Another Way
Chapter 3: Flight
On the Far Side of the Gas Giant En-route Back to Galactica…
"WHOOOHOOO!!"
Still flying fast but not at the velocity of the previous ten seconds, Hot Dog slapped his gloved hands against his canopy as his jaw dropped open to let out an ecstatic whoop.
"By the Gods, that was good! Anyone have a cigarette?" Kat polled the rest of the group.
"Kat – do you need to change your panties?" Skid Mark asked and not because he thought she had pissed herself with excitement.
"Damn, Skid Mark – I think I do!" Kat was endorphin high. Peering over her left shoulder, she made visual contact with another Viper-mate. "What about you, Monkey Boy – you okay over there?"
A dumbfounded look and a pair of 'thumbs up' signals were illuminated by lights that ringed the inside of Monkey Boy's helmet.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I would say the lad has been rendered speechless." Hot Dog teased.
"Speaking of ladies – shouldn't Starbuck be here by now?" Skid Mark turned in his seat to see if he could see their Flight Instructor.
"That gas giant is messing with my readings," Kat did a quick scan of her instruments. "I can't see a thing."
"HOLY FRAK!" Monkey Boy shouted into the comm system. "BREAK FORMATION! NOW! NOW! NOW, PEOPLE!"
Four Vipers peeled off on two different vectors – port and starboard – as a mass of wreckage trailing thick, oily smoke barrelled though their previous position.
"EMERGENCY! This is Viper One-Two-Niner calling in an EMERGENCY for Viper Five-Three-Seven. Repeat: EMERGENCY!" Kat dialled up Galactica as soon as she saw what was left of Starbuck's Viper streak past her starboard bow. "Galactica, this is Viper One-Two-Niner-"
"Go Ahead Viper One-Two-Niner – this Galactica. State your emergency." The female voice over the wireless was even and soothing despite the hint of dread that clung to the outside of her words.
"Galactica – Starbuck's Viper is damaged. No communications. Her aft burners, wings and fuselage are perforated." Straining her eyes on the ball of smoke as it barely missed a civilian cruiser, Kat relayed more information. "It looks like she has regained some manoeuvrability but still has not made contact, Galactica. Repeat-"
"Galactica – Starbuck." Starbuck's voice cut off Kat's briefing – static and feedback riddled her audio transmission.
"Go ahead Starbuck," Commander Adama was now the voice that carried into the pilot's headsets.
"Sir. Got hit by debris. Got a problem. Failures. Hot. Fast." Screeching feedback broke up her transmission and made it seem as if she were speaking in incomplete sentences.
"Flight group, you are ordered back to Galactica – combat landings." Adama's control of the situation was a balm on the four pilots-in-training nerves.
"Understood, Actual – combat landings," Kat repeated. Speaking to the group, she relayed the message – just as Starbuck had taught them. "Kat to group: head for home and prepare to execute combat landings."
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Dee looked up from her console in CIC and made eye contact with the Commander.
"Sir – flight group has landed per orders. Chief Tyrol says he needs a minimum of three minutes to clear the deck."
"Thank you Dee." Shifting his eyes to the overhead DRAEDIS display, an erratic icon dipped and banked at reckless, borderline endangerment, speeds towards the outer edges of the fleet.
Colonel Tigh took up his own watch on the moving icon. "What is she doing?"
"She is killing two birds with one stone. Starbuck knows that she is running too hot and flying too fast. If she comes in now, she will tear a hole right through the hanger bay and she won't stop until she is somewhere near the cargo holds in the bowels of the ship and has vented a third of the ship into space. She is slowing down using the only options available to her. She is also buying the chief as much time as she possibly can so that he can get the deck cleared. That way, if she cannot stop, she will not take out the rest of the fighters and Raptors stationed on the deck."
"What happened to the nets?" Tigh tone was clipped. He did not like Starbuck on a personal or professional level but even he had to admit that she was a tactical asset. Not to mention that there were protocols in place just for such an emergency.
"Gone," Adama tersely replied. An elasticized plast-steel had been developed to 'catch' a runaway space craft before it could do damage to a ship's hanger bay and was standard equipment for any space-faring vessel. Meeting Tigh's head snap with a disparaging tone, he filled his XO in on the details. "They were stripped and re-assigned when the ship was scheduled for decommissioning."
Switching his gaze from his executive officer to Dee effectively dropped the subject. Efficiency was what was needed – that was what Starbuck was counting on him to provide. That was the best thing he could do to help her.
"Page the C.A.G. Notify him. He needs to know what is happening to one of his pilots and make sure he knows that Tyrol rules the deck."
"Yes, Sir." Speaking into her mouthpiece, Dee was a little breathless as she triggered the wireless. "Captain Adama, report to the flight deck immediately. Attention all hands. Pass the word to Captain Adama to report to the flight deck, ASAP."
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"Come on people – MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!" Tyrol was fastening the last of the buckles on his fire-retardation suit as he issued orders that were not being carried out fast enough for his liking.
The landing pod was opened as much as possible beyond the bulkhead doors – giving Starbuck every spare inch he could muster. Clearing the deck included securing all the remaining Vipers and Raptors and he was running out of time. Hell – Starbuck was running out of time. If her ship was as damaged as much as the initial reports stipulated, then she was venting into space as well. Her flight suit would keep her oxygenated but now they were also running the clock against hypothermia. When someone said that space was cold place to be, it was not a purely metaphorical statement. And if she were venting into space, the g-forces could be doing some serious damage to her body.
Scoping the deck, he saw Cally and Jammer, fire suits already on and buckled, hustling their respective groups of underlings. The clank of heavy boots running down a companionway had Tyrol looking high and to his right. Dropping down the stairs two at a time, Lee hit the deck without breaking his stride.
Scooping up another fire-suit, he met the Captain half way and tossed the suit the rest of the way.
Deftly grabbing the suit as it sailed in his direction, Lee was unbuttoning his brass and stripping down as he asked, "Status report, Chief?"
"Sir, we have all the heavy equipment, generators and lifts sorted out as well as the under-repair vehicles and the four Vipers that combat landed. Securing the remaining Vipers and Raptors is remaining an issue, Captain." Tyrol kept to the facts as he swung his arm towards the machines that were the fleet's primary form of protection.
Perspiration was making it difficult to pull the suit on quickly. Despite the number of drills he had participated in, the material was bunching up and rolling on itself. Resettling the crotch and pulling the backing to the left, he freed his tangled tanks and shrugged the safety garment up and over his shoulders. Following the Chief's hands, Lee saw the dilemma.
"Okay. We have a problem and no time to solve it." Lee said.
Quirking an eyebrow at the man standing in front of him, a Starbuck channelled idea flashed behind his eyes.
"Launch them."
"Sir?" Tyrol asked, not sure he had heard the C.A.G. correctly.
"Launch them," Lee repeated. "It's the best way to clear the deck. Starbuck can't crash into them if they are not here." Lee explained hurriedly.
"You know that sounds like something she would say, Sir?" Tyrol commented as he agreed with the Captain's plan.
Already en route to the Panic Button – the klaxon designated to summon all pilots, Viper and Raptor alike, Lee called over his shoulder. "Who else but Starbuck would come up with something like that?"
Deftly punching in his code and hitting the 'accept' button, an automated voice followed by a siren sounded overhead summoning all pilots to the Hanger Deck.
Watching the C.A.G. come trotting back, Tyrol was already issuing the commands to launch the fighters and Raptors. Hearing the C.A.G.'s footfalls slow and stop, he looked over at the man standing near his shoulder, and pointed out the one flaw in Lee's – Starbuck's – plan.
"How is she supposed to dodge all those ships?"
Fighting down the bile that occasionally came with the C.A.G. position, Lee struggled to keep his face neutral.
"That is not my job. It's hers."
Chipping at the ice that had frosted over the chief's face, Lee softened his tone. "Starbuck is important. She is an integral part of this crew. But she would be the first one to kick my ass all the way to the Lagoon Nebula if she knew I put the survival of this fleet ahead of her."
A stampede of pilots and E.C.O.'s ran past them and were secured into cockpits and canopies. The rumble of engines firing up, shifting into launch positions and being rocketed into space made any more discussion impossible.
Pulling a pair of head sets out of one of his pockets; Tyrol kept one for him and handed the other to Lee. Despite being two feet away, Chief spoke into the headset in order to be heard over the din. "How are we going to stop her?"
Levelling another stomach-churning gaze at the Chief, Lee faced the man squarely, pulled the mouthpiece into position and without missing a beat said, "That is your job."
Tyrol now understood why Apollo and Starbuck came to blows. Never before had he been asked to step up to such a challenge while at the same time have his competency thrown in his face.
The problem with a rapidly emptying hanger deck pares down to logistics: how is an incoming, crippled Viper going to be stopped sans the raw materials for even the most basic of ideas?
Looking at Lee, the Chief spun on his heel as to not be distracted when the other man's face scrunched in concentration and focused his gaze to a spot on the far side of the hanger deck as the Captain processed what was being said into his headset.
Tyrol got the same news at the same time. Hearing the C.A.G. acknowledge that he understood what was relayed; Tyrol felt the control over his emotions slip for a second.
"She's charged? How am I supposed to find a way to catch her while she is statically charged, hot, perforated and coming in like Hades' chariot?" Tyrol blurted out accusingly at Lee.
Lee kept silent. As far as he was concerned, whatever the Chief needed, the Chief would get.
Helo and Racetrack, running all the way from the farthest areas of the Battlestar, arrived in tandem and separated only when they headed to their respective Raptors.
An idea so outside the box started to form in the Chief's imagination. It was crazy enough that it might just work, if Starbuck gave him enough time. Given the fact that her last known position had her heading towards the outside of the fleet, it stood to reason that she had to make a loop to get back to the landing pod. That would buy him a few minutes more than he initially thought he had.
With one hand, he cancelled Helo's and Racetrack's respective launches. With the other hand, he curled his fingers and summoned Cally and Jammer. Making eye contact with Lee, he gave out his orders and reached for two plasma torches – one of which he tossed to the C.A.G.
"This is what we are going to do…"
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Timing was going to be everything.
The instant Starbuck was two klicks from the landing platform was the second Lee gave the command for the pod to be pulled back within the folds of the ship. Her tail fins had barely crossed the threshold when the external blast doors magnetized into place, sealing the area and allowing pressure and oxygen to stabilize the area.
At first, Lee couldn't see Kara or her broken bird. All he could see was a cloud of smoke billowing forward and all he could hear was the high pitched whine of space-craft grade metal being pushed beyond its limits.
The glare usually associated with Viper landing lights was not there. The sounds of hydraulics being released, usually associated with Viper landings, were not there. The sounds of running feet, specialists scrambling to meet their assigned pilots and matching birds, armed with post-flight checklists, usually associated with Viper landings, were not there.
Instead, the sound of Galactica engulfing the landing pod was all but drowned out by the crippled Viper and the pilot trying to land her plane. The purr of two Raptor engines revving, their running lights on, each manned with a pilot, specialists and friends of the incoming pilot was indicative that they were as ready as they were ever going to be.
Looking out the view port of the raptor from the vantage point of the co-pilot's seat, Lee braced his hand on Helo's shoulder but had his gaze locked on Tyrol's. The concept was sound. It was the specific physical variables they had guestimated.
Despite being in a different raptor yards away, the Chief reassured the Captain. One hand on Racetrack's shoulder and standing between her pilot's seat and the co-pilot's chair, he mouthed the words to the question the C.A.G.'s face held.
"It will hold."
The look he got in return was grim resolution. This was the only plan they had. There was nothing else they could do to help Starbuck save herself.
Each raptor was facing the other, their noses pointed in. Parachutes had been cut – not in half to make two separate strips of fabric – but in a way that doubled their length and halved their breadth. Rolled loosely, they were then threaded through hastily made holes, all cut at different heights along the forward frames of the vehicles and then knotted. A piece of metal, much like a shank, was welded to the frames of the raptor and underneath the knots. All the holes were repairable. The parachutes could be re-sown. They only had one chance; Starbuck had only one shot to angle her bird into the makeshift net. If one hundred tons of raptor – fifty tons per ship – was not enough to stop her, then nothing would.
The wail of twisted metal drowned out every other sound on the hanger deck. Smoke rising all the way to the high girders reduced visibility. Racetrack and Helo fought the reflexive urge to pull back when Kara's Viper came into contact with the make-shift netting. Instead, guided by pressure transferred by the hands of the Chief and Lee to their shoulders, Racetrack and Helo let the Viper pull them forward slightly, creating a little slack in the ropes before hitting the reverse thrusters hard and snapping the twisted parachutes taut.
Lee felt like everything was in slow motion. Starbuck's approach, her perforated nose and grit encrusted canopy sliding past the view port only to hit the netting. Letting the raptor be carried forward, it was his job – which he had to time perfectly with Tyrol – to feel when more than half of the inertia from Starbuck's approach transferred to the netting so that they could, in turn, transfer it back to the Viper and snap the craft backwards, away from the hanger deck and let it crash into the far end of a fully pressurized and oxygenated landing pod. Cally and Jammer, armed with the equivalent of lightening rods, were waiting to siphon off the build up of static electricity he could see crackling around Starbuck's ship. White-blue veins of electrical current spanned the distance between the Viper and the Raptors and drew scorch marks along all three hulls.
In the brief instant the cockpit of her Viper rested between the two Raptors, he could not see her. All he could make out was a spider-webbed canopy riddled with holes. Time slowed even more as the net slacked. His hand clapped Helo's shoulder. That was the signal to fire the reverse thrusters. The raptor pitched downward, scoring the deck before pulling the netting taut and shooting Starbuck backwards.
Time returned to normal as he saw the chief move to leave the other raptor and Helo triggered the hatch at the same time he initiated the power-down sequence. Specialists were hitting the deck and running the length of the landing pod. Lee was right behind him. Fifteen feet away, to his left, the Chief and other staff members were in the same race. Behind him, the slightly irregular gait of Helo and the sounds of other personnel coming to help echoed in the pod and around his ears.
Right on cue, Cally and Jammer displaced the static electricity with only a subtle shower of sparks.
Coming up on the crashed Viper, it looked like some giant's child had carelessly tossed it to the side after getting bored playing with it. It was listing to the left, landing gear having been stripped away in the ricochet. The canopy – what was left of it – had collapsed on one side. The Chief could see from where he was running that no amount of prying was going to slide it free. The back end of the plane was the worse. Not only was it riddled with even more of those deadly small holes, but when it collided with the front of the landing pod, the impact jammed everything forward and the undercarriage was actually buckled to the point of being convexed to a certain degree.
Starbuck completed her mission, she had done her part. She had gotten the ship into the pod, at the right angle, and had slowed herself down enough that the roped parachutes were enough to transfer her momentum.
Now, it was his turn.
Coming up on the wreckage, the Chief prayed nothing else went wrong.
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"Status report, Captain," he said, speaking into a head set and adjusting the position of the mouth piece. Turning to Dee he added, "Put him on speaker."
Lee's voice echoed in the CIC as he answered his father's orders. By the sound of his breathing and the thuds of his footfalls, Lee was sprinting in the landing pod
"We were able to rig up a make shift net, use her own momentum to against her. Only minor scoring to the deck: repeat: no significant damage to any craft, pilots or crew."
"Can you see our girl?" More than once, Commander Adama wished that he could what was happening.
"I am coming up on Lt. Thrace's Viper now." A pause preceded some laboured breathing. "Oh, Gods, Dad…" For his C.A.G. to slip into son-role at a moment like this, when he would know that the entire CIC would be listening, meant Lee was deeply affected by what he was seeing.
"How did she land this?" Lee was not talking to his father or CIC, nor was he running any more.
"I have no idea, Sir. I have seen her bring in a bird minus a wing, hell – even minus an engine before – but this…" The sound of the Chief's voice trailing off, the distant sounding words being picked up on Lee's headset spoke to the condition of Kara's fighter more than any verbal detail of the damage sustained.
"Tell me what is going on," Commander Adama looked at his XO and steeled himself for the answer to his next question. "How is she?"
"Yes, Sir," Lee was back to being Captain Adama. "I don't know. I cannot see her. I am on the ground. The canopy is jammed. It cannot be opened. They are firing up the torches; they are going to have to cut her out."
In the background, even Tigh looked concerned when the very distant voice of Cally hailed the C.A.G.
"Sir – do you smell that?"
"FRAK!" The slightly closer timbre of Chief Tyrol pre-empted Lee from answering Cally's question. "We have a fuel leak, people! Double time, people. All non-essential personnel are to leave the area NOW!"
"Sir – we have a problem. There is a fuel leak but we have to use the torches to get her out. Be prepared to vent the area if I give the signal." Lee conveyed to CIC.
"Understood, Captain," Tigh answered for the Old Man who was currently bracing his palms against the console.
The muted sounds of a rescue mission, transmitted through Lee's headset, wrapped around CIC and no one spoke who didn't have too. Dee held all the incoming calls and Gaeta took what ever urgent calls and queries out into the corridor.
"We're making headway, Chief. Almost have it."
"Chief, more fuel is leaking." Cally's update was broken up by the sputtering of plasma torches slicing up a Viper.
"You, there," the image of the Chief pointing to someone they could not see came into sharp focus in the minds of everyone in the command centre, "I want you – and you… Take off your suit jackets. That's it. Now, lay them flat underneath where you are cutting. One spark and this whole place will go up."
"We're though!"
"Quick – get it off. Helo, I want you and Jammer on this side. Captain Adama – you're with me. On the count of three, we lift." The Chief voice sounded relieved but harried at he same time. "One. Two. Three. Lift!"
The sounds of four men groaning under the strain of having to release a sealed canopy that had popped off its tracks, without the aid of hydraulics, had everyone in CIC feeling helpless.
"Do you have her?" Helo's deep voice was a new addition to the drama the CIC was listening to unfold.
"We gotta get her out if here!"
"Oh, Gods, how did she do this?" Jammer's question wasn't one anyone in the rescue party hadn't asked themselves at least five times over.
"Do what Specialist?" Tyrol asked.
"Get this plane this far without getting dead, Chief." Jammer's voice carried a measure of disbelief and awe.
No one in CIC had to add the phrase, 'because it was Starbuck behind the stick', because it was the one answer that echoed in minds of everyone in the Command Centre every time the damage to her Viper was alluded too.
"Careful."
"Easy, now…"
"We gotta her helmet off."
"Watch her neck."
The sound of a helmet clanking to the pod's deck was when Tigh noticed the Old Man's knuckles went white as he gripped the side of the nearest console.
"Starbuck – can you hear me? We have to go. Starbuck?" Apollo's voice was hard and hurried. Everyone in CIC could feel the situation in the landing pod becoming more volatile by the moment as they realized that the emergency team had yet to extricate Starbuck from her cockpit.
"Frak – she's non-responsive, Sir."
"You grab her knees, I'll get her shoulders," Lee was talking to someone else.
"I got her." Helo's timbre was even despite the scuffing noises everyone heard as he finalized his grip. "We go on my mark, Captain."
The mental image of two men making eye contact over her inert body as they jockeyed for positions on the damaged Viper was vivid.
'Now," Helo gave the signal.
The sound of more heavy breathing and a whimper of pain pierced the war room. Tigh saw Bill's knuckles return to more natural colour. If Starbuck was in pain, then she was alive.
"Okay, set her down." Lee's shout was several decibels louder than they had heard speak so far, "Frak – her lips are blue! We need a medic!" Dropping to whisper, everyone strained to hear what the Captain was saying to his lead pilot. "Come on Starbuck. Don't give up now." His voice rose again and sharply fired off the question of the moment, "Where the frak is the medic?"
"MOVE BACK EVERYONE! SHE'S GOING OVER!" The sound of screeching, creaking metal drowned out all other background noises except Tyrol's exclamation.
"FRAK! THE FUEL!" Jammer's Geminon accent was picked up by the mouthpiece attached to Lee's headset.
'Captain – status report!" Adama barked into the comm.
"Starbuck's ship is tipping over, collapsing. There is fuel everywhere, it leaked from the Viper." Lee hastily conveyed, letting everyone else who was listening to fill in the blanks that it would only take one spark to light the flight pod up like a Bacchanal Festival when the twin moons of Virgon were in full eclipse. "Her lips are blue but I am not sure if it is from the cold or her breathing is obstructed or something else all together. There is a medic coming this-"
"EVERYONE OUT OF HERE! SHE'S GONNA BLOW!" Tyrol's voice exploded across CIC.
"I'll take her, Captain. Go help the chief," Helo reassured Lee. The sound strain as he settled his load in his arms underscored his suggestion.
"CIC – this is Captain Adama. We are evacuating. Repeat: we are evacuating."
The sound of pounding boots on metal decking was the harsh staccato that punctuated his words.
In the background, the sound of buckling metal and the pinging of nuts and bolts popping out of the tortured plane was a macabre coda to the cacophony of crew members running for their lives.
The 'whoosh' of flames consuming oxygen was immediately followed by Lee hollering a command. "RUN PEOPLE!"
Tigh was at the fire-control panel before Lee finished his last two words.
"If that fire escapes the landing pod," Saul let his voice trail off as he shot Bill with an expectant gaze.
Dee could see from her station the Old Man close his eyes and begin to silently count. She counted with him. When she reached ten, so did he. That was when he gave the order.
"Vent the landing pod."
"Venting landing pod," Tigh repeated, careful to keep his voice as monotoned as possible.
It was another count of ten before Tigh turned away from the panel and looked at the Commander with compassion, hating his next eight words. "Venting successful, the fire is completely out, Sir."
Summoning his self control, Adama swept the bridge. "Mr. Gaeta, you have the watch."
Watching him and the XO leave the room, there was no question in anyone's mind where those two men were going.
BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG