Chapter 11

Washington D.C., United States

"Admiral Adama, come in," said Warren, standing over his coffee table in the middle of the Oval Office. Beside him was a member of the American military, most likely a high-ranking general. Adama couldn't tell what the stars on his uniform meant, but they were probably rank insignia of some sort.

"What can I do for you, Mr. President?" Adama asked as the door was closed behind him.

"Over the last few hours we have been getting some strange radar patterns over Russia." said Warren. "Aircraft appearing and disappearing. We've also gotten a single satellite image of one of the craft that disappeared. Unfortunately it was more by chance than by design, so we don't have any more at this time. I want your opinion on this image, see if you can spot anything."

The door to the Office then opened unexpectedly, and one of the secretaries poked her head in. "Mr. President, there's been a disturbance in Russia. Something's happening on CNN."

"Thank you, Connie," said Warren as the door closed. "Might be related to the odd radar pictures." He picked up a small, black object that easily fit in his hand. The flat surface of the object, when activated, turned out to be a colourful, user-configurable touch screen. It seemed to be a television remote, for he then used the device to activate a television monitor hanging on the wall in place of a picture. Instantly, in amazing clarity, was an announcer trying desperately to remain professional while briefing the country on whatever was happening. BREAKING NEWS flashed across the bottom of the screen.

"It's usually bad news when that happens," muttered Warren.

The scene switched before Adama could pick up what was happening, but the animated splash at the bottom of the screen read Panic In Russia. The television now showed footage from another channel, this one filled with cyrillic characters. The American announcer was voicing over a Russian reporter, giving a translation of what was happening.

"It started early this morning," it read, and Adama remembered that the country was on the other side of the planet relative to him. "Government troops are now battling well organized insurgents on the streets of most major Soviet cities, and are also holding a front in Moscow, where the Kremlin has fallen under heavy siege, with Red Army soldiers holding the line in such a way that cuts the city effectively in half. However another faction has appeared, assisting the insurgents in battling government forces, with units proving surprisingly resilient to small-arms fire. The situation is rapidly growing worse with each passing hour."

The scene switched from the frazzled Russian reporter to a film captured on what must have been a handheld device. Sure enough, Russian soldiers were fighting other similarly equipped fighters, but a glint of metal in the background attracted the camera's focus to a large shape that opened fire into the Russian lines. The object proved beyond a doubt that this was more than a private little war.

"What the hell is that?" Warren exclaimed. "Is that mechanical?"

"Where's that satellite picture?" Adama asked hurriedly. "If that is what I think it is, they've been sneaking in troops under your nose."

"It's here," said the general (Patton, according to his name tag), silent until this point. He showed Adama a laptop computer, with another colourful touch screen in place of physical keys. Sure enough, Adama saw what he was looking for.

"Mr. President, it is imperative that you switch to the highest alert status you have."

"Are you saying there's an imminent threat against our country?" asked Warren. When Adama nodded, Warren cut him off. "General Patton, coordinate with the Joint Chiefs. Tell them I want to be at DEFCON 2 as soon as possible. Be ready to go to DEFCON 1 if I deem it necessary."

Adama impatiently started again. "Mr. President, this satellite photo shows that this is far beyond a simple civil war. This will give the Cylons a beachhead on this planet." Adama swung the laptop around to show Warren the photo.

"What do the Cylons have to do with any of this? Unless..." He took a closer look at the aircraft. "Is that a Cylon ship?"

Adama nodded. "Time's up."

Battlestar Agippa

Greer ducked into CIC, the alarms going full tilt. All ships were at Condition One, and preparing to jump to escape coordinates randomly generated aboard the Agrippa and distributed to the fleet. The Activity was a problem, though. She could take care of herself but if the Cylons showed up in any numbers she might have to be abandoned.

"Coordinates distributed." reported Ensign White from tactical. Greer wasn't too worried about having someone inexperienced at the post, but the old Pegasus crewman was caught there when the alert first came through.

"They'll be on us any second now." said Commander Ramius. "Spitfire and Odyssey both report successful spin-up and are ready to escort the fleet to standby site."

"Channel power to the weapons array and load all missile tubes. Launch of nuclear weapons is now authorized." Greer ordered. He pulled a key from around his neck and inserted it into the plot table. Ramius imitated with a key of his own. They turned at the same time, and a green light appeared. "Signal the ships of beta group to do the same." Greer had divided the ships into two groups. The Spitfire and the Odyssey would both jump with the fleet while the rest of the battlegroup would remain with the Activity to defend in case any of the ships had FTL malfunctions. Raptors were powered down in orbit, and if the Activity was compromised they would pick up the survivors and escape. Naslund had helped create this situation by refusing to abandon the starship, but had only a skeleton crew to operate the combat systems. All non-essential personnel were onboard the Spitfire.

"The fleet's- Contact! Contact, multiple bandits, three Baseships on a CBDR, fleet's still jumping away." White said excitedly.

"Copy to battlegroup and Activity," Greer ordered calmly. "Put us between them and the fleet."

"Three basestars?" Ramius pointed out.

"Up until this point they've only had to deal with the Galactica." said Greer. "We gotta make sure we hammer them before they get back and give away our status. They shouldn't know that we've encountered the other survivors." He looked sharply at Ramius. "We took them by surprise before, last time we got lucky. Let's keep it that way."

"They're launching nukes!" White reported. "Seven inbound, five on us, two on Activity."

"Activity just shifted power to the weapons array. They're up to something," said Ramius.

"One nuke, no two-" White was having trouble keeping up. The anti-meteorite laser emplacement on the Activity was targeting the missiles and vaporizing them with a coherent beam of light, less than a second for each missile. The entire cluster of nukes was reduced to debris, dust, and gas in less than five seconds.

"That's pretty damn impressive," Ramius muttered. "They're launching Raiders now."

"All batteries establish suppression fire. Priority on nuclear ordnance. Tie in to fire control."

"Understood," said White. The Activity was cutting huge swaths through the incoming swarm of Raiders. The console then beeped louder than it had up to this point. "The Activity's launched one quarter of its entire nuclear arsenal... The launches were perfectly instantaneous."

"Again, impressive." said Greer. "Stand by on Vipers, but hold them in the tubes. Repeat, hold in the tubes."

Ramius studied the DRADIS display. "Five of the missiles have been destroyed, the Cylons are now selectively targeting the nuclear missiles."

"But there are so many at least a few should get through," said Greer. "Their strategy seems to have merit."

White then rained on the parade. "The Activity just lost power. Massive computer failure. They've just launched their entire remaining arsenal manually."

No less than thirty missiles of assorted nuclear and non-nuclear variety raced out of the dying Terran starship. They had been released by manual explosive bolts, and were sprinting towards the basestars.

"Signal the Raptors to pick up the survivors." ordered Greer. "What's the status of the nuclear missiles?"

"The Cylon are definitely targeting them." Half were gone, but enough remained to completely destroy the Cylons. "Our area suppression fire is keeping the fighter wings disorganized. Confirm one basestar destroyed. Six more missiles inbound for the last two... One more confirmed destroyed, one severely damaged."

"Signal the Minotaur to move in to point-blank and open up with lateral batteries. Smash them."

The Nonsuch-class frigate moved alongside the last stricken basestar and promptly opened up. The Raiders helplessly flew in between the dying carrier and the Colonial frigate, desperately trying to delay the destruction of the basestar. Some of them even rammed the Minotaur, but not many passed through the wall of flak. The Agrippa moved around the Cylon vessel and opened fire.

"Massive detonations and decompressions..." reported Ramius. "All contacts destroyed. And we didn't even have to launch the fighters. The Terrans might have something there."

"Set a course for the fleet and recall all Raptors." ordered Greer. "The system will be swarming with Cylons in very short order."

Washington D.C., United States

"Ah, Madam President," said Warren as President Beria entered the Office. "I assume you've been informed of the situation in Russia."

"You mean the ongoing battle between the Red Army and the NKGB? Trust me, Admiral, I know what goes on in my own country. Especially with your free press."

Warren twiddled his thumbs for a second, then sat down behind the Resolute Desk. "So what happens now?"

"The NKGB wishes to overthrow the legitimate government of the SSR, Gromyko's always believed that I am too moderate and weak. They waited until I was away to launch, they must have the entire operation planned out. I'm somewhat surprised that they chose to act at all, their forces are small compared to the Red Army."

"You think they're acting alone?"

"Who else would they work with? They seem to be gaining much more ground than I thought they would, but then I thought Gromyko wasn't idiotic enough to launch that kind of campaign. They caught us by surprise, and now they almost control the Kremlin, while we're still trying to activate most of our forces. I would like to know where they got the mechanized infantry, but at this point stopping them is a greater concern."

Warren couldn't tell a thing from Beria's face, he knew from experience that it was near impossible to crack.

"They do have assistance." he said. "It's the Cylons, they've committed troops and resources to aiding the NKGB forces. The mobile Centurion units have proven resistant to most of your small arms fire, and require larger rounds to destroy. It is because of them that your forces are falling back in disarray. They simply weren't expecting to require firepower of that magnitude."

"Bozhemoi!" she exclaimed, her face expressing shock. Warren was almost as shocked as she was just seeing her express emotion. "The Admiral was right!"

"This is only the beginning, they won't stop now. I've put my forces at DEFCON 2, and I can try to deploy any assistance you might need. That is, if I can get Congress to authorize it."

"Once our heavier weaponry comes through it shouldn't be a problem." said Beria. "But thank you for the assistance. I'm afraid it won't be necessary."

"You do realize the Cylons have started attacking your depots with surgical air strikes."

Beria once again surprised Warren by expressing dismay. "I wish we had a news service as efficient as yours. I'd like the kind of luck the Cylons are having right now."

"No!" Warren exclaimed. "They knew exactly how and where to hit you. They understood how your defense system worked. There must have been a Cylon agent working inside your government! Adama said that was how the Cylons compromised the Colonies. They're doing it again, here! Adama showed up and screwed up their plans, so they're going to have to do it the old-fashioned way."

"Again we come to your question: Now what?"

"I might have a solution to that..." said Warren with barely contained glee. "We've had something in development during the failed FTL experiment forty years ago... I never thought we'd have any use for it, it's been sitting and gathering dust for a while."

"Some American gadget, I'm sure." said Beria. "You Americans are too dependent on your technology. The Cylons could target you and shut your country down."

"A gadget, yes, but a gadget that will keep both the Colonials and the Cylons guessing!"

"I like the sound of this so far." said Beria. "Have you shared this with the Colonials?"

"I wouldn't be telling you if your country wasn't under attack, but considering the circumstances you should know. We reversed the principle of the FTL drive and developed a dampening field that can block out FTL jumps." Warren activated the monitor on the wall to show a schematic of the device.

Beria stared blankly at it. "And what is this?"

"Uh, yeah..." Warren scratched his head. "Well to tell you the truth I don't have any idea what this crap does. All I know is that any ship trying to jump into a certain area is redirected to the border of the dampening field."

Beria continued staring at him. "Two questions: first, does it work, and second if it does can it cover the surface of the Earth?"

Warren's smile faded. "The boys at... the research post think it will work. However so far it can only cover a certain area."

Beria raised her eyebrows. She really was slipping. "What area?"

Warren scratched his head uncomfortably. "Er... Ten square miles. Give or take a hundred yards."

Beria nodded, trying not to sound too underwhelmed. "It's a start. I suggest you show the prototype to the Colonials in orbit. They know more about FTL drives than any Terran alive today. And this sounds like a weapon that can negate the Cylons' greatest advantage, and level the playing field."

"The CIA advises against sharing it..." Warren said.

Beria's eyes flashed. "My country is falling apart. Cylon ships are clearly jumping in and out of the air at will. You say this machine can prevent it. Unless you want the SSR to fall, give the damned machine to the experts and save millions of people in the process. So I hope you decide soon!"

As Beria rose, Warren waved a hand. "Before you go, I've offered to give the Russian embassy any resources they need in order to let you run your country from here. There's also office space downstairs."

Beria inclined her head. "Thank you, Mr. President."

As she left, Warren sighed and leaned back, picking up the phone. "Connie, get me Area 51. Tell them I want the FTL-dampener in a box ready to be sent up to the Valkyrie ASAP And if they complain tell them it's either that or I'm inviting a team down, and I don't give a shit if the goddamned machine's classified. Yes, you can tell them that. Yes, I mean word for word!"

Moscow, Russia

Major Lavochkin threw himself under a slab of concrete as the plasma charges buzzed overhead, blasting chunks out of the wall behind him. His own plasma rifle hung unused at his side, as he tried to call his unit. So far the airwaves had been jammed pretty neatly, and every frequency was a solid tone.

"Bozhemoi!" he shouted over the explosions and cheerful pops of weapons fire. "Sergeant! Are you there Sergeant?"

"Da!" Petrov shouted back, as he leapt over the rubble. "Damn NKGB bastards got us pinned down but good! Devil's nephew only knows how we'll get out of this!"

"Shit!" Lavochkin cursed. "So what the hell can we do?"

"We exhausted our anti-tank rockets and grenades fighting the metalheads." Petrov reported. "We're down to throwing rocks at the bastards."

"What's your status?" Lavochkin asked.

"I got two clips of plasma cartridges, but apart from that I'm out."

"Bozhemoi!" Lavochkin hissed. "We have to pull back!"

"And abandon the city?" Petrov exclaimed. Another shell exploded nearby, shaking the dugout wildly. "Alright, we'll pull back! But how can we communicate?"

"We'll just have to rely on the local commanders to make the right choice!" shouted Lavochkin. "Without armour or air support we're going to be chewed to pieces!" Sure enough, another plasma shell impacted a nearby building. The explosion was drowned by the roar of collapsing scaffolding and woodwork.

"PULL BACK! PULL BACK! GET YOUR ASSES OUT OF THERE!" Lavochkin bellowed at the top of his lungs. He fired a burst from his plasma rifle into the air, and then crawled backwards out of the hole. Soldiers, some of them throwing aside empty stovepipe rocket launchers, also popped up out of the emplacements, pulling back as the combined Cylon and NKGB forces pushed forward. Lavochkin saw two Cylon machines open fire on the retreating Red Army, cutting a swath through the defenders. He found shelter and opened up with his own automatic plasma rifle. But the bullets couldn't penetrate the hard shell of the metalhead, and the armour seemed to be non-conductive as well, for the plasma charge each bullet was coated with didn't damage the machine either. But it did a damn good job of distracting it.

He ducked behind the wall seconds before the machine turned and sprayed non-charged bullets at the place he'd been standing moments before. If not for the metalheads the skirmish would've been long since over, but as it was the Cylons were forcing the unprepared and therefore poorly equipped Red Army units backwards.

Lavochkin popped out again after the metalhead had peppered the wall to its satisfaction. The entire street had been pockmarked and obliterated, with not a single windowpane or unmarked wall. Most of the casualties seemed to be Reds, along with the few metalheads that the rockets and other explosives had destroyed.

Lavochkin ran and didn't stop running backwards until he found the nearest operating command post, behind the lines.

"Major Lavochkin, tell me things aren't as bad as I've heard." said Colonel Tretiak, the commander for the Central Moscow Front.

"Probably worse, sir." Lavochkin saluted. "Damned metalheads have turned the fight, and we've exhausted all of our explosives. Grenades, anti-tank rockets, the lot. Until we get some more equipment or support, we're dead. There's no way we can take them, not with plasma rifles and canteens."

"What do you suggest then? Give up the city?"

"The city's lost, we just don't accept it yet. All we can do is go out there and get shot. We can't penetrate the armour of those mechanical soldiers. It's like we've got pellet guns."

"I've been trying to get materiel forward but the enemy air forces have been terrorizing the supply lines and shelling the depots. At this rate of attrition in two days we'll have about 12 capacity. Our airfields were the first to get hit. The ones that weren't hit first quickly went dark, and we haven't been able to contact them." Tretiak slammed the table with his fist. "I fear you may be right."

"It doesn't matter what you think. If we're to have any forces left by morning we must get our asses out of here!"

Tretiak stared daggers at him, but nodded. "Corporal Yeltsin, fire the red and orange flares, and pack the tent. We're leaving."

Battlestar Agrippa

"Cylons on Earth!" Greer exclaimed. "I never thought Earth was real, let alone having the Cylons invade it!"

Ramius shrugged. "For now, all we can do is wait. Tau Ceti is no longer safe, while Earth itself is slowly being conquered."

"The last Raptor said only the SSR had been attacked, and that a breakaway sect of the Soviet government had allied itself with them to depose the President. But why? Why all the plotting? Why haven't they just shut down and nuked Earth like they did with us?"

Ramius watched Greer pace back and forth inside the cabin. "Isn't it obvious? We only found out about the humanoid Cylon models and their sabotage when it was too late. Thanks to Adama, the Terrans discovered the Cylons in the early stages of the operation. Adama said that less than a month ago the Cylons were still ignorant as to the location of Earth, leading to the confrontation over that planet in the star cluster."

"So you're saying we interfered with their plans?"

Ramius nodded. "Makes sense, doesn't it? Kara Thrace falling through that anomaly is the only reason we found Earth at all. With all the noise it's putting out I'm amazed they didn't find it sooner, but that's a moot point. Now they've had a chance to adapt, and firewall everything. Question is, will they?"

"So, what do we do now? Adama's requested a few more pilots, but we can't keep sitting out here. We have to do something at some point."

Ramius shook his head. "Where would the civilians go? The Cylons have interrupted the settlement negotiations, we have no destination. We have to stay and protect the civvies."

Greer nodded. "Let's just hope Earth's tough enough to last five minutes."

Russian Embassy, Washington

Beria sat back in the converted meeting room, watching the incoming data streams on the monitors hanging on the walls. The front had been pushed back even further, out of Moscow and Ryazan, the dark patches representing Axis forces growing out from the surrounding areas like a tumor. Penza, Kostroma, and Vologda had also fallen, and the Axis forces had reached Kazakhstan in the south. If they pushed much further north they might try to bisect Russia. Konosha was under siege, and once through that there was no further military presence right until the Barents Sea. Then the Navy could extend a presence inland as far as the destroyers could fire. But the carriers had fallen under attack, and three had been lost. Fierce dogfights still raged over the Arctic Ocean, with the Russian aircraft holding the remaining six carriers.

"And what of the land-based aircraft?" Beria asked. "How many airfields remain?"

"Most of the intact fields are either out of range or have gone dark. They won't show themselves for fear of elimination, because the commanders must not be sure it would do any good to give away their position for a few offensives."

"Give me some numbers," demanded Beria.

"In the area, we're down to 14 of total air capability." said General Gorbuchov. "Armour forces have also been hit hard. The supply lines are too scrambled to get much to the Front."

"So you're saying without air we're as good as defeated." Beria said.

Gorbuchov and Chekov both nodded.

Beria sighed. "The Americans have to get involved. I can't believe I'm saying this but we need them."

"And the Europeans? We should get the Luftwaffe involved."

Beria nodded. "Fine, get the EU and try to get some assistance."

"And what of the Colonials?" asked Chekov. "They appear to have a small strike force docked aboard their starship. And I'm sure Adama would love to get his hands on the Cylons."

Beria's neck was starting to ache from all the nodding she was doing. "Get me President Warren. He's the only one who can get American support in less than a week."

"You don't think we'll last a week?" asked Gorbuchov.

"We've lost five cities in two days. At this rate they'll be at Pskov by next Tuesday."

"I have Warren, Madam President." Chekov held out the phone. "At least he gives you priority."

"Thank you, Chekov." said Beria. "President Warren, I trust you've been kept up to date on events inside Russia."

"That is correct, Madam President. Things aren't going too well."

"That would be the understatement of the year." Beria said. "Mr. President I need air support. My forces are down to 14. Without air, the Cylons can strike our forces any time they choose, as well as our supply lines. I estimate two days before we must capitulate. And you know Russia has never surrendered to anyone before."

"If you're asking for American assistance, I don't know what we can do."

"You have several forward bases in Turkey, Italy, and Ukraine. You could aircraft in there by this afternoon. You said you could get us some support!"

"It's not that easy and you know it. I've got reporters from every news station in the country hunting for details, and I'm up to my neck in press conferences and interview requests. And I'm not sure how Americans would react to another war, especially one that helps you."

"Didn't Adama say something about this?" Beria snapped. "That our petty disputes would lead us inexorably to defeat? That's what's happening right now! Neither of us can stand against the Cylons alone. We're all human, aren't we?"

"I can try. But I don't know how eager Congress will be."

"You Americans and your democracy! You take forever to do the simplest things!"

"Excuse me for putting my country first. We aren't at war with the Cylons. They haven't attacked us. Not yet."

"I'm sure they knew that when they attacked us. Guess it was easier to take us one by one. Trust me, President Warren, you're next."

"I'll take that under advisement. Have you considered nuclear weapons?"

"Not only would the radiation irradiate everything around Moscow, but we have no way of delivering it. To be honest with you, though it pains me to say this I wish we could use nuclear weapons. Moscow has been completely overrun, and will probably be used as the new base of operations, and having the capital is a great propaganda device."

"Madam President, I have an alternative. I must know now, do you wish me to act?"

"Anything you can do to help, Mr. President."

"Be careful what you wish for, Madam President." The line went dead.

"What does he mean by that?" asked Gorbuchov. "Madam President, shouldn't you be more cautious?"

"It does not matter! If he can assist us, all the better. Get me Adama!"

Battlestar Valkyrie

Adama rolled over fitfully in his bunk, trying to get some sleep. He hadn't had much of an opportunity, what with the President a hostage of the NKGB, who then decided to ally with the Cylons and take over western Russia. He was uneasy about allowing the SSR to deal with it themselves, but he didn't want to start another incident. He needed all the nations of Earth together, not apart, in order to hold off the Cylon invasion.

"Pass the word for Admiral Adama, Admiral Adama, incoming transmission."

So much for trying to get some shuteye.

Adama rolled over and grabbed the commline. "Adama."

"Admiral Adama, this is President Beria of the SSR."

"What can I do for you, Madam President? Is this related to the Cylon incursion?"

"Incursion is putting it lightly, Admiral. This is an unmitigated disaster. I have no air support, and both the Europeans and the Americans are nervous about putting up aircraft. I understand you have several fully equipped squadrons at your disposal."

"Yes, Madam President, but hardly enough to make a difference."

"All I need is a show of force. Give me a breakthrough, show that the Cylons can be countered, and maybe the other powers will follow. My Air Force is down to 14 capability, my Navy is under direct assault, we need outside assistance or this country will collapse in the next two days, and if everything you've said about these Cylons is true then you and I both know this cannot be allowed."

"I understand Madam President. I can have one of my squadrons detached for a short time. Where is the largest concentration of troops?"

"Fifty kilometres east of Moscow."

"Expect good news, Madam President. Expect good news." He switched the feeds. "CIC, Adama. I want Blue squadron ready to launch in five minutes."

"Where's the fire, Admiral?"

"Air support fifty kilometres east of Moscow. They're to stop the Cylon advance."

"Aye, sir. One more thing, a small asteroid just appeared on DRADIS. We believe it originated from the Belt beyond Mars. There's a chance it could impact Earth in the next two hours."

"Two hours? How did it break orbit?"

"Unknown. This is one of the asteroids with the strange installations, it could be propelled."

"You mean it's being pushed?" Adama asked incredulously. "There's some other force acting on it?"

""It's one of the asteroids with the unusual installations. We're picking up a strong radialogical signature."

"Are you telling me there's an atomic engine attached to that asteroid?"

"There's no doubt that the asteroid is under guidance. By who, we don't know. It could be a weapon of some kind. Either way there's nothing we can do."

"If it's under guidance there may be a good reason. Let it go, but keep me posted. Have those Vipers launched."

SSR, Fifty Kilometres East of Moscow

A shriek from above caused all the soldiers to hit the dirt, which fortunately was dry from the heat. But Lavochkin could tell the sound was different from the usual horseshoe-shaped aircraft that had commanded the skies for so long. Sure enough, the aircraft were of a design he had never before seen. It wasn't an American F-39, or a European Cyclone, and he could identify every Russian aircraft just by listening to it. These were triple-engine needles with undersized wings and large stabilizer that was shaped more like the fletching on an arrow than a combat aircraft. When the first one fired into the enemy lines, the entire front raised a cheer that could probably be heard for kilometres.

"We've got 'em!" Lavochkin bellowed as three more allied aircraft strafed the metalheads and the NKGB forces. Guided rockets started shooting from the enemy position, and the allied fighters peeled off. Replacing them came two stumpy beige aircraft that then ripple-fired radar homing missiles that locked on to the SAM emplacements and shredded them. The two shuttles then climbed away as the fighters moved back into position, lacing the enemy front with autocannon fire. The enemy forces started falling back.

"Forward!" Lavochkin shouted into the radio, and soon the Red Army was moving forward for the first time since the start of the conflict.

Sure enough, the tide had been turned. Faced with the aircraft the NKGB had no choice but to move back.

Lavochkin leapt over a ridge and rolled to the next shelter. He peered over the edge and saw the enemy soldiers pulling back. He pulled his plasma rifle to his shoulder and opened fire on one of the human soldiers. He only clipped him, but the plasma charge on the bullet killed him anyway. The enemy forces then became more cautious, pullig backwards while firing. One of them stitched Lavochkin's ridge with plasma bullets, but he'd ducked down.

"Lavochkin to all units, report on progress." he spoke into his radio.

All the reports indicated that all attempts by the metalheads to move forward had been halted along the front, and even the worst cases were only stalemates.

Lavochkin looked over the ridge to see a group of four metalheads moving towards his position. He opened fire, but the bullets did no damage to the armoured units.

"This is Major Lavochkin, I need air support at position 12, four mobile units advancing. Sending up flare." He pulled out a flare gun and shot into the air.

Soon enough one of the fighters dived down overhead and saturated the metalheads with cannon fire. The larger, faster shells tore the machines limb from limb. All four were down, and Lavochkin's unit could move forward again.

The attack progressed and advanced for thirty minutes, with the allied forces gaining two kilometres. Despite the change in fortune the NKGB still made the allies fight for every metre gained. The air support ensured that the Red Army had the resources and support to take it.

Forty-five minutes after the appearance of the first fighter, flashes in the sky announced the arrival of enemy air support. Like they always did, the raiders appeared from nowhere, only this time they ran into the unknown fighters. The two sides quickly started to exchange blows, with the allied aircraft having a clear upper hand. Oddly enough neither side resorted to missiles, and the conflict degenerated into an anachronistic dogfight that wouldn't have looked out of place in the Second World War, albeit at twice the speeds. The allies had a definite advantage in maneuvering ability, and continued to turn inside the raiders and demolish them with gunfire. Numerical superiority was somehow failing the enemy raiders.

Another roar from the east attracted his attention. Low on the horizon was another squadron of fighters, only this time he recognized them.

"The Americans! The Americans are here!" he shouted, as the F-39 Nightwalkers entered the fray. They wasted no time locking on with missiles, and sent fifteen raiders falling out of the sky in the first minute. The F-39s passed through the dogfight and climbed, breaking formation and putting distance between each fighter to minimize targets. The raiders somehow didn't notice them. Lavochkin couldn't blame them, the stealth on the F-39 was enough to ensure that unless you were looking right at it you wouldn't know it was there. The raiders were once again swept from the sky by the American fighters.

Once again the NKGB was falling back, pushed towards Moscow. The initial force of raiders was being hacked to pieces by the combined allied air force. Lavochkin couldn't believe the change in fortune. In an hour and a half the enemy advance had not only been halted but reversed. they were being pushed back towards Moscow, but they did still have forty kilometres to go.

"How about that, Major?" Petrov said, climbing over a slagged machine-gun emplacement. "Now we're the ones pushing forward!"

"Da!" Lavochkin agreed. "But for how long? So far the metalheads have seemed invincible."

"So did Hitler, back in the day's of Stalin!" Petrov said. "But we smashed Germany! We wrecked their capital. We did it before and we can do it again!"

"This is our own land we're talking about here!"

"And this is why we must liberate it! Remember Stalingrad? I have a feeling the battle for Moscow will be the same."

"I hope not, Sergeant. I hope not."

SSR, Fifty Kilometres West of Moscow

Racetrack banged her head against the metal bulkhead as the troop carrier rolled over the ruined road. Gorbunova hadn't done anything remotely close to executing her and the injured President. Roslin had regained semi-consiousness but still wasn't lucid. Her arm was set, but she was in a bad way. They were now heading into occupied Moscow, were the headquarters of the Cylon-NKGB alliance was now being set up.

"You're wondering why we haven't disposed of you yet, aren't you?" Gorbunova said.

"Yes, as a matter of fact I was..." said Edmonson.

"You can thank your Colonial friends up there. They've gotten involved now, and along with the Americans are forcing us back. We'll start moving forward again, but in the meantime..."

"You think I'm going to give away tactical information? Sorry, but you'll just have to kill me."

"I thought so." sighed Gorbunova. "Of course, we could always just keep you in Moscow-"

A rattling bang shook the carrier, and everyone inside was thrown around. "Raiders!" Gorbunova hissed. Sure enough, the sides echoed with automatic rounds bouncing off the hull. The carrier was no longer moving, and Racetrack suspected a rocket or land mine had taken out the engine.

The rear of the craft was wrenched open, and armed men jumped inside. Racetrack shot her hands in the air, but Gorbunova tried to shoot something else. The pistol dropped from her hand as strange blue tracer bullets erupted from the lead soldier's rifle. He then shouted something in Russian, which Racetrack didn't understand.

"No, we're prisoners! We're prisoners!" she shouted back.

The soldier paused and lowered his weapon. "Amerikan?" he asked.

"No, Colonial." She pointed skywards.

The soldier said something once again and gestured Racetrack to follow them. One of them came forward with what looked like a collapsable stretcher for the President.

Racetrack looked outside. "What's happening?"

The commanding officer looked confused for a moment, then looked out the back of the vehicle. The sunlight was getting lighter and glowing red. He shouted more Russian and leapt out of the carrier.

The sky was on fire.

SSR, Fifty Kilometres East of Moscow

Lavochkin looked in undisguised awe as the flaming object streaked across the sky. It was not a missile or kinetic bombardment device, it was too large and too slow.

"What the hell is that!?" shouted Petrov.

"I don't know..." Lavochkin muttered. "Here of all places though..."

Whatever it was it was heading directly for Moscow. "It's going to hit the city!" Lavochkin cried. He didn't know whether to cheer or weep. He ended up doing both.

The horizon brightened and continued to glow as the object impacted the city. It was strangely quiet and peaceful as everyone stopped the immediate fighting to stare at the fireball engulfing the former capital of Russia. A mushroom cloud rose peacefully over the blinding light.

Then the shock wave hit.

It was an earthquake, bomb strike and thunderstorm rolled into one. The shockwave knocked everyone flat and roared over the countryside. Several fighters overhead lost control and spun a few times before the pilots regained attitude.

When the smoke cleared, Moscow was gone.