Warstar Galactica
Near Leto's Twins
"Time and position check, Lieutenant Cortez?" asked Commander Sean Kelso as he stood watching the DRADIS console overhead.
"Holding position one hundred kilometers over the surface of the planetoid, Commander," replied Cortez evenly. "Time on station, one-hour and seven-minutes, sir."
"Very good," sighed Kelso as the entry hatch to CIC parted.
Glancing over, Kelso saw Chief Copeland, Jack Foster and Major Culver enter, ushering in a fourth person, a young woman in Marine combat gear covered head-to-toe in a liberal amount of dust, mud, and blood.
Turning towards them Kelso stood silent as the visibly exhausted woman stepped up, and with a slightly shaking hand, rendered a salute.
"Captain Jordan Gaines, Colonial Marine Corps, reporting, sir," she said evenly.
"At ease, Captain," replied Kelso as he returned the salute then extended his hand. "Welcome aboard the Galactica."
"If you don't mind my saying so, sir, it's damned good to be here," replied Gaines evenly, her voice tired, scratchy.
"You really should be down in sickbay with the rest of your Marines," began Kelso as he noted the dried smears of blood mixed in with the dirt on her uniform.
"It was my duty to get up here and report to the Senior Officer as soon as possible, sir," she replied respectfully, her hoarse voice cracking a bit.
With that, Commander Kelso glanced over at both Chief Copeland and Jack Foster, the latter of which merely shrugged. Letting out a short sigh, the Commander simply nodded his head as he looked back over at Gaines.
"How are your people, Captain?"
"Shaken, tired, things were pretty bad down there, Commander," she replied, her voice trembling a bit. "But we're alive, and that's what counts..."
Before she could say another word, Gaines suddenly began to crumble to the deck, clearly exhausted. In response, Jack Foster and Chief Copeland reached out and grabbed hold of Gaines.
"Whoa, easy there, Captain," muttered Foster as he gently helped keep her on her feet.
"Sorry, sir," she muttered weakly as she fought to keep on her feet.
"No need to apologize, Captain," smiled Kelso as he reached over and grabbed hold her on the shoulder.
Surprisingly, Gaines jumped a bit at his touch, then looked at him rather sheepishly.
"Sorry again, sir."
Looking down into her exhausted eyes, Kelso groped to think of something to say, uncertain.
"Make sure the Captain gets some quarters, Chief," began Kelso finally as he looked over at Copeland.
"Aye, sir."
"If it's all the same with you, Commander, I'd rather bunk down with my Marines," replied Gaines evenly.
Again, looking down at her exhausted expression, he nevertheless saw the clear determination in her eyes; whether he approved or not, Gaines was clearly not going to be separated from her Marines.
"Of course," replied Kelso simply. "See to your people, Captain Gaines."
Half smiling, Gaines gave Kelso another smart salute, turned and began making her way back towards the entry hatch on unsteady feet, Chief Copeland at her side. As she reached the hatch, Gaines stopped and looked back over at the Commander.
"Thank you for coming back for us, sir," she said evenly.
"All part of the service, Captain."
As he said that to her, Gaines looked back over at Kelso with a hesitant yet faintly somber expression.
"Did I say something wrong, Captain?" asked Kelso as he noted the sober look on her face.
"No, sir, not at all…" stammered Gaines for a moment, sucking in a breath to steady herself. "…it's just, I used to know someone who had a habit of saying that, Commander."
Nodding his head slightly, Kelso smiled over at Gaines as the Marine and Chief Copeland turned and disappeared out into the corridor.
"She seems pretty shaken up," noted Burke as Kelso stepped back up to the plot table.
"She has every reason to be," muttered Jack Foster evenly as he and Culver likewise stepped up to the plot table. "From the sound of it she lost nearly a third of her people down there."
"They'll be plenty of time to deal with that later," stated Kelso evenly as he cast his eyes back up at DRADIS. "Right now we need to be ready for the blowback from our little extraction mission."
"You think the Cylons will be able to trace our location?" asked Burke as she looked across the table at him.
"It's impossible to trace an FTL jump," muttered Major Culver as he gently rubbed a knot from his neck.
"Theoretically impossible," corrected Kelso evenly. "In any event, direct trace or not, the Cylons aren't stupid."
"What do you mean?" asked Foster.
"Don't forget, we destroyed the two Baseships they sent out here," sighed Kelso as he continued to watch DRADIS. "Now with our little incursion and two of their Basestars likely overdue for a check-in, won't take the Cylons long to put two and two together."
"Is that why we didn't jump directly back to the entry corridor?" asked Culver as he leaned in over the table.
"Precisely," replied Kelso evenly. "This planetoid is more-or-less a DRADIS shadow, the only place outside the nebula itself where someone can jump in unobserved."
"The upside is we can sit here hidden to see if anyone follows," continued Major Burke as her eyes continued to scan over the DRADIS screen overhead. "Downside is the Cylons could just as easily know about this planetoid and jump in behind it as well."
His eyes locked on the DRADIS display, Kelso continued warily searching for contacts.
For now, all that was present besides the Galactica was the rogue planetoid.
Devoid of atmosphere, nothing more than a dead rock in space, the planetoid had likely been knocked from a closer orbit when Leto's Twins collapsed into pulsars untold millennia ago. Recaptured by the gravity of the twin pulsars, the planetoid now drifted along in a distant orbit that would bring it back around to its present position in a little over three thousand years.
Commander Sean Kelso didn't plan to wait that long.
"We'll hold position here for another hour before heading for the corridor…" began Kelso, his voice ending abruptly when the DRADIS overhead let out an alarm.
"Contact!" shouted Cortez. "Correction; four contacts, Commander, signature match for Cylon Baseships."
"Action Stations; Action Stations; all hands, Action Stations," snapped Burke as she snatched the handset up from the plot table.
"I'll head back down to the flight deck and make sure our birds are ready to fly," said Major Culver as he turned and quickly jogged his way out of CIC.
"Is your ship secured on the Starboard flight deck, Mr. Foster?" asked Burke as she glanced over at the civilian liner pilot.
"We straightened her out and engaged the mag locks, she should be stable," replied Foster evenly.
"Good, cause things could get bumpy," muttered Kelso as he watched the four Baseships closing in on DRADIS.
"Damn, it's almost like they were expecting us to be here," muttered Burke as she noted the deployment pattern of the Baseships. "They've positioned themselves at equidistant positions around the planetoid."
"Whether they were expecting us to be out here or not, they're still in a perfect position to close in on us from four sides at once," muttered Kelso. "Good thing I don't intend to give them the opportunity to shoot at my ship just yet."
Taking a deep breath, Kelso looked across to Major Burke.
"Take us to the corridor, Major."
"Aye, Commander," replied Burke as she straightened up. "Helm, nose down zero-nine-zero degrees, engines to flank speed."
"Nose down zero-nine-zero, aye," snapped Petty Officer Chapman as he began putting the changes into the ship's helm. "Main engines ahead to flank speed."
Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, Kelso felt the massive Warstar begin to move around him as he watched the Baseships on DRADIS.
"Think we'll be able to outrun them?" asked Foster evenly.
"Hard to say," sighed Kelso. "We haven't really had an opportunity to see one of their new Basestars at a good clip."
"They're still pretty far out there," offered Burke evenly. "We might be able to open up the distance even more before they have a chance to close to weapons range."
"What's to stop them from just jumping in closer?" asked Foster.
"Nothing," replied Kelso flatly. "Either way, we'll find out what they plan to do soon."
As her engines built up power and pushed the massive warship out of position near the planetoid, Kelso began gently drumming his fingers on the tabletop.
"New contacts, they're launching Raiders," snapped Lieutenant Cortez.
His eyes still glued to DRADIS, Commander Sean Kelso watched as the four Baseships blossomed with new contacts.
"How many Raiders, Mr. Cortez?" snapped Burke.
"Three hundred plus, Major."
"Don't suppose it's possible to outrun them?" asked Foster.
"That we know is a definite 'no'," replied Kelso as he let out a long sigh. "Time till we reach the corridor?"
"At current speed, we should enter the corridor in fifteen minutes, Commander," called Lieutenant Cortez.
"Those Raiders will be on us in less than five," muttered Burke as she looked across to Kelso. "We should prepare to launch our Vipers."
"Not yet, Major," replied Kelso evenly, his eyes never leaving DRADIS. "We launch our fighters, they'll have to turn back along our current path in order to engage those Raiders; we'd have to slow or come about eventually in order to retrieve them, allowing those Baseships the opportunity to close distance and engage us."
"But at least they might be able to slow the Raiders' advance, Commander," offered Foster.
Looking back up at DRADIS, Kelso let out a long sigh.
"No, our best bet is to try and reach the corridor," continued Kelso as he leaned in over the plot table a bit. "We make it in there, all the interference from the pulsars will even the odds."
"But what about those Raiders, sir?" asked Burke urgently as she cast her eyes back up at the myriad of closing contacts.
"Simple, Major," replied Kelso flatly. "Inertia."
With Major Burke and Jack Foster both casting a quizzical glance over at him, Kelso reached down and snatched up the handset and toggled the switch for the Engineering deck.
"Tyree, here," barked the voice on the other end of the line.
"Colin, I have an unorthodox idea I need you to be ready for," said Kelso evenly.
"You're about to get my brand new ship shot at again, aren't you?"
"You can bill the Cylons for damage later if we survive," replied Kelso simply. "Here's what I need; on my order I want you to do an emergency shut down on the mains."
Her eyes growing wide, Burke stared across the plot table at the Commander.
"Did I hear you correct, sir; shut down the mains?"
"You heard me right, Tyree," continued Kelso. "Not a full shut down, though, I just want you to choke the tylium feeds."
For a moment, Tyree didn't say anything.
"How long do you want me to choke the feeds? Back pressure's going to build up fast, could blow the main transfer pumps."
"Not long, just be ready to open the feeds back up when I need you to."
"Not that I suppose it matters much, but I've got a bad feeling about what you're asking."
"Noted; get it done, Colin."
Reaching down, Kelso then toggled the switch once more, the One-MC overhead chiming for attention in response.
"All hands, this is CIC; prepare for extreme maneuvering; all batteries prepare for suppressive fire."
Reaching back down, Kelso once again toggled the switch back to engineering, then set the handset down on the plot table.
"Time till Raiders intercept us?"
"Two minutes, Commander," replied Burke.
Stepping quickly over to the Helm, Kelso tapped Foster on the shoulder as he passed and motioned him over as well.
"Okay, Foster, Chapman, here's what I need you to do," began Kelso as he leaned in over the Petty Officer at the Helm. "When I order Tyree to choke the feed, I need you to put Galactica into a lateral spin to Starboard."
"Sir?" snapped Chapman, clearly shocked.
"A flat spin, Mister Chapman," muttered Foster, his expression somewhat dubious as he glanced over to Kelso, thoroughly at a loss of exactly what the Commander was up to.
"That's right," nodded Kelso. "I want this ship to spin a full three-sixty around her z-axis as quickly as you can; Foster, you're a pilot, you give him a hand using the thrusters to keep her on an even keel."
"You know, they usually teach pilots to avoid spins like these," muttered Foster as he slipped in beside Chapman at the helm.
"Humor me," smirked Kelso as he began making his way back towards the center table.
"Raiders will be in firing range in less than a minute, Commander," stated Burke evenly as Kelso stepped back over to the plot table.
"Understood," sighed Kelso as he reached out and picked the handset back up, casting his eyes back up at DRADIS as he did so.
On the screen overhead, Kelso watched as the swarms of enemy fighters continued to charge in towards the massive Warstar.
"Okay," sighed Kelso as he reflexively gripped the table with his free hand. "Tyree, shut the tylium feeds."
"Understood, Commander."
"Chapman, Foster, initiate the spin."
"Copy, that."
Cast against the backdrop of endless space, a veritable wall of Raiders charged in towards the massive Colonial warship. Within moments, they'd be within weapons range and able to unleash a torrent of fire from their cannons and missiles that would obliterate the human vessel.
As they closed to within engagement range, the engines for the massive Colonial warship suddenly went out, the blazing emissions from the main engines rapidly dying out.
Were the Raiders capable of emotion, they might have become excited; their quarry was apparently no longer under its own power, carried forward only by its built-up inertia.
Then, just as quickly, the massive ship began to rotate, the myriad of thrusters around the hull, not propelling the vessel, merely causing it to spin as its inertia continued to carry it.
And had the Raiders indeed been capable of emotion, they might have felt a sudden rush of fear, for even as the large vessel spun around on its belly, the bristling cannons mounted along the ship's Starboard side swung around to bear on the closing wall of Cylon fighters.
"All batteries, commence full suppressive barrage; rake the Raider formation," snapped Kelso, holding tightly onto the plot table as Galactica's weapons swung around to bear on the Raider formation.
In response, the air around CIC filled with the sound of the Warstar's weapons firing, both heavy cannons and smaller suppressive guns thundering away.
As the massive ship continued its celestial pirouette, the withering fire erupting from the cannons stitched its way across the line of advancing Raiders, ripping into their neat formations, the explosive rounds from the heavy cannons blasting holes through the wall of enemy fighters…
As the Galactica continued to spin around, the Starboard cannons slipped out of line of sight with the Raiders…
Just as the main bow batteries swung around into position to continue raking the still advancing Raiders…
As the flak barrier being put out by the Galactica continued to hammer away at the enemy fighters, the tiny ships continued to rush in, their numbers depleted, but nevertheless holding course…
As another full broadside from the Port weapons erupted as those emplacements swung into action…
As the full brunt of the Port weapons bore down on the ever-fewer Raiders, the swarming mass of fighters, less than half the number initially launched, suddenly veered away, racing back towards their Baseships.
"Three-six-zero degrees, Commander," announced Chapman, a small bead of sweat running down his cheek as he slowly let go his near-deathgrip on the controls.
"Halt your turn," snapped Kelso as he watched the Raiders falling back on DRADIS, lifting the handset back to his ear. "Tyree reopen the tylium feeds and get the mains back up."
"Thank the gods," snapped Tyree.
Hanging the handset back up, Kelso looked over at Chapman and Foster.
"Resume original course towards the corridor," sighed Kelso as he leaned in over the plot table.
"Aye, sir," sighed Chapman as he gave the briefest of handshakes to Foster. "Resuming course for the entry corridor, Commander. Mains are coming back up now, answering ahead flank speed."
"I don't seem to recall that maneuver in any combat manual," sighed Burke, smiling slightly as she glanced across the plot table.
"Something to be said for improvising," replied Kelso as he returned his attention to the four Baseships on DRADIS.
"Do you have any other tricks in mind for those Basestars, Commander?" asked Foster as he stepped back up to the plot table.
"I might," replied Kelso evenly, his eyes not leaving the screen overhead. "Time till we reach the entry corridor?"
"Eight minutes, Commander," answered Lieutenant Cortez.
"Time till the Basestars are within weapons range?"
"Our spin might have spooked them a bit," began Burke evenly as she watched the screen overhead. "At their current speed, they won't reach weapons range before we enter the interference inside the corridor."
Silent, Kelso continued to watch the four Baseships, his fingers lightly tapping the tabletop.
"Major, slow our approach on the corridor," he said evenly.
"Did I hear you correctly, you want us to slow down, Commander?" asked Burke as her eyes wandered between the Baseships on DRADIS and the Commander.
"Just enough to draw them in a bit closer," replied Kelso evenly, his gaze never leaving the screen. "I want to entice them a bit, goad them into following us into the corridor."
"Aye, sir," replied Burke hesitantly a moment before issuing the order to Chapman.
His eyes locked on DRADIS, Kelso's lip curled into ever so subtle a smirk as he watched the approaching Baseships begin to close in a little faster.
"What if they don't follow into the distortion zone?" muttered Burke as she too watched the Basestars close in.
"They have us outnumbered four-to-one," replied Kelso flatly. "From their perspective, what reason do they have to stop?"
With that, quiet settled in over CIC, a nervous tension broken only by the occasional update from Lieutenant Cortez on their proximity to the corridor or the enemy's position.
As they sailed closer to the nebula perimeter, the mass of ionized radiation surrounding the twin pulsars Leto's Twins began obscuring the picture on DRADIS more and more.
"One minute to the entry corridor, Commander," called Lieutenant Cortez.
"Very well," replied Kelso as he reached down and snatched up the handset. "CIC to fire control."
"Fire control, sir."
"With all this hash, your people will need to aim manually," began Kelso evenly as he watched the Basestars appear and disappear intermittently on DRADIS. "But when I call for it, I want every available battery ready for a full salvo fire, understood?"
"Affirmative, Commander."
"Good."
With that, Kelso hung the handset back up.
"Starting down the corridor now, Commander," stated Burke as she watched the distortion waves on DRADIS. "Intermittent contact only, picture's starting to fade in this soup."
Saying nothing, Kelso continued to watch DRADIS.
When the picture cleared enough to show the Cylon Baseships themselves beginning to enter the corridor, Kelso straightened up a bit at the plot table.
"So much for finesse," muttered Jack Foster as DRADIS intermittently registered the baseships. "Must be feeling pretty confident to brave the radiation.
"Best theory suggests their neural pathways will begin to degrade in less than an hour," stated Kelso as he too continued to eye the enemy on DRADIS.
"They probably think that once they catch us, they won't be in here that long," offered Burke.
"I'll take that as a good omen," said Kelso as he gently clasped his hands behind his back, his gaze never leaving DRADIS. "Because it means they have absolutely no idea what's about to happen."
"Sir, be advised, we have reached point Alpha in the corridor," called Lieutenant Cortez.
"Helm, come to Port, zero-nine-zero degrees, engines to full stop," snapped Kelso, his eyes never leaving the screens arrayed overhead. "Major Burke, advise fire control to prepare for full salvo, manual aiming, one-to-one HE to AP."
"Aye, Commander, coming to Port, zero-nine-zero, engines to stop," replied Chapman.
Reaching down, Major Burke looked away from DRADIS for only the briefest of moments as she picked up her handset and relayed the order to fire control.
As the Warstar Galactica came to a full stop in the center of the entry corridor, slowly turning to present a full broadside to the closing Basestars, Kelso couldn't help but grin a bit. Even though DRADIS was suffering from severe distortions generated by the pulsar wind nebula, the intermittent contact still showed the enemy closing in on the Colonial warship.
Just as he'd hoped they would.
"Harris, open Priority Channel One, scrambled," began Kelso evenly. "Transmit the following message; four in the pocket, time to play our hand."
"Aye, sir, transmitting."
As the seconds continued to tick away, the Basestars intermittently appearing and disappearing from the screen, but nevertheless still clearly closing in, DRADIS let out a low alarm as five more contacts appeared. Emerging from the heavier distortion areas surrounding the corridor, the new contacts quickly spread themselves out at the flanks of the Cylon Baseships. With everyone around CIC holding a pensive breath, Commander Sean Kelso couldn't help but feel a sense of profound satisfaction as DRADIS received a reply from an IFF interrogation on the new contacts and immediately tagged them as Colonial.
"Got 'em," grinned Burke as she watched the half-ring of Colonial vessels that now arrayed against the advancing Baseships.
Snatching up the handset on his side of the plot table, Commander Kelso toggled the switch for Fire Control.
"All batteries, action to Port side, commence full salvo fire," said Kelso as he hungrily eyed the now semi-encircled Baseships.
As the air around CIC began to reverberate with the sound of the ship's weapons opening up, Commander Kelso looked over to Communications.
"Harris, advise Colonel Runel and his group to commence fire at their discretion."
"Aye, Commander."
His eyes settling back on the screens overhead, Commander Kelso watched as nothing short of chaos seemed to erupt amid the Cylon formation. Even through the heavy interference on DRADIS, the volume of fire erupting from the surrounding Colonial warships slammed into the four Cylon Basestars. Although they clearly made an attempt to maneuver away from the ambush, boxed in as they were, their DRADIS partially blinded, it was hard for the Basestars to respond effectively within the tight confines of the corridor without crashing into one another. Almost in a panic, they began firing off volley after volley of missiles in every direction. But while Cylon missiles posed a decidedly lethal threat in open space, within the interference generated by Leto's pulsar wind nebula, the guidance systems on the missiles were less than worthless, the missiles streaking away in every direction without effect, save the few that actually careened into other Cylon vessels.
Colonial ordnance, however, consisted of direct-fire projectiles and had no such limitations. And although they were firing all their weapons using manual sighting, the combined Colonial fusillade still had a punishing advantage, one of numbers and in having damned good gun crews.
Unable to FTL away, their own missile ordnance rendered utterly impotent by the surrounding radiation emissions, the Cylons could do little in their own defense but try and reverse course. Even the few Raiders they launched in veritable desperation became quickly disoriented within the nebula, careening about aimlessly, little more than lost within the firing solutions of the Colonial warships.
As cannonade after cannonade slammed into each of the four Cylon Basestars, the crippling damage began to take its toll; entire spires were blown free from the main body of the ships, volleys slamming into the Baseships with such force that they blew right through the far side; in a decidedly gratifying turn of events from the last several horrific days, this time it was Cylons who were little more than helpless.
As the Colonial warships formed up and began a wide turn around their trapped quarry, a maneuver known colloquially throughout the fleet as 'Azyren's Turn', the Cylon vessels, outnumbered, outgunned, indeed at the moment decisively outmatched, began to succumb one by one. At last, the raw and insurmountable fury of the Colonial battle line exacted its final toll, the sole remaining Basestar vanishing in the brilliant flash of a devastating explosion that sent debris hurtling away into the void.
"We're clear, Commander," called Lieutenant Cortez triumphantly. "Fire control confirms; all enemy targets have been destroyed."
"Harris, get on the wireless and send my congratulations to Runel and his people," said Kelso as he reached a hand out to Burke. "Good idea having them hide in the nebula perimeter, Major Burke."
"Would seem they never saw it coming," grinned Burke as she clasped a hold of the Commander's hand.
Chuckling slightly, Commander Kelso turned and looked back over to Jack Foster.
"Well, Captain Foster, while I don't mean to seem like I'm rushing you out of my CIC, there are some displaced civvies back at Torvik who are going to be very anxious to get back aboard that ship of yours."
"Well, Commander, she did endure two pretty hairy landings during the extraction," smiled Foster as he absently scratched the back of his neck. "If a few of your deck gang can give me a hand, I would like to make sure our landing struts are still in good shape before I try and lift her off again."
"I'll have Chief Copeland get a team ready to help by the time you get back to the hangar deck," replied Kelso evenly as he extended a hand to the liner Captain. "And thanks again for your help."
"I just hope the Vipers you had latched to the hull didn't scratch the paint job too badly," chuckled Foster as he began making his way to the CIC entry hatch.
"I'll have Copeland check to see if we have any touch-up paint in stock," smiled Kelso as he watched Foster go.
"Just so long as it isn't Battlestar gray, Commander," countered Foster as he stepped out into the corridor and disappeared from view.
Chuckling slightly, Kelso returned his attention back to the DRADIS.
"Colonel Runel and his group report ready to return to Torvik Anchorage, Commander," called Harris.
"Very well," sighed Kelso as he glanced over at Burke. "Time to go get our civilians, then we can finally get the hell out of here."
Raptor One-Two-Five
Recon Mission
Lieutenant Samantha Larson looked up from the instruments at the maelstrom of color beyond the Raptor canopy.
"Is it me or do these controls feel a little clunky to you?" muttered Lieutenant Becker from the rear seat.
"She's been sitting in storage for gods only know how long, Becker," replied Larson as she forced herself to look back down at the instrument panel. "Tolerances are bound to be a bit tight."
"I miss our Scimitar," sighed Becker evenly.
"You just keep a keen eye on DRADIS," said Larson as she corrected the Raptor's course along the corridor. "Last thing I want is to bump into a Cylon welcoming committee."
"Come on, Sam, don't you miss our gunship even a little bit?"
"I'd rather make sure I have the chance to see it again," replied Larson evenly. "Now, you keep an eye on DRADIS and let me concentrate on keeping this clunky bucket on course or we might not make it back at all."
While her statement was as much to shut Becker up as anything, there was a very real modicum of truth in Larson's statement. Deep within the pulsar wind nebula surrounding Leto's Twins, everything within view was little more that a bright, colorful palette of expelled gas. To stay on course within the plotted corridor, one had to fly through the corridor strictly on instrumentation.
Hold course for so many minutes and seconds…turn so many degrees…hold that bearing for a specific length of time at a specific speed…and so on.
Stray from that center line and error creep became progressively worse. And if one flew too far off course, at least in a Raptor, it became all too likely that the pulsar emissions coupled with the energetic nebula would fry the bird's electronics. If that happened, there was only one way to describe the situation of the crew inside; fraked.
"How much longer till we reach the end of this tightrope?" asked Becker.
"We should be reaching the end of the corridor in about five minutes," replied Larson, her eyes locked on the panel. "Just one last turn…"
Slowly bringing the nose around, Larson throttled the Raptor up a bit; with no more turns, she could afford to bring up the speed.
"You think the Cylons are actually waiting out there?"
"Commander Kelso thinks they might be," replied Larson as she centered the control stick, setting the Raptor on a straight line. "So far they've lost a six of their Baseships out here; they're bound to know something's up."
"Well, so far there's nothing on DRADIS," sighed Becker. "Maybe we'll be able to make a clean getaway."
"Still a couple hundred kilometers before we get out of the cloud," replied Larson, braving a look out past the canopy. "We'll also have to watch for debris from the destroyed Basehips."
In spite of her own warnings though, she saw nothing but colors…
Sailing on for the remaining minutes, Larson began to wonder if she had indeed slipped off course when the nebula cloud gave no indication of dissipating.
"What were you expecting, a road sign?" chuckled Becker when Larson said as much aloud.
"No wait, I think we're okay," muttered Larson as she saw the cloud fade a bit in front of the Raptor. "Anything on DRADIS?"
"Nothing."
Looking down at her own panel, Larson saw that there was still a significant amount of interference.
"We still can't really see anything through this soup," sighed Larson as she reached up and pushed open the throttles. "I'm gonna push our nose out a little further."
"Just be sure you don't get our nose shot off."
Holding the stick steady, Larson slowly inched the Raptor further and further towards open space. Her eyes locked on her own DRADIS display, she kept a keen eye for anything. For several more minutes, the DRADIS was nothing but soup, the pulsar emissions coupled with the nebula obscuring the image.
"Nothing," sighed Becker. "Clock says we should head back."
"No, not yet," muttered Larson, her eyes still locked on her display.
"What? Why not?"
"Cause I'm not convinced yet," replied Larson flatly.
Nudging the throttles open a little more, Larson continued to watch her display.
For a moment, DRADIS seemed to clear…just long enough that a contact seemed to appear and then disappear again a moment later…
"Wait, did you see that?" snapped Larson.
"See what?"
"Give it a second."
Again, the contact appeared, then disappeared…
"I think something's out there," she said, biting her lip slightly.
"Didn't see it back here."
Her frustration mounting a bit, Larson pushed the throttles wide open, surging the Raptor forward with a kick of acceleration.
"Whoa, watch the speed."
"If there are no road signs, then there's no posted speed limits either," countered Larson flatly.
As the Raptor pushed even further beyond the corridor, DRADIS became progressively clearer.
"There!" burst Larson as the contact reappeared on DRADIS.
"Okay, I see it," snapped Becker, his voice raised a few octaves as the contact remained steady.
Pulling back on the throttles, Larson bumped the thrusters to slow the craft back down.
"Oh, frak," sighed Becker, his tone all but filled with dread.
"What?" snapped Larson, having taken her eyes away from DRADIS while she slowed the ship back down.
As she looked back down at the screen, however, Larson didn't have any need for Becker to explain.
In an instant her skin became cold, prickly, an icy chill running along her spine as she reflexively, hesitantly, looked up from the screen out into open space.
Her eyes growing wide, Larson sucked in a shocked breath as she looked out past the canopy. Unbelievably, Becker appeared next to her, his own gaze looking out at the armada arrayed before them.
Literally, an armada…
With eyes as wide as an awed child's, both Larson and Becker looked out at the ominous sight of eight Cylon Basestars hovering just beyond the corridor. All around, thousands of Raiders surrounded the Basestars, like swarms of angry locusts ready to pounce.
"My gods," hissed Becker as he panned his head around at the view beyond the canopy.
"The gods are exactly who we're going to be talking to next unless we get the frak out of here now," snapped Larson as she nudged Becker back towards the rear. "Now sit down and hold on, we need to get the frak back to Galactica."
Warstar Galactica
Command Operations Center
"Well, at least it won't be a surprise," sighed Adrian Kelso as he set the gun camera photo of the Cylon armada down onto the large operations planning table.
"That it won't," sighed Runel as he leaned forward onto the plot table. "Problem is what do we do about it?"
"Cylons certainly amassed a lot of firepower out there," noted Major Jasper, Ikenga's CO, as she gently played her fingers across one of the photos in her hand. "A lot of firepower."
"No chance we could simply do an FTL from where we are?" asked one of the civilian captains assembled around the large table.
"We have no way of getting a firm FTL fix this far inside the nebula," stated Commander Sean Kelso as he continued to flip through the small stack of photos in his hands. "Even if we could, a pulsar flash while still within the energetic cloud could fry the FTL cores if we tried."
"So we'll have to get outside the nebula before we can even attempt an FTL," sighed Runel.
"And fly right into the serpent's nest," muttered Jasper.
"More like straight into the serpent's mouth," sighed Major Ambrose.
"Time for some serious out-of-the-box thinking, people," said Commander Sean Kelso flatly as he looked out at the assemblage.
"How long would it take to establish an FTL fix once we're outside the nebula?" asked Paul Bess.
"Even with the computers aboard Galactica, it would take approximately five minutes to find enough stellar markers to calculate our position for a jump," replied Sean Kelso evenly.
"A long time to be under fire from that many baseships," muttered Adrian Kelso evenly.
"Especially in a passenger liner," noted Jack Foster. "No armor makes for a bad day in a gunfight."
"What about moving all the people off the civilian ships?" asked Adroa's CO, Major Ambrose.
"Even with as big as they are, we're already short on space aboard the heavy ships," noted Paul Bess, shaking his head slightly as he leaned forward. "Every last decom has people quite literally sitting in the hallways; don't know how many more we can cram aboard without risking riots."
"So the next problem is finding a way to protect the civilian ships while holding off the Cylon attack," sighed Adrian Kelso. "Pretty tall order, even for a ship this big."
Nodding his head in agreement with his father, Commander Sean Kelso's gaze went around the room, from face to face.
"Well, we need to figure out something," muttered Runel. "Cylons might be content to sit out there for the moment, but eventually, they'll make an attempt to get to us; we can't rely on the pulsar emissions to keep them at bay indefinitely."
"Pushing out, we'll take one hell-of-a pounding," began Colonel Brianna Webber evenly. "But with the combined firepower of all our combat assets, we might just be able to hold them off long enough to make the jump calculations."
"The combat assets might be able to, maybe even the unarmed decoms," interjected Adrian Kelso evenly. "But just one nuke could wipe out the civilian liners all at once."
"Too bad we can't just wrap them in armor," muttered one of the civilian captains.
"Wait a second; maybe we can," murmured Jack Foster as he glanced over to one of the other passenger liner captains. "Shepard, what are the dimensions on that whale of yours?"
Almost as soon as the words left Jack Foster's mouth, Commander Sean Kelso began to pick up on what the civilian captain was intimating as Shepard rattled off the dimensions of her liner. When she'd finished, Foster looked back over at Kelso.
"Tight, but it would work," conceded Commander Kelso, gently nodding his head.
"What would work, exactly?" asked the elder Kelso flatly.
"It's your idea," offered Sean Kelso as he motioned over at Jack Foster.
As all the eyes in the room focused in on the civilian captain, a slight grin appeared on the man's lips.
"We dock the liners within the flight pods," said Foster.
It was like a light had gone off in their collective minds.
"Damn, that's so simple it might fraking work," chuckled Bess.
"Only Galactica has pods large enough for the big liners," began Commander Kelso evenly as he looked out at the assemblage. "But we could put the smaller ships aboard Pacifica and Asterica; are the pod retraction systems still functioning?"
Both the elder Kelso and Paul Bess nodded.
"Even better; with pods closed both ships will be like an armored shell around the liners," continued Commander Kelso. "Just as good as wrapping them in armor."
"What about our ships, sir?" asked one of the other civilian captains from one of the freighters.
"Specs on the freighters?"
As each of the four freighter captains rattled of their vessel specs, Commander Kelso began to shake his head.
"All too wide or too much draft," noted Kelso a moment later. "I'll leave it up to you gentleman, but we should consider evacuating your ships."
"No argument from me," snapped one of the freighter captains. "This was supposed to be the ship's last run anyway, due for retirement. What about you Evan?"
"I guess the company can't really sue me at this point," shrugged a second freighter captain, the last two nodding in agreement as well. "But you said all the other ships are already packed, where will we evac to?"
"Galactica, for now at least," replied Commander Kelso flatly. "Once we're clear of the combat zone, we'll work on reshuffling; our first priority is to get past that blockade."
"We should pull as many supplies as we can from all the freighters before we cut them loose," noted the not-so-unhappy captain from the now-doomed freighter Mythic Explorer. "Strip them right to the bulkheads, lightbulbs and all."
"Right," agreed Commander Kelso, lightly thumping his fist on the tabletop. "Let's get started."
"Getting pretty crowded here," muttered Adrian Kelso as he flattened himself up against the bulkhead to allow a couple people carrying a crate to pass.
"That it is," sighed Sean Kelso as he too stepped aside. "In any case, we should be ready to get underway in less than an hour."
As the two men continued on with the crate, both Sean and Adrian resumed making their way towards the flight deck.
"Just one thing I don't understand, son," began Adrian evenly. "Why are you pushing Galactica out first? The moment you emerge, all eight of those Baseships are going to fire on your ship with everything they've got."
"Simple, our computers are the fastest, we have the best chance of calculating the jump fix before the Cylons wipe out this fleet," replied Sean.
"But why the complication of this staggered emergence?" continued Adrian. "Why not just pull all ships out at the same time?"
"Corridor is too tight," replied Sean. "In case you haven't noticed, Galactica is one big ship."
"I have noticed," conceded Adrian as he absently glanced around at the widening corridor.
"Another problem is the debris from the Baseships we destroyed," continued Sean evenly. "Most of it was blown clear of the corridor when they exploded, but the Raptor charted enough of it that we'll need to be wary."
"Still, Runel's battlegroup could hold right on your tail and help establish the perimeter once you've cleared the corridor."
"They will."
"Almost two minutes later," sighed Adrian, shaking his head slightly.
"Runel's ships have taken a beating the last couple days," said Sean evenly. "Worst case scenario, if Galactica doesn't make it…"
"Don't even fraking start," snapped Adrian, pausing midstep as he whipped out with his hand so quickly that the back of his hand landed with a slight thump against his son's chest. "I may not like the plan, even if it's the only plan available, but we are all getting out of here together."
"Then give me the benefit of the doubt, Dad," began Sean, gently rubbing the spot where his father's hand had landed as the two of them resumed walking. "Five minutes; Galactica emerges, pushes out, establishes the skirmish line and begins the calculations. At three minutes, Runel's ships push out and fall in tight to Galactica, a narrow front with interlocking fire solutions so we can throw up as thick a flak barrier as possible. At one minute, all the decoms emerge and fall in behind our cover. Calculations complete, coordinates relayed, all ships jump simultaneously."
"Just that simple?" asked Adrian as the two of them stepped out onto the flight deck.
"We can hope," sighed Sean wryly, cocking his head slightly.
"And no fighter cover?"
"Take too long to recover them," said Sean, shaking his head. "We need to be out and away as quickly as we can; we'll just have to depend on our weapons batteries to keep the Cylons at bay."
As they reached the Raptor that would transport Adrian back to Pacifica, the old Battlestar Commander turned to his son. At first, Adrian opened his mouth as if to say something, then waved whatever his thought was away as he reached out and took hold of Sean.
"Take care of yourself, Commander," said Adrian, choking back tears.
"I'll see you on the far side, Commander," replied Sean with a smirk.
Slowly releasing his son, Adrian squeezed his son's shoulder one last time, gave it a pat, turned, and stepped up the Raptor winglet.
As the hatch started to close, Sean Kelso watched as the deck gang moved the Raptor over towards the lift platform. Staying long enough to watch the Raptor disappear behind the lift's airlock door, Sean turned and looked around at the flurry of activity throughout the flight deck, the deck gang busily locking down and securing the aircraft and equipment. Five minutes under Cylon fire would be a harrowing experience, even aboard a ship as large as Galactica.
"Five minutes," muttered Sean as he watched the activity.
Clasping his hands behind his back, Commander Sean Kelso took one last look around, nodded his head softly, took a deep breath and began making his way back to CIC.
Raptor Three-One-One
En route to Battlestar Pacifica
Looking out past the canopy from the co-pilot seat, Adrian Kelso, former Commander in the Colonial Fleet, ad hoc commanding officer of the former Battlestar Pacifica, surreptitiously wiped a tear from his eye as he watched the Raptor make a wide turn around the Warstar Galactica.
"ETA six minutes, sir," stated Lieutenant Cooper as he glanced over at Kelso.
"Thank you, Lieutenant," replied Adrian evenly.
"Are you okay, sir?"
"I'll be fine, Lieutenant."
As the Galactica passed out of view, Kelso found himself straining a bit to keep her within sight, but quickly settled back into the seat as the Raptor came around towards the Pacifica.
"We'll see her again, sir," said Cooper evenly a moment later.
Somewhat surprised, Kelso looked over at the young Lieutenant.
"What makes you say that, Cooper?"
Chuckling slightly, Cooper shook his head.
"I guess I can't quite say, sir," began Cooper as he looked over at Kelso. "Just a feeling, I guess."
"There's got to be some reason, Lieutenant," replied Kelso as he looked over at the Pacifica.
For a moment, Lieutenant Cooper sat there, silent, mulling it over.
"Because he's your son, sir," interjected Lieutenant Lee as he appeared in between the two seats.
"Well that's a hell-of-a reason," chuckled Kelso as he glanced over at Lee. "Just because he's my son doesn't make him invincible."
"Maybe not," conceded Cooper evenly as he looked over at the former Commander. "But it does seem to have made him a survivor."
Warstar Galactica
Combat Information Center (CIC)
"Action Stations, Action Stations; set Condition One throughout the ship; this is not a drill. Action Stations, Action Stations; set Condition One throughout the ship; this is not a drill. Section heads report to Combat upon manning of Action Stations."
His eyes locked on the obscured DRADIS screen overhead, Commander Sean Kelso simply listened as Major Tyra Burke finished the announcement and hung up the handset.
"We'll be emerging from the corridor in five minutes, Commander," called Lieutenant Cortez.
"Very well, Lieutenant," replied Kelso as he looked over at Major Burke. "Prepare to initiate the battle plan, Major Burke."
"Aye, sir."
Returning his eyes to the screen overhead, Kelso saw that the more powerful DRADIS array aboard Galactica had begun to receive intermittent contact with the Cylon Basestars hovering just beyond the mouth of the entry corridor.
Intermittent in that their signatures would appear and disappear. Nevertheless, their presence was keenly felt.
"Helm, we need to give a wide berth to the ships following us," began Burke as she stood watching the screen overhead. "Hold course and push us out to five kilometers before initiating our turn."
"Understood, Major," replied Petty Officer Chapman.
"Any final words, sir?" asked Burke as she leaned over the table slightly.
Looking over at the Major, Kelso looked her in the eye as she gently motioned her head towards the crew around CIC. Slowly taking a step back from the plot table, Kelso picked up the handset from the side of the plot table, toggled the switch for the One-MC, then began looking around the CIC, looking out to each and every face.
Smiling slightly, Kelso took a steadying breath.
"This is the Commander," he said evenly as he looked around at his crew. "In a matter of moments, we will be engaging the enemy. Were this some old war movie rather than real life, I suppose this is the moment where I would muster the words to deliver a rousing speech that would rally your spirits and lead us to victory."
The visible tension and apprehension in the faces around him was clear, palpable. Nevertheless, Commander Kelso managed to smirk a bit as he continued.
"And as cliché as it is, I guess I wish it were just a movie because I could use some of those stirring words right now myself."
Taking a deep breath, his smirk faded a bit.
"But this isn't a movie, this is real life. I can't give you any certainties about the outcome of this battle beyond this; either we succeed, or we fail. There is no second place, no second chance. Do what you've been trained to do, trust in the person beside you; I'm not asking that of you, it's what I expect."
Looking around one last time, Commander Sean Kelso took one last deep breath and gently nodded his head.
"Now, let's go to work people."
Placing the handset back into its place, Commander Kelso returned his attention to DRADIS overhead. The interference from the nebula and pulsars had cleared enough that several of the Baseships waiting outside the corridor were now firmly locked in the system.
Moreover, it seemed clear that the Cylons had picked up the Galactica as she ascended through the corridor; massive formations of Raiders had begun to deploy themselves in such a way that they would quickly and easily swarm down upon the Colonials the moment they emerged.
Taking slow, steady breaths, his fingers lightly tapping on the plot table, Kelso continued to watch DRADIS, waiting expectantly as the Warstar Galactica churned up the last leg through the corridor.
"We have exited the corridor, Commander," announced Burke, her fingers instinctively gripping tightly onto the plot table. "Steady on course to five kilometer perimeter point."
"Very well," snapped Kelso as he watched his ship continue to sail defiantly towards the enemy ships. "Lieutenant Cortez, start establishing those stellar fix points. I don't want to stay here any longer than we have to."
"Aye, Commander," replied Cortez, casting a momentary, hesitant glance at the Cylons on DRADIS.
"We've reached five-K from the corridor, Commander," announced Petty Officer Chapman from the helm. "Initiating turn to Starboard."
"Cylon Raiders inbound, Commander," snapped Burke. "Multiple vectors, CBDR, two minutes till they're within weapons range."
His pulse quickening, Kelso watched as the wall of Raiders dove in en masse and began racing straight for the Galactica, over a thousand of them…
"Major get on the horn, advise gunnery to prepare full suppressive barrage, flak loads in all main guns," snapped Kelso.
"What about the Baseships, Commander?" asked Burke evenly as she slowly lifted the handset to her ear. "Flak loads won't even dent them."
"Forget them," muttered Kelso evenly as he eyes continued to watch DRADIS. "Raiders are the prime threat right now. If we don't pepper those Raiders with everything we've got, there'll be nothing left of us for those Baseships to have to worry about."
Nodding gently, Burke toggled the switch for Gunnery and relayed the Commander's orders.
"Sir, Gunnery reports they're still getting a lot of interference from the pulsar on DRADIS," began Burke, her eyes wandering back up to DRADIS as the color slowly began to drain from her face. "Auto-targeting is having difficulty establishing a firing solution."
"Then order them to go to manual," snapped Kelso as he watched the wall of Raiders continue to swoop down towards his ship. "We need to clip the wings of those birds the moment they're within range; I want them to keep walking their rounds in right along with the enemy advance, keep our flak bursts right in the middle of their forward elements."
"Turn complete, Commander," called Chapman. "We are in position to deliver a full broadside."
"Gunnery reports they've gone over to manual, ready to initiate barrage on your order," stated Burke.
His eyes locked on DRADIS, all of Commander Sean Kelso's attention was focused on the line. Itself only a few computer generated pixels marking a point in space, an artificial border delineating nothing more than that point where the Cylons and Colonials could start pounding away at one another with their weapons.
And the Cylons had begun to cross that line…
"Commence fire, all main and secondary batteries," snapped Kelso as the Raiders sailed into Galactica's engagement zone. "Time we showed the Cylons why they called this ship a Warstar."
Throughout CIC, the resounding thud of Galactica's guns opening up echoed through the air, reverberating through the bulkheads, through the very deck beneath their feet. With both main cannons hurtling shredding flak loads and the secondary cannons throwing up a hail of fire, the entire wall of advancing Raiders was sprayed with a lethal cannonade that ripped through the relatively frail fighters.
By sheer weight of numbers, the Cylons continued to push forward through the withering fire. Undeterred by the volume of ordnance being thrown up by the Colonial warship, they raced ahead through the blasts, through the debris of their shredded compatriots, intent on the kill.
Turning, veering, evading, they maneuvered in through the wall of fire from Galactica as another order came to them, relayed through the hybrids aboard their mother Baseships.
In response to that order, all throughout the advancing wall of Raiders, the underside doors over the winglet ordnance bays opened.
"Radiological alarm!" snapped Burke.
In an instant, all throughout the formation, DRADIS began designating literally hundreds of the Raiders, highlighting them as carrying an active nuclear warhead.
"Commander, DRADIS indicates we have over two hundred Raiders targeting us with nukes," called Lieutenant Cortez.
"You let us fight the battle, Lieutenant," barked Kelso as he watched the DRADIS continue to highlight still more of the closing Raiders. "You get me those damned jump coordinates!"
Across the table from the Commander, Major Burke slowly shook her head, her throat choked so tight she could barely breath.
"We can't..," she whispered, shaking her head gently. "We simply can't repel that many…"
Just then, the Cylon Raiders launched their first volley of missiles.
Battlecruiser Enceladus
Shaking his head, in anger, in frustration, Colonel Thadius Runel leaned in over the plot table as he listened over the wireless to the pounding being absorbed by the Galactica.
Despite their numbers, the Cylons were being relatively conservative in their attack on the Warstar. The first volley had included both conventional warheads as well as nukes. Some of the missiles had been knocked down by Galactica's main and defensive batteries, others were scrambled by either the background radiation or ECM systems. Nevertheless, the massive warship was still absorbing a considerable amount of punishment.
But, she was still in the fight…
"We have cleared the corridor, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe as the Enceladus pushed out to join the fray beside Galactica. "Main batteries are reporting difficulty establishing a firing solution and are going to manual."
"Very well."
Watching DRADIS, Runel secretly wondered, worried, even with two ships in the fight there were a hell-of-a-lot of Raiders racing in; if they got in close, they'd be almost impossible to take out and be able to inflict pin-point damage. They needed to drastically cut into the enemy, truly hurt them while they were still at a standoff distance if they were going to survive.
And damned if he hadn't learned by his own experience a good way to do that.
"Lieutenant Thorpe, prepare a strike package…"
Warstar Galactica
The deck pitching violently beneath his feet under the punishing assault Galactica was trying to fight off, Commander Sean Kelso looked up at DRADIS in time to see the Battlecruiser Enceladus push out and begin her turn.
"Radiological alarm!" shouted Major Burke.
All around, the entire ship pitched, bucking under another hard series of impacts, drowning out Burke as she attempted to continue her report.
For his part, Kelso wasn't sure what else could be done to prevent another Cylon nuclear launch; Galactica was already firing away with everything she had.
Looking up at the screen overhead, Kelso watched as the Enceladus erupted in a hail of missiles. But that didn't make sense; Runel had to know the guidance systems were susceptible to the background radiation from the pulsars.
Nevertheless, the Enceladus' missiles raced away straight and true, rocketing past the Galactica headlong into the swarming mass of Raiders bearing down on them. But while Kelso had expected the missiles to find some targets in the enemy formation, what he hadn't been expecting…
…was the telltale signature of multiple nuclear detonations erupting within the roiling mass of enemy fighters…
Kelso couldn't help but grin.
Colonel Thadius Runel; that beautiful, crazy son-of-a-bitch.
The volley launched by the Enceladus hadn't needed to be pinpoint accurate. With the missiles dispersed throughout the entire line of Raiders, the nuclear detonations had blasted massive gaps within the wall of enemy fighters. Against weapons designed to take out enemy Baseships, the nimble fighters were crushed en masse, vast swaths blasted to oblivion in the audacious strike.
Even as the stunned enemy tried to regroup in the face of so staggering a blow, the Enceladus followed up her initial hammer blow by opening up with her conventional guns, adding her cannonade to that already being laid down by the Galactica.
Even as the Enceladus completed her turn into position, the destroyers Adroa and Ikenga, close behind on the proverbial heels of the stout Battlecruiser, likewise began to maneuver into place, raking the flanks of the Cylon advance.
But with the enemy's initial thrust ripped to shreds, their Raiders in disarray, the Baseships themselves maneuvered in to join the fray.
"Basestars are launching missiles!" snapped Burke as she practically pulled herself back to her feet by the plot table. "Two hundred-plus inbound!"
His eyes locked on the screen overhead, Kelso said nothing.
ECM, background radiation, flak barrier, suppressive fire; it could all only do so much to whittle away at the enemy barrage.
Gripping tightly onto the plot table, Kelso waited for the inevitable…
As the first hits slammed into the Galactica, Kelso fought desperately to keep from being tossed across the CIC. With the deck pitching hard with each missile impact, he held firm to the plot table.
"Jump calculations, Lieutenant?" shouted Kelso, his voice barely audible over the thundering impacts echoing throughout CIC.
"Two more minutes, Commander!" shouted Lieutenant Cortez as an impact nearly vaulted him over the jump console.
Even as another series of impacts slammed into the Warstar, Kelso was able to look up at DRADIS long enough to see that the two other carriers, Savitri and Proteus, had maneuvered into position along the defense line, adding their fire to the effort.
For all the good it did…
The Cylons were clearly intent on taking the Galactica down. Practically ignoring the smaller Colonial ships, the enemy was concentrating their fire on the wounded leviathan.
All around CIC, panels exploded, crewmen screamed as overloads caused their consoles to erupt in a shower of sparks. Glancing over, Kelso peered through the thickening haze of smoke to the damage control. All across the panel, indicator lights sparkled bright red, highlighting the punishment the massive vessel was enduring.
And the FTL cores?
Still online…
But for how long?
"Gods dammit!" spat Burke as she struggled to pull herself up from the deck for at least the third time.
Returning his eyes to DRADIS, Kelso watched as the decommissioned vessels carrying the bulk of the civilian survivors pushed past the mouth of the corridor and nestled themselves in tightly behind the protective sphere being created by Galactica and the others.
The surviving Raiders that had managed to close the distance were now swarming from nearly every direction, racing in along the axis of the ship, veering about, turning, firing, coming in again, like a swarm of angry insects, biting at the massive Warstar.
All around, Kelso could hear the very hull of the Galactica buckling under the enemy fire, like a wounded beast, she seemed to groan under the punishing impacts of missile after missile.
After years of supervising her construction, he knew her…
Stout or not, she had a limit…
"Jump calculations complete!" shouted Lieutenant Cortez excitedly.
"Relay to the fleet, Lieutenant!" called Kelso as he held tightly onto the plot table under another series of hard impacts.
"All ships acknowledge receipt, Commander!" called Petty Officer Harris from the Comm station, a split second before a breaker panel near her head exploded in a shower of sparks.
Crying out in agony, she fell to the deck, unmoving…
For the moment, there was no way to know if she was dead or just unconscious…
No time…
"Burke, relay to fleet, jump in ten seconds, on my mark!" snapped Kelso as he cast his eyes back to the screens overhead.
"Aye, sir!"
"Ready for jump!" shouted Cortez.
"All ships acknowledge ready for jump!" shouted Burke as she stood, one hand gripping the plot table, one holding the handset to her ear.
"Mark!" burst Kelso.
Ten seconds…
Another series of pounding impacts rocked Galactica…
Eight…
Losing her grip, Burke was suddenly hurled back onto the deck, tumbling away into a bulkhead…
Six…
Thrown forward, Kelso slammed his stomach hard against the plot table, knocking the wind out of him, leaving his wheezing…
Four…
One of the brackets holding a DRADIS screen in place broke free, sending the screen tumbling…
Two…
The screen landed hard on Kelso's head, clattering to the deck as searing pain shot through his skull…
"Jump!" shouted Cortez.
His hand clutched to the pounding in his skull, Kelso felt a warm, slick sensation in between his fingers, his head spinning as he vaguely felt himself collapsing to the deck, darkness swarming over him…
Leto's Twins
Untold eons ago, two nascent stars slipped from the stellar nursery of the universe's beginning and became locked into orbit around one another. After a time near immeasurable, the two of them collapsed into twin neutron stars, creating the dual pulsar formation that would come to be known by humanity as Leto's Twins.
In the chaos of that collapse, the few uninhabited planetoids that had orbited the binary system were pulverized into dust by the chaotic shifts in gravity, combining with the energetic ejecta of the collapse itself to become the sustaining matter upon which they would feed.
For untold thousands of millennia, the Twins had continued their celestial dance around one another, their energetic pulsations feeding and at the same time feeding upon the energetic nebula that slowly formed around them. The cycle of ejection and consumption continued, drawing in particles to fuel the nuclear fusion that expelled still more energy into the space surrounding them.
Still countless more millennia after their formation, following a devastating war precipitated by humanity's hubris, their intrusion into the domain of gods by the creation of new life, mankind came to the Twins and built a supply station, stockpiling it with the tools and materials with which they could defend themselves from their own creations.
And then, within what was on a cosmic scale little more than the blink of an eye, another group of the humans had returned, seeking those supplies and a refuge from the genocidal vengeance of their handiwork.
All too quickly, the war within which they found themselves embroiled had followed them.
And now as their last desperate battle to escape raged on the proverbial doorstep of the apathetic pulsars, unseen, a massive gravitational current swept another wave of particles into the twin nuclear furnaces.
In burst of energetic release, like the snapping of fingers by some unseen omnipotent being, the normally stable pattern of consumption and emission from the pulsars was disrupted, an eruption suddenly flaring up on a scale immeasurable, a massive wave of energy and radiation that engulfed the human ships.
The Cylon Basestars, fully invested in wiping out the Colonial warships, gave little notice to what their instruments were identifying as an unusual yet localized increase in the radiant emissions from the pulsars, one that posed no threat in spite of the frantic cries of their hybrids, their frenzied screams suddenly echoing off the bulkheads.
But aboard the human ships, the tangible effect of the energy release was far greater.
As their own technology forged an artificial hyper-dimensional link between two disparate points in space, altering the basic physics and relationship between space and time, the energy released by the pulsars washed over the ships, enhancing the reaction, contorting it, feeding it, increasing the energy release created within the human ships on an exponential scale.
In an instant, a convergence of chance or design, the altered physics created by the humans was distorted even further, twisted in a fashion far, far beyond the control of the mere mortals huddled aboard the relatively fragile ships.
And then, in a bright flash of light, they were gone.