Chapter 15

Battlestar Valkyrie

Adama stormed out of his quarters, regretting that the automatic hatch did not allow him to slam anything. The very atmosphere around him blackened as he prowled through the corridors. Officers and crewmen alike scuttled out of his way as he blazed a trail all the way to CIC.

"I want the President of the United States, and I want him immediately." he said calmly but through gritted teeth. Even his patience was beginning to wear thin as time and again the countries of Earth proved more interested in their own affairs than in the welfare of humanity.

"The Pentagon says he's busy right now." Hoshi said, a hand to his earpiece. "They estimate another hour before he's free."

"Get him on the frakking phone." Adama growled.

Hoshi turned back towards his console. "I'm sorry, but Admiral Adama is insistent. He requires to speak with the President immediately."

While Hoshi wrangled with the operator on the surface, Adama scowled at the DRADIS display. A few more days like this and the fleet could just go settle Kobol. Earth seemed on a track to exact more than a price in blood. A fortune would more applicable.

"He's in the middle of a press conference, sir."

Adama didn't say a word. "When will he be out?" he finally said.

"The President's secretary is trying to cut things a little short, but we're looking at another ten minutes." Hoshi looked blankly at Adama. "He's got a meeting right after, so it'll have to be quick."

"Ten minutes. We'll hold them to that." Adama looked around. He rolled an empty chair over and sat down. He'd been woken up to listen to Warren's choice, and did want to collapse in the middle of CIC. Then an idea struck him. "What's the status of the FTL inhibitor?"

"It departed for Area 51 thirty minutes ago." Hoshi reported.

Adama scowled again. Too late to recall the Raptor.

"Sir, you don't suppose that's why-" Hoshi started to say.

"That might be a deciding factor. Or the Cylons could've detected it an issued an ultimatum." Both were likely possibilities. But with Adama's unfamiliarity in the current political situation, anything happening internally in the United States could also force his hand. It was hard to say.

But until Warren was free, here Adama would stay.

The operation of a battlestar like the Valkyrie or Pegasus was much more efficient than that of the Galactica, and a lot less noisy. Voices were kept to a more muted level and the sounds of keyboards and computer monitors could still be heard. Not that there was much that need doing outside of keeping orbit. With calm on the Russian fronts and no large Cylon activity only a few Raptors were being flown along with a small CAP. Even the CAP was unnecessary, as Earth possessed a significantly larger sensor grid than anything the Valkyrie carried.

And so time passed slowly, even just ten minutes.

"Admiral, he's on the line." Hoshi said at last.

"Put him through," Adama said, getting to his feet. He picked up the receiver from the plot table. "Mr. President, I've just heard your announcement."

"I'm sorry, Admiral, but my position is not open to negotiation at this point. We have no interest in supporting this war anymore."Warren, though relayed through various satellites, still sounded resigned to his decision. "I wish I could be of more assistance, but the die's been cast, as it were."

"You have no idea how critical this is!" Adama almost pleaded. "This isn't some political enemy, this is the pinnacle of racial cleansing! It's Us versus Them, and it has been from the start. They will not stop until humanity is dealt with, either under rule or under the ground. We found that out on New Caprica, and I cannot allow this to happen again. Not here."

The sound on the other end of the line was most closely associated with indignation. "We never asked you for your war, and we never wanted you here. The Cylons arrived after you did, not before! So in a way, we should be blaming you, not the other way around."

"But Mr. President, we're not blaming anyone!" Adama didn't even bother to mention that the Cylons had in fact been on Earth (however recently) before the Valkyrie had ever entered orbit. It would be a futile effort trying to convince Warren with an argument like that. "The fact of the matter is that they are here and they will keep coming until no one is capable of resisting them."

"They have assured otherwise." Warren simply said.

Adama was completely taken aback. "What?"

"We negotiated the nonaggression pact with the Cylons. We agreed to the terms, and we are living up to our side of the bargain. If only they had done the same with you all those years ago, this situation might not even exist."

"That is none of your concern how our government-"

"And yet our government is of your concern. Your government's failure directly led to this conflict, so I say that your government's business is very much our concern. Think on that next time you dictate policy to us. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go."

"Mr. President!" Adama barked, but the line was dead. He replaced the receiver calmly, then turned and left CIC. "Two down." he mumbled.

Smolensk Air Base, SSR

Lavochkin sighed as he looked out onto the tarmac. Sure enough, the Red Air Force was scraping rock bottom. Modern IL-118s sat side by side with IL-76s and even one or two An-22s cobbled together from various parts or reactivated from museums. It was a sad display, despite the number of aircraft that had been assembled. In older Russian military tradition, quality was taking a back seat to quantity. Surely in other bases there were similar fleets assembling, but they couldn't look any better. With the old Antanovs, the speed of the fleet would be a problem. The slower aircraft would struggle to keep up while the faster jet transports would be close to stalling. Helicopters were out of the question, as Cylon air defenses would have an easier time picking off slower aircraft (despite the use of the Antonovs), and they would have a shorter range as well. The fighter situation wasn't too bad, as all the operational squadrons had been quietly relocated, and were awaiting zero hour.

"This is suicide, this is crazy..." muttered Sergeant Veslovsky. "What idiot thought this up?"

"Keep it down, Sergeant." Lavochkin hissed. "It'll be worse if everyone picks that up. They must have confidence!"

"I'd like to keep my head, thanks." the sergeant shot back.

"We go where we're ordered." Lavochkin whispered, trying to keep the conversation away from the soldiers marching around them. "Look at the bright side, there's good weather."

"Why couldn't anyone see that the yanks were getting ready to pull out?"

"Sergeant, don't make me order you to shut up." Lavochkin snapped. He himself was more than a little put out by the sudden capitulation of the Americans. But they would go ahead as planned, backup or not. He just hoped the Cylon would screw up and start another September 11/Pearl Harbour style catastrophe. He secretly doubted it, though.

For the foreseeable future, they were alone.

"Thirty minutes to Zero Hour, repeat thirty minutes to Zero Hour. All personnel proceed to departure areas. The red zone is for the loading of cargo only."

"Yeah, yeah, heard you the first time..." Lavochkin muttered. Even the uncomfortable shelves and webbing that passed for chairs in the aircraft would be preferable to standing in full battle gear. Along with everyone else, he was weighted down with extra ammunition, a pistol modified for plasma rounds, a day's worth of rations, a small radio, and full combat gear. Once the paratroopers landed, they were to assemble a charge towards the target site.

The twenty-five minute mark passed, and the lines of troops continued to board their aircraft. Lavochkin was midway through the lines, and it would be some minutes yet before he himself boarded.

He glanced over to his left, and saw a colonel talking with a general, probably a low one. He could pick up some of their conversation, but had to strain to make it out.

"This delay is an incredible piece of luck... Quarter of the country and then they stop... ...as soon as possible."

"Of course we must attack, there's... ...liberation! Russia has never been held by an invading force in its entire history. We cant'..."

Lavochkin shook his head. It seemed as if the upper echelon was intoxicated by patriotic flag-waving and brimming with confidence in a manner more suited to a citizen on the sidelines. The soldiers being thrown into the operation were either panicked or completely self-assured. The level of morale that would be necessary seemed to be lacking, probably a result of the earlier Cylon blitzkrieg that drove them this far back so quickly. Lavockin wondered how long the combination would last, and whose viewpoint would be proven correct when the guns fell silent.

Battlestar Galactica

"You're kidding!" Anders hissed. "He knows all about us?"

Tigh looked around, making sure the corridor was clear. "He knows us by name, and points out specifics he couldn't know otherwise. I have to believe him."

"He threatened to leak stuff to blackmail you, too. I wouldn't trust him too far."

"He's just like a kid..." Tigh said. "I don't know how but he's really frakked up."

"Sounds like a real nut-job to me." Anders thought hard for a moment, befroe looking up. "Still, I'm willing to give him a try. All he needs is an FTL communicator. Not like he wants a missile or anything. If he says he can take them with a radio, sure."

Tigh took a swig from his flask. He'd managed to stay within reasonable limits ever since taking over the Galactica, but this new problem was making him reconsider. "If he said he could make a weapon, or biological agent to kill them I wouldn't trust him with a screwdriver. But here I am thinking of sending him to Adama and letting him make whatever the hell he thinks he can."

"Thanks for letting me know, skipper," Anders said. "I thought he was just another toaster, but still... I don't know whether it's better that I know who he is or not. Whatever you do don't give him any leeway, he may exploit it."

"Don't worry, Ensign," Tigh said, taking another drink. "I think I got it under control."

Anders snapped Tigh a salute and stealthily walked away as if nothing was amiss. As time went on it was easy to consider themselves human, but there was still a need to be discrete.

Tigh also drifted towards his quarters, as the time was nearing when Remus was to be shipped to Earth. It would be a simple operation, as Admiral Greer had already sent word to Adama via Raptor. In less than an hour Remus would board one from Galactica and jump behind Earth's moon while Valkyrie sent Vipers to escort him in. This was to make sure no Terran alert system was triggered, which could result in the destruction of the vessel due to the heightened status of Earth's defenses following the fall of Russia.

Once in his quarters, Tigh looked over the inevitable paperwork that a battlestar commander must face. Another facet of the job he would much rather do without. Repair schedules, duty rosters, supply manifests, all vying for his approval.

Oh well. They could wait. He had more important business now.

He picked up a comm line. "Major Agathon, this is the CO. I want a Raptor equipped for at least two jumps ready in forty minutes." He replaced the unit and turned to the paperwork.

Battlestar Valkyrie

Adama stared at the dispatch in disbelief. He'd heard a Cylon had been apprehended by the Galactica but now the Cylon was heading to Earth with everything but a red carpet.

Not to mention that the plan relied on a country that now would not lean towards either side. They would need to go to Europe or the Commonwealth. After dealing with the last two powers, Adama was hesitant to enlist China's aid. A smaller country would probably be a safer alternative.

So he would have some phone calls to make.

England, Canada, Australia, any of the mainland European countries... And only about an hour to do it.

"CIC, CO. Mr. Hoshi, please get the prime minister of England on the line."

The line crackled with static as the call was relayed through several satellites to the surface, until finally Hoshi said "Link established. Receiving... It's all yours."

Adama switched the feeds. "24 Downing street, how may I direct your call?" came a voice on the other end.

"This is Admiral William Adama of the battlestar Valkyrie, requesting to speak to the Prime Minister."

"Please hold."

Well at least they were taking his call. Adama wasn't aware of the political situation in Britain as well as he knew the one in America, but he did know they were still involved in Russia. Aside from that he knew little.

"Hello? Admiral Adama, I take it?"

"Prime Minister," Adama replied. He didn't know him by name, but he couldn't go wrong using an honourific.

"Prime Minister Goldswater, at your service." said the Prime Minister, as if reading his mind. "What can I do for you?"

"It's a rather complicated situation." said Adama. "In short, what we need is a large transmitter and an equally large power supply. It could prove vital in stopping the Cylons, not just in Russia."

"That sounds good, but it's still an unusual request. What's the transmitter for?" He sounded a little confused, and rightly so.

"We're flying in a... specialist from our main fleet, and he's going to assemble a faster-than-light transmitter array..."

"A what? And you need a lot of power, right? Might be a little complicated right now, we don't exactly have a surplus of energy."

"I had a suspicion that might be the case." Adama sighed. "Can you suggest any other way to get a transmitter on the scale we're looking for and the power we need to fuel it?"

"To tell you honestly I haven't a clue what scale you're even talking about. I'd suggest looking into Canada or Australia, neither of them are in Russia right now, and I'd trust them a hell of a lot more than I'd trust the Chinese right now."

"I'll get in touch with them then."

"Sorry I'm not of more help, Admiral, but on an island this small with this many people we need all the power we can get. Trouble is the last government forgot about the upkeep of the grid and now we've lost four major plants to overhaul."

"Thank you anyway, Prime Minister. I hope you resolve your difficulties."

"As do I, old boy, as do I. Goodbye."

Adama hung up the phone. Canada or Australia. Kara Thrace had mentioned crashing in Canada when she fell through the anomaly, perhaps they remembered.

"CIC, Adama. Get me the Canadian Prime Minister, Mr. Hoshi."

Adama waited while the line hissed with static and computer tones. At last the line connected as Hoshi gave him the go-ahead.

"Government of Canada, communications, how may I help you?"

"This is Admiral Adama onboard the battlestar Valkyrie. I'd like to speak to the Prime Minister."

"Hold please."

Well you can't get them all immediately. Unfortunately time was of the essence. Perhaps he should have mentioned the urgency of the-

"This is Brent Taylor, how may I help you?"

"Prime Minister?" Adama asked in surprise.

"Of course. What can I do you for?"

Adama regained his composure after the initial surprise, recalling the purpose of the call. "This may seem like a strange request but we're flying in a specialist from our fleet. He is going to try to construct a transmitter which will hopefully render all the Cylon weaponry inoperative. This is critical for us and hopefully Russia."

"Okay, but I don't see how this involves me..."

"We need a transmitter and a large power source, one larger than our ships are capable of producing." Adama waited for the response, expecting another negative. If only he'd had more time to prepare it might have been more successful, but the Cylons set deadlines, in a way that ended up using the literal meaning.

"Oh... I see what you mean now."

"I understand the difficulty of setting up something like this..."

"I'm pretty sure we have the power, but if there isn't such a facility free... There's nothing I can do. I'll contact the NRC and see if I can find something. We've been experimenting with FTL drives ourselves, we may have one you could use..."

"Anything you can do would be helpful." Adama said. There was a flicker of hope.

"Well I'll have someone get back to you if there's one free. If not, you'll have to hope someone somewhere else does."

"I wouldn't hold out any hope." Adama said, almost hypocritically for he was holding out hope himself. "Just do the best you can. Valkyrie out."

Moscow, SSR

Lavochkin grunted as he hit the ground, throwing all of his weight to his left side. He rolled for a metre before coming to a stop tangled in his parachute. Once he'd come to a stop he was fighting his way out of the lanyards, flattening out the chute so it wouldn't be caught in a breeze. Once disconnected, he pulled off the protective cover off the muzzle of his AK-69 and loaded a round into the chamber. The AK-69 was a more advanced rifle than the 74, despite the lower number. This was due to the fact that it was developed in 2069, while the AK-74 was created in 1974. It was just as sturdy, but was equipped to handle the plasma rounds, which the 74 had not been.

Once armed, Lavochkin immediately dodged for the rendezvous point at the edge of the field. Though not in the city centre, the landing zone was close enough to still be unoccupied and relatively safe. Still, he kept the Kalishnikov in a firing position all the way.

"Alpha company, go left! Beta, on me!" he shouted. At the same time, his battalion commander, Colonel Kuznetsov, struck a flare and held it above his head, the red glare cutting through the early morning.

All in all, the field now held three battalions of the First Air Army. The other two were in a field a short distance away, and would meet up with them when they began to move out.

"Colonel!" Lavochkin called when he was close enough. "What's our status?"

"Well, Major, we've got down in one piece. I'm thankful enough for that. We've also got most of our jeeps. As for the rest, I think they were on the Antonov that packed it over the front."

"We have enough, I think, sir." Lavochkin surveyed the landing site again. "I think it's remarkable this worked at all. There isn't too much debris from the blast..."

"We're on the outskirts, we've got the city between us and the front." Kuznetsov joined Lavochkin in surveying the plain. "What I'm worried about is when we get on the highway. We'll be exposed until we get into the more forested areas."

"But we'll see them." Lavochkin pointed out. "In the pines they can sneak up on us without us knowing it. Snipers could be a problem."

Kuznetsov laughed. "No-win, eh? This is our country, remember? We know it better than they do."

"But we still need to take the roads. We can't go cross country too easily..."

"You're right, not with the wheeled vehicles. Oh how I long for an American transport! They can drop a main battle tank..."

"We've got what we've got. Most of our large transports were hit when the airbases went down." Lavochkin put on the safety and shouldered his Kalishnikov. "We should get moving. The second drop should be soon."

"Of course." Kuznetsov stepped away, and started barking orders at the small-unit leaders. The second wave, an equipment drop, would be here any minute.

Battlestar Galactica

Colonel Matthew Naslund was apprehensive of his task as he waited in his quarters for his escort to the hangar deck. He'd been requested by Admiral Greer to accompany the Cylon prisoner during the Raptor flight, and join Adama at Earth. He knew more than any Colonial about Earth, but that wasn't the reason for his anxiousness.

The last time he'd set foot on Earth had been around forty years before, when the shuttle carrying him to the Activity had launched from Florida. His knowledge would be out of date, and his recommendations might not be an accurate guide. He had been glad that his job had kept him at Tau Ceti when the Valkyrie had first left for Earth, but now that the Activity had been lost in orbit and abandoned, he was essentially unemployed. The technicians and researchers that had been with Activity and Shackleton at least could continue their research into the space-time scars left by the Terran FTL drive, but without a ship to command he had nothing.

But at least here he didn't have to face reality. Reality was that he had no home, either. Because the world had changed and he hadn't, going back could be a painful experience. He'd had a pathetic marriage that had ended rather badly, so he had no immediate family to go back to, but all of his friends and extended family would have moved on. If he'd had a son, they'd be the same age now. He was thankful he didn't have one.

There was a knock on the hatch. "I'm coming," he said. As he opened the door he came face-to-face with a marine officer in their standard beige uniform, and three more in the space-black combat gear.

The officer gave him a salute. "Colonel, if you'll follow us."

Naslund followed behind the marines, as they headed through the maze of corridors. He felt like he was on a surface warship back on Earth, as all the spacecraft he'd been used to operated in close to zero-gravity. He could see the advantages of having artificial gravity, as it allowed people to navigate the ship more quickly, made it easier to operate, and prevented clutter in the working area. One thing Naslund had learned to hate about zero-g was small floating objects that got everywhere. He infinitely preferred artificial gravity.

"Wait here."

Naslund looked around in surprise. They weren't in the hangar deck, but outside what appeared to be a brig of some sort. After a few moment, the marines returned, guarding a confident looking young adult, maybe even an older teenager.

"Oh, looks like I've got company." he said. "I'm Remus."

"Colonel Matthew Naslund, United States Air and Space Force."

Remus winked. "From Earth, eh? I hear it's a nice place. I always wanted to visit it, but it looks like I'll get my chance now."

"It's had some problems..." Naslund admitted.

"Who hasn't? Colonies have had troubles too, you have no idea how they fought among themselves before the Cylons came along."

"Aren't you a Cylon."

Remus nodded. "Can't you tell? Otherwise I look damn good for someone forty-two years old." He turned and grinned. "Jealous?"

"A little, yeah." Naslund admitted. "But you don't refer to yourself as one."

By this point they'd arrived at the hangar deck. The Marines kept Remus to the side while the Raptor was moved to the centre of the deck and readied for takeoff. He kept talking anyway.

"Nah, the ones who rebelled were walking talking kitchen appliances. Lots of intelligence, but no personality, and unfortunately no sense of humour, either. I was one of five human-looking models developed by the Colonials in the middle of the war. The Cylons were doing their own experiments to evolve past toaster-ism, but all that resulted in were real humans with metal bits welded on." Remus made a face. "Kinda gross, actually. They just strapped 'em into the newer basestars and let them run those, not a whole lot of good for anything else. But anywho, they found us, attacked the lab, kidnapped me, and reverse engineered me into the seven copies they have now."

The guards hustled the talkative Cylon into the crew compartment of the Raptor. Naslund strapped himself in, the feel of the craft reminding him of transport aircraft back home.

"So you're the original?"

"Yup." Remus nodded as the Raptor rose to the flight deck. "I love feeling special."

Naslund felt G-forces kick him in the gut as the craft leapt off the deck and out of the flight pod, the engines spinning up with a loud whine as the craft prepared to jump to Earth.

Well, here it finally is. Took a bit long for various reasons. Sorry for the delay.