"We have not lost," snapped Runel angrily.

Unfazed by the tone of his voice, Webber motioned her head over at the stack of paperwork Runel had been tending too.

"If there are even half the number of wireless reports in that stack as I've received over on the Savitri then you know that's a lie," stated Webber flatly. "Every last population center has been hit by MIRVed warheads, leveled; before we lost communications entirely, over three-fourths of the fleet was reported as having been pummeled into debris..."

"I'm well aware of the strategic situation, Colonel Webber," stated Runel coldly. "I don't need you to catalogue our losses for me."

For a moment, the two of them stood glaring at one another across the sparse quarters.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Runel softened his expression a bit as he took a tentative step towards Webber.

"The war may be over, Colonel Webber," continued Runel a moment later, a distinct edge creeping into his voice. "But as long as this ship exists, this fight is just beginning."

---

Scimitar One-Zero-Five
Exact location unknown
Approximately One Light-Day from Caprica

"What about plotting a jump back to Sagittaron?" asked Lieutenant Samantha Larson as she continued to visually scan the endless stretches of space outside the canopy.

"I still haven't been able to get a firm stellar fix, Sam," replied Lieutenant John Becker through half a mouthful of emergency rations. "FTL one-oh-one, you can't plot a jump without both a starting point and an end point."

"Guess I should just thank the gods you didn't jump us right into the middle of a sun," replied Larson wryly, rolling her eyes.

"How many fraking times do I have to tell you; it wasn't my fault," groaned Becker, as much because of the poor taste of the emergency rations as from Larson's sarcasm. "We must have taken a hit from ground fire, maybe some shrapnel, something, but it knocked out the main nav computer. We're lucky we were able to jump at all, considering."

"Considering we'd be nothing but a flattened mass of smoldering debris on the surface of Sagittaron if we hadn't," amended Larson a moment later, remembering how she had intentionally induced the Scimitar into a backwards freefall just before the jump.

Letting out a long sigh, Larson continued to look out at the foreboding expanse of nothingness beyond her canopy.

In truth, there was little for her to do at the moment; they'd powered down the Scimitar's systems some time ago to conserve fuel and power. Save for DRADIS, nothing aboard the gunship was operating.

Still, she continued to sit in the pilot's seat, her hand resting reflexively around the control stick; at a moment like this, even the illusion of control was comforting.

"On the bright side, we've apparently jumped so far out that the wireless traffic we're picking up was sent before the attack even began," stated Becker as he finished off the packet of rations. "To listen to it, you'd never know the Cylons had struck."

"Where's the bright side in that?" countered Larson flatly. "We know the attack happened; it'll just be insult to injury to have to listen to all that crap start all over again when the wireless transmissions do reach us."

"You're such a pessimist," muttered Becker as he took a swig of water.

"A realist, thank you very much," retorted Larson. "Besides which, you spoke too soon."

"Come again?"

"The wireless," continued Larson as she held up the small wireless set in her free hand. "The first messages about the attack are finally catching back up with us."

"You mean the Cylons are attacking the Colonies?" quipped Becker in mock surprise. "My gods, we need to get back there right away!"

"Very fraking funny, Becker," muttered Larson as she half-listened to the broadcasts, the information now a day out of date. "Just do me the favor of keeping that morbid sense of humor to yourself when our oxygen starts to run out or we freeze to death, ok?"

"I don't imagine I'll have much to say in either case," replied Becker grimly

In spite of herself, Larson grinned slightly at that.

"Well, at least if we're picking up the transmissions, we now know how far out we are," muttered Becker. "One light-day, give or take; too bad the nav is out, I might have been able to triangulate..."

Just then, a contact appeared on DRADIS at extreme range, cutting Becker off before he could complete his statement.

With a new dump of adrenaline flooding into her system, Larson reflexively gripped the controls a little tighter, her eyes suspiciously scanning the depths of space before her.