Chapter 17

Yaroslyl, Russia

The situation in the Cylon-held city was by no means precarious. Heavy Raiders were supplying the arms, with an incoming flight every two hours. At least 80 tons of ammunition per day had been flown in this way.

The Cylon in charge of the airlift was Simon Fuller, one of the models known to the humans only as Simon, although their last names were more common across the model. He had been orchestrating the cargo drops since the Cylons had landed in Russia, and was only now starting to increase supply drops as the threat of an impending battle increased.

Fuller looked out over the airfield. Four Heavy Raiders sat on the tarmac, their contents being unloaded by Centurions and carried away, the chain extending away to the edge of the field.

Noting the progress of the operation on a clipboard, Fuller looked south over the treeline. Two kilometres beyond it lay the M-8 highway, and the Russian army pinned down by the overpass. Very faintly he could hear gunfire, the bursting of machine gun shells from the Centurions holding the bridge. His fear was the airport's location. If the Russian paratroopers overtook the overpass one of their first objectives would be the airport. In one of the most documented battles in Russian history, the Battle of Stalingrad, the German Sixth Army had been resupplied by air. Russian battleplanners no doubt researched this and other battles, ad knew of it. If Simon Fuller had heard of Stalingrad, the opposing commander knew of it as well.

He finished logging the unloading procedure and signed off on the entry. There was another airfield on the other side of the Volga, if this one fell the other could be used to support the Cylon forces in the city.

A concussive boom from beyond the treeline shook him out of his thoughts. A larger explosion then erupted, and a glow appeared on the horizon.

M-8 Highway Overpass

Two more shells from Zaitsev's artillery corps slammed into the overpass, shredding the reinforced concrete from the rebar. The centurions clung on grimly to the wreckage, continuing their fire. Lavochkin's reconnaissance team had just made contact with Veslovsky's forward units ten minutes before. Three batteries had been moved forward to train on the overpass.

Lavochkin himself waited until the three shells had been fired, sitting with a small platoon in the trees to the side of the road leading over the pass. After the third had impacted the bridge, 40mm grenades from men stationed on the highway took up the role of the shells, biting large pieces from the material.

"Now!" Lavochkin cried. He jogged a short distance to the railing of the overpass and leaped over it, trying to keep a low profile. The other soldiers followed him over, while the others on the highway continued firing.

The centrepiece of Lavochkin's run up the side of the bridge was an anti-tank rocket launcher. Once the two sides of the bridge were covered, it would advance up the centre while the flanking units covered enemy activity. So far only one railing had been taken.

Two men got into position to make the run across the road. Hopefully the continuing fire from the highway would distract the centurions long enough for them to make it across.

Lavochkin jumped to one knee to peer over the railing. Sure enough, the Centurions were concentrating on the forces firing at them. Lavochkin gestured wildly with his hand, sending the three soldiers scurrying across the road. They dived over the other side, out of sight. They quickly reappeared, training the grenade launchers mounted on the bottom of their Kalishnikovs at the centre span of the overpass.

Taking stock of the situation, Lavochkin gestured to the rocket operator. The two-man crew jogged to the centre of the road.

"Now!" Lavochkin shouted, firing off a grenade as he did so. The two in the centre of the road got a rocket off and quickly reloaded, putting another one in the air fifteen seconds later.Three Centurions were blown apart in the barrage.

"Forward!" Lavochkin called out, his voice getting hoarse. Leaping into the road, he leveled his rifle forward into the smoke cloud. Suddenly from the smoke came staccato barks, and the pavement around their feet erupted. Somehow, through the smoke, the Centurions remaining could see well enough to return fire with chilling accuracy. Three were down already.

A rocket whined past blindly into the smoke cloud, another explosion rocking the bridge. The soldiers on the highway had ceased fire for fear of hitting their own men.

Lavochkin sent two more grenades into the cloud. The Centurions were temporarily stopped, and the remaining attackers charged forward to point-blank. Only when they parted through the other horizon of the cloud did they realize the overpass had been cleared.

Lavochkin staggered over to the roadside, and collapsed, sighing heavily.

Ottawa, Canada

Tyrol looked around the large room, trying to pick out his supposed brother among the wiring and transmitters. "Remus, where the hell are you?"

There was no answer.

Cursing to himself, Tyrol walked out into the white hallway. Wiring this FTL transmitter seemed to be taking a long time, considering how easy Remus had made it sound. And he didn't want any help, either. It seemed odd to Tyrol, but so far he hadn't noticed anything wrong with the project itself. He;d inspected it, and it certainly was coming together just as he'd expected.

It was probably coming along so slowly because of the frequent breaks Remus took. It was amazing he got any work done at all with his procrastination.

There was a slamming noise down the hall, and Tyrol turned to see Remus walk into the hallway. He looked blankly at Tyrol and pointed behind him. "Washroom."

"Right." Tyrol replied. "How much more have you got done?"

"We're getting there." Remus said. "One more day and we'll be good."

"Finally, a time estimate. Thought that would never happen."

Remus laughed. "That's not very nice. I'm working on it, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." Tyrol re-entered the transmitter assembly room behind Remus. "What's left?"

"Just a few diagnostics."

Tyrol looked at him. "And that's gonna take a day?"

Remus nodded. "Yup."

"Just try and hurry things up a bit, okay? Russians are having trouble."

Remus rolled his eyes. "All I seem to hear about are the Russians and the Americans and 'what will the chinese do?'. Frankly, it's boring. The classic rock is so much more fun."

Tyrol raised an eyebrow. "Classic rock?"

"Yeah, music on the radio." Remus nodded. He was now climbing through the wiring into the centre of the contraption, excavating one of the control panels from the mess. "Good stuff, the current variety is too electronic for my liking."

"Yeah, fine." Tyrol looked around. "This place is a disaster."

There was a grunt of understanding from the mass of cables. There were a few more noises, and music began drifting out of the centre of the room.

"What's that?"

"Jefferson Airplane."

Tyrol nodded blankly. "Yeah... sure. Have fun with that. Just hurry up."

"Galen, all this work to save others... Their lives in my hands. It's interesting. Like what a god must feel like."

Tyrol rolled his eyes. "One delusion at a time, okay? Last thing we need around here is a singing Cylon god. Get to it."

He left Remus to his work, and exited the room once more.

He paused for a moment as he left the large workroom. He heard a clanging down the hallway in one of the adjacent storage areas.

Which was odd because on the manifest this wing was supposedly only used for Remus' project.

This part of the NRC was used for larger projects and storage areas. As far as Tyrol knew they were mostly empty or static, and no work was going on in any of them apart for Storage #6, which he had just left.

His curiousity piqued, Tyrol continued down the walkway, his footsteps sharp but quiet on the tiled floor. He rounded the corner, finding himself face-to-face with a football player in a military uniform.

At least he should've been a football player. The automatice plasma rifle looked like a toothpick in his hands, and the digital camouflage on his tunic appeared stretched. Of course that was probably the idea, intimidation.

"I'm sorry, sir, but this area is off-limits to non-authorized personnel."

"You don't say... I suppose that's why we're supposedly the only people in this wing."

"That's correct. Can't have too many people knowing things."

Tyrol nodded. "What is it?"

The guard laughed. "Wouldn't you like to know. Sorry, this is about as secretive as it gets around these parts. I've never seen anything so buttoned up myself."

"You're being pretty casual about it. I always thought guards like you were the shut-up-and-go-away type."

The guard laughed again. "I try. You're not finding out anything, are you though? Being mean does the same thing, it's just easier to do."

"Ah..." Tyrol nodded again. "I guess not."

At that moment a technician opened the door and closed it quickly. "Bathroom break, Ernie, back in a sec."

The guard, 'Ernie', just stared at him. "Good timing..." he finally said.

"What?" the technician said, before seeing Tyrol. "Oh hell."

"Took the word right out of my mouth..." Ernie said.

"I suppose I should be going now." Tyrol said cautiously.

"I suppose you should."

Tyrol quickly turned and walked away. Because when the technician had opened the door he had seen something. An aircraft, though more likely a spacecraft. Though painted battleship gray and sporting gray Canadian flags and Air Force roundels, there was little difficulty mistaking it.

Though slightly modified, it was a Mk. II Viper.

Yaroslyl, Russia

The city of Yaroslyl, as it had been known since the forming of the SSR, sprawled over two sides of the Volga River. Much of the downtown was nestled between the Volga and the Kotorost River, with the rest spreading out from the opposite banks and the surrounding suburbs. The city had seen fighting in the second revolution, and had even been captured by pro-communist forces before being routed by the socialists.

Once again the city was under siege.

The Russian First Air Army, pushing past the overpass and successfully holding the M-8 bridge over the Kotorost. There were on the outskirts of the city now.

Simon Fuller watched as another artillery shell impacted the landing field. The last Heavy Raider was preparing to leave, as the field was attacked around it. The Russians were definitely aware of the airfield, and they knew how it could resupply the occupying forces.

Then, slowly at first, the Raider began to hover, huge dust clouds billowing around it. It lift off ponderously and accelerated towards the sky.

Fuller breathed a sigh of relief. With the last spacecraft away, he could finalize the evacuation plans of the airport.

"Jack!" he called. Not all Cylons went by their standard model designation: Though model #5 was usually some variation of Doral, some took a more individualistic approach. Whether as a result of their espionage missions or simply personal choice, some had names they had chosen.

"Jack!" Simon called again, and the Five looked around. "I want to have this place down in under half an hour, their artillery is already in range and they can't be far behind."

"Yeah, we've already had a few casualties too. All the centurions have been ordered back, though, I don't get what the commanders have planned this time. We have to fight if we want to get anything done, not back away."

"There's probably a good reason. The important part is getting this place down." Fuller looked around again. Three more shells detonated nearby.

"Get moving, now!"

Though there were resurrection facilities in place in the city, there were substantially limited, and it would be difficult to re-route them to a resurrection ship outside of the system. Bringing a resurrection ship into orbit was suicidal, as the area was too heavily defended and the large ship an inviting and unarmed target. It was much easier to avoid getting killed in the first place.

"Come on, let's go, let's go!" Jack Doral called.

The sound of rifle fire started from the treeline. Russian infantry was advancing more quickly than expected.

A glowing sniper round clanged off the lead vehicle. Fuller swore and ran for his truck.

Luck was with him, for at that moment an unguided rocket slammed into it, blowing it and the occupants apart. The force of the blast flung him backwards.

He stared, dumbfounded, as the last trucks from the convoy started to leave. He turned and saw why: two more shoulder mounted rocket launchers were aimed right at them.

Fuller scrambled in the dirt, frantically trying to scurry behind a small tool shed beside the road. Another rocket howled past at the convoy. He didn't try to follow the trail, only hearing and feeling the explosion as another truck was presumably destroyed.

Clutching his only weapon, an automatic pistol, he made a run for the forest. His weapon felt pitifully small as two artillery shells exploded to the north.

Battlestar Agrippa

Greer looked through the reading material the latest shuttle run had brought. If they were stuck out here, one consolation was the entertainment material that was brought back. He already had two stories, one by someone named H.G. Wells and another by Arthur C. Clarke.

"The War In The Air..." Greer muttered to himself. "Weird."

If one thing was certain, it was that he had a lot of time to read.

Greer yawned. Thanks to the Cylons, settling Earth had been reduced in importance. Making sure there would be a planet left to colonize, that was the important issue. Currently, with the occupation of the SSR, that was questionable. The military power of the Cylons was being tested like it hadn't been before. Though dependent on computers, the Terran military forces had not been compromised with the equivalent of the Command Navigation Program, and no easy backdoor was available. No doubt the Cylons were doing their best to do to the Terrans what they had done to the Colonials, but even so they were holding their own using conventional military tactics. The Terrans had still not adapted to the FTL drive, although the United States had an FTL inhibitor in place in case of Cylon aggression. Greer wished the Colonials had that technology, but they had returned the model to the USA.

"Of Progress And The Smallways Family..." Greer muttered to himself as he opened the first novel.

He'd reached the chapter titled The Balloon when his phone rang. "Admiral," he said.

"Message from Galactica, sir. Colonel Tigh's discovered a Centurion 0005 on the captured Raider."

"You've got to be kidding..." Greer muttered. "I'll be right there. Get Tigh on the line, if necessary I'll take a Raptor over."

He replaced the phone, only to realize he was only holding his place in the book with his thumb. "Bookmark, bookmark..." he breathed as he sorted through his desk. Giving up, he looked at the page number. "Sixty-one."

He dropped the book on the desk and left the room, heading for CIC.

"Status of the Cylon?" he asked as he entered. Ramius looked up.

"Tigh says there's no activity or movement, looks to be deactivated."

Greer sighed. "Good, good, last thing we want is a Cylon running around Galactica. Anything else?"

Ramius checked his clipboard. "Usual proportions, thickened armour, looks like an assault model, no built-in weaponry apart from the forearm sword."

"Pretty standard." Greer nodded. "Put it in containment. Don't want to risk it playing dead on us. Where was it found?"

"In the cargo bay, folded up. Doesn't look like it was disabled or anything when Remus stole the thing. Looks like it was put there."

Greer narrowed his eyes. "Okay... I don't like the sound of that. Still, might be a good explanation. Let Adama know on the next shuttle run."

Ramius nodded. "Aye, sir."

"Anything else?" When Greer was satisfied there wasn't, he turned to leave. "Good. I want to find out what happens to Bert." He ignored the puzzled looks from Ramius as the doors rotated shut behind him.

Battlestar Valkyrie

Adama didn't seem to react. "A Viper with Canadian markings?"

Tyrol nodded, standing uncomfortably in front of Adama's desk. "Yes, sir... The proportions were slightly off, but there's no doubt as to the design."

Adama said nothing for a few moments. Tyrol shuffled again, looking around the cabin.

"There isn't any way for the Canadians to even know what a Viper looks like, unless the Americans have given them some intel. Granted, even that isn't enough to construct a replica."

"Uh, no sir." Tyrol said. "Even a partial schematic or sample is required for that."

"And we got here less than a month ago." Adama stated. "So in order for them to have a complete Viper, they had to have advance knowledge of us. Which they didn't."

"No, sir..."

"Thank you, Chief."

Tyrol saluted and turned, the doors parting automatically for him.

This left Adama with an odd puzzle. How the Canadians had known. The chances of a convergent evolution were very small, considering that none of the other powers had anything similar. The American A-47 was more like the upper stage of a rocket than a fighter.

And why a Mk. II? Why not the more advanced Sevens, considering their tactical advances.

Then it hit him. Starbuck had said she crashed in Canada. And she was flying the same model. In order to repair her ship, they had to reverse engineer the parts...

There was only one way to find out for sure, and that was to talk to the Prime Minister. Adama picked up the handset and switched to CIC. "Mr. Gaeta, please contact the Canadian Prime Minister, I'd like to speak with him as soon as possible."

Finding the PM was another matter, as it was evening and being in favour of the environmental legislation he took rapid transit as much as possible. But his mobile was on, so it was only a matter of finding the right number.

"Hello, Mr. Adama, picked a good time to ring."

"Yes, I've just found something out from my people inside the NRC. Seems you're keeping a spacecraft there with remarkable similarities to our Mk. II Vipers."

"Ah... I see."

Adama felt a feeling of relief, the PM wasn't going to try an 'I-Don't-Know-What-You're-Talking-About' routine on him. "I assume it's based on the Viper that crashed on Canadian soil, and that was later repaired."

"Quite right, we had the plans left over from the crashed UFO and we built our own version. Took a long time to get it right, the first few years gave us quite a few bruises from what I hear. The carrier herself is pretty much finished, and the Vipers, as you call them, are finally working to specs."

"So you have more than one?"

"We've had almost forty years with this design, of course we do. I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say where or how many, but rest assured we'll hold our own."

"One thing, though, how can you have had forty years? Forty years ago the Cylon War had just ended, and I was there when it happened. I was also here a month ago when my pilot disappeared, and a few weeks ago when she returned."

"Ah, that makes you some kind of retread then, eh? Well I think it's got something to do with those anomalies the Americans created, she fell through one of those. They pop up all kinds of places and, well, I don't know what- Sorry, just a sec. This is my stop."

Adama waited while noises of people and doors closing filled the earpiece. "Yeah, sorry, anyway... To be honest our guys don't know what the heck they are yet, but I suppose you go messing with the fabric of space you get stuff like this."

"I suppose that would explain it... You said something about a carrier too."

"Ah, I did?"

"You did." Adama said firmly. He didn't want to leave any 'classified' loopholes for the PM to escape through.

Taylor clearly realized this. "Ah, damn. I can't tell you what or where it is, you understand..."

"But you have something equipped to handle Vipers. Given that the Cylons are here now, why do you still hide it?"

"Just in case." came the reply. "When things really go badly, we'll have a joker up our sleeve."

"A what?" Adama was puzzled."

"A joker. Like the card. You have poker on the Colonies?"

"Poker? Not that I know of."

There was a whistle of surprise. "You seem to have everything else down pat, guess not everything can be the same. It'sa card game, you place bets, and there are a certain number of hands that can win..."

"Ah..." Adama made a connection. "It's kinda like a game we have called triad. Different cards, though."

"Close enough." said Taylor. "Is there anything else?"

"I'd like to know more about this carrier of yours."

"I'll have to talk with the chiefs of the Air Force about that, although I suppose you of all people should know about it. I'll see if I can get them to let some of your officers on board. Anything further?"

"Not at this time."

"Okay, then. Good bye."

The line went dead and Adama replaced the phone. One mystery seemed mostly solved, but there seemed to be a lot on this planet that was under secrecy, all in the name of national security. He could understand the necessity, but it was still frustrating.

He had to admit, it was easier than diplomacy, though.

Yaroslyl, SSR

Things had started out badly for the Cylons. The loss of the primary resupply airfield had cut off the supply chains, and Russian bombers were already attacking the bridges across the Volga. Russian artillery was already hitting the outskirts of downtown, and infantry had captured suburban areas to the west. There was only scattered resistance in these areas, and that had been easily brushed aside by the Russian paratroopers. Two battalions had already completed the small encirclement, the Fourth pushing past the airfield to drive to the river, while the First reached the Volga to the north.

Major Lavochkin, currently traveling with the Third, hadn't seen much of the Cylons at all. Since the overpass they'd been curiously absent. Naturally he began to worry upon realizing this, however there wasn't much the battalion could do apart from being more alert.

"2 more kilometres to the edge of the city." his 2IC muttered, looking at the map.

Lavochkin nodded as he looked ahead. He could see nothing, although the buildings were getting higher as they approached city-centre.

As the buildings passed two stories he began to feel very nervous, constantly watching the windows and roofs above. He knew that a built-up city was the easiest place for an ambush.

"Keep low and to the sides," he ordered quietly.

Just as the words were out of his mouth, a loud crack resounded down the street, and one of the soldiers fell quietly, dead before he hit the ground.

"Bozhemoi!" Lavochkin exclaimed. "The sides, quick!"

Two more shots rang out, one of them missing and one hitting a leg.

"Which side are they on?"

"Which floor?"

"I've got wounded here!"

"My leg!"

Lavochkin ignored the confusion. "Everyone, eyes up top. Look sharp."

A flash emitted from the second floor of a building across the road.

Lavochkin shouted. "Up top, second floor, third window!" The floor then exploded as a grenade was fired in. No more fire came from either side of the street. Lavochkin waved his hand, and the others continued.

Once more, shots rang out.

The soldiers dived the the road surface. Two more fell to sniper fire. Suddenly on of the cars they were using for cover exploded in a burning conflagration. Four more men and women flew backwards into the brick wall behind them as more shooters fired from the rooftops.

"Return fire!" Lavochkin shouted, even though the order was redundant.

Buildings exploded as the grenades flew from the pinned battalion. More of them fell, the snipers well positioned. The Centurions didn't have to eat, or sleep, and could remain in position absolutely motionless for days. They were turning out to be deadly efficient urban snipers, and it now seemed as through the assault from the air might falter, mere hours after the armoured spearhead broke through the Front and set course for Moscow.

Battlestar Valkyrie

"Mr. Hoshi." Adama said as he looked up from his clipboard. "I have a small assignment for you, light to no risk."

Hoshi turned from his workstation, intrigued. "What is it, Admiral?"

"Nothing much, just a recce. The Canadians have agreed to let me send an officer to inspect their carrier. They haven't given any details on it, they said it's sensitive to pass over open communication. All I know is the name." Adama glanced down to his clipboard again. "We've picked up a tour guide, of sorts, to guide you to her. I don't know what port she's docked at, but either the west coast or the east I expect you to keep an eye open. They constructed a Viper, and I want to know if there are any other advances that they've gotten a hold of."

Hoshi nodded slowly, taking it in. "What is the name of the ship?"

Adama checked again. "HMCSS Panthalassa. The name of the super-ocean in their Permian era."

"Yes, sir." Hoshi nodded. "The Raptor came aboard ten minutes ago. Should I proceed?"

"Yes, as soon as possible. This is an unforseen development and I don't want to be caught by surprise at a time like this. That's all, good luck."

Hoshi stood back and saluted, before turning to leave.

The Raptor was ready and waiting on the hangar deck when he arrived after stopping by his quarters. Inside was a new person, dressed in a blue uniform with two stripes on his sleeve, and a peaked wedge with a gold leaf on the right side.

"Lieutenant Hoshi?" he said in clear english. "I'm Captain Erwin Lord. I'm going to be your official escort for the inspection."

Hoshi shook his hand. "Thank you, Captain. I must admit I'm looking forward to seeing this new ship."

"Ah, I think you'll be greatly impressed. Cost a lot, that's for sure."

The hatch closed and pressurized, the Raptor was rolled into the lift chamber. This de-pressurized, and the craft started to rise to the flight deck.

"Once out of the flight pod, steer 183 mark 23 from our current course." Lord informed the pilot.

Looking at the course display on the console, Hoshi remarked "But that takes us away from Earth."

"Who said we were going to Earth, Lieutenant?"

Hoshi stared at him. "It's a starship?"

"That's right." said Lord.

"The asteroid you cordoned off..."

Lord nodded. "That's right too. Security, you can understand we want to keep project Pangea as quiet as possible. We'll be arriving in a little while. Your little shuttlecraft aren't bad at all.

"Now you're probably wondering why your commander is so interested in this project. One of the prototype fighters was seen by one of your men in the NRC. It was only a static test model, but it was recognized anyway. Because it's based on your Vipers, Admiral Adama was insistent that he be informed of all developments regarding Pangea. This is because, forty years ago, one of your ships crash-landed in the Arctic, northern Nunavut to be exact. It was immediately thought to be extraterrestrials, and we clamped the lid down immediately. Not a weather balloon this time, just a meteor."

Seeing Hoshi's lack of response to the weather balloon quip, Lord continued. "It turned out not to be little green men but one of your pilots. A certain Captain Kara Thrace."

"Thrace? But she's a memeber of current personnel..." Hoshi quieted to let Lord continue.

"Yes, this is due to some occurrence I'm not aware of. It sounds too much like a bad sci-fi movie anyway. The point is her ship was damaged, and we had to rebuild some of the structure and avionics. She helped as much as she could, but we had to use the ship itself and reverse-engineer the various patches." Lord paused for a deep breath. "During this time we found out from her the kind of ship this Viper operated from. The concept was interesting, to put it mildly. At this time the ships the Americans were putting up were of the more popular broadside model, what you're already familiar with."

"You mean a battlestar?"

Lord nodded. "That's what she called it, and what's become the colloquial term. The technical term is space-based interdiction cruiser. But we just call it a battlestar."

Hoshi leaned forward. "So you're saying, that you- That the Panthalassa is a battlestar?"

"About two-thirds as large as your Valkyrie, moderate fighter complement, combination heavy plasma-based and guided weaponry... A bit different from your ships but very similar. Smaller when compared to them or the Aurora.

"It was difficult to get the funding..." Lord continued. "As you know the accepted combat spacecraft is the shoot-first model. When we proposed your type of space combat, a few actually laughed. They laughed, and then they built it."

Hoshi sat back in disbelief. The Canadians had managed to secretly construct a battlestar, or ship like it. Suddenly the space gap between the Colonials and the Terrans had shrank incredibly.