Another Way
Chapter 9: Engagement
An armed Battlestar is a beautiful thing to watch; its powerful engines cleaving a pathway through the heavens parsec after parsec.
An armed Battlestar with Vipers streaking away as they cleared the launch tubes gave him a glow of satisfaction and nostalgia. Images he had seen, research he had done on the First Cylon War were playing out in living, breathing, human colours.
She was there – he knew it. He could feel it. He could practically smell her. The blips on his DRAEDIS console dipping, swerving, taking positions numbered fourteen and she was one of those fourteen. All he had to do was pay attention and those who cared about her most would be the ones to betray her. They would tell him which one of those arch-angels had the highest Raider kill-count since Liberation Day, which one killed a Six with her bare hands, which one held the future of the Cylon race in her beautifully constructed hands and which one he would have at his side, his dark Persephone, for the rest of her life.
Looking across the console, he nodded to the Centurion manning the Cylon equivalent of an LSO position.
"Execute."
He could hear the metal soldier's silent acknowledgement: By your command…
BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG
"Status report Mr. Gaeta." Tigh kept his hands clasped firmly behind his back as he looked at the tactical officer.
"Sir – two BaseStars just jumped in system. One is taking up a position at the head of the Fleet, one at our six." Watching the DRAEDIS refresh, he clarified, "So far, no sign of Raiders."
Switching from Gaeta to Dee, Tigh did not bother with formalities. "Page the Commander." Peering back at the DRAEDIS, he muttered, "Something does not feel right." Clearing his throat, he locked eyes with Gaeta again, "Calculate jump co-ordinates and transmit them to the fleet as soon as possible."
Looking at the XO, Dee nodded in acknowledgement and pressed her headset more firmly against her ear as she sent out the summons.
"Galactica – Black Leader; I have a visual on one BaseStar bearing…" Starbuck's voice transmitted into CIC.
"Copy that Black Leader. Split your forces – a second BaseStar just jumped and is squaring up at the tail end of the Fleet." Tigh did not need to fill her in on the details, just the facts. Making a quick decision, he looked back at Dee. "I want you to open a direct channel between Starbuck and CIC. This is going to get worse before it gets better."
"Black Leader – Galactica; you have a direct channel to Galactica Actual on this frequency." Dee relayed. A tone on her console beeped. Pressing the button, she took the call.
"Copy that Galactica." Starbuck acknowledged.
Eyes round, Dee made contact with Tigh. "Hanger Ten reports that Commander Adama took a shuttle to Cloud Nine several hours ago to meet with Quorum members."
"Black Leader to Apollo," Starbuck paged.
"Apollo here; go ahead Black Leader." He did not have to ask what was going on, his tone of voice carried his question as he answered Starbuck's page.
"Two BaseStars are forming up in front of and at the back of the Fleet. You are to abort your refuelling operation and return to base."
"Acknowledge – ETA eight minutes." Apollo confirmed.
"All Wings – change in plans. Red Wing, pick up the CAP and take up defensive positions and protect the back of the Fleet. Blue Wing, I want you to separate. Beehive and Kat, you are to put yourselves between anything that even remotely looks like it could strike Cloud Nine. Hot Dog, head to the Rising Star and provide escort for the refuelling detail. Duck, I want you up front and centre with me."
On DRAEDIS, Vipers veered off and separated, taking on new headings.
"Galactica – Black Leader; we are going to need some help out here."
"Understood, Black Leader," Tigh agreed. "Mr. Gaeta, tell the LSO to launch another ten birds to back them up out there."
Walking around the console, he stood directly underneath the read out screen. Cocking his head to one side, he would bet his last bottle of ambrosia that they were up to something. Call it a pilot's superstition, but why hell weren't there…
"Raiders, Sir - closing in fast," Gaeta announced. Dread excitement underscored his words.
"How many do you see, Mr. Gaeta?"
"A full air wing," the tactical officer quantified.
Tigh reacted before he could check himself. "Say that again?"
Swallowing hard, Gaeta followed everyone else in looking up at the DRAEDIS display.
"A complete air wing – from each BaseStar, Sir," Gaeta repeated.
Rolling the hard six never was uglier than right now, in this very moment.
And, he was not the only one who recognized it.
"Galactica – Black Leader; we got it. Get everyone away who can get away. We'll hold them off."
"Black Leader – just buy us some time. We'll get you home." Commander Bill Adama's voice never sounded so good, even if it was being relayed from another ship. And with those gravely spoken words, Tigh had his orders.
"Aye, aye Sir," Starbuck's voice rang with determination. "Okay people – we are going shopping. Let's see how much time we can put in The Bucket's bank. All pilots, fire at will."
The board exploded into a flurry of activity as the sounds of an aerial battle took place. Whoops, yells, explosions, expletives, the heavy staccato of gunfire and the deeper boom of missiles hitting targets wrapped around the CIC.
An aide came up to Gaeta and passed him readout. Accepting the intel, Gaeta said, "Sir. All ordinances are hot and ready to fire."
Another ten Colonial signals appeared on radar.
Calling out to the newcomers, Tigh watched as Starbuck divvied up the new forces. Her game plan was unorthodox but sound. Commander Adama was protected, the Old Man's son was five minutes away from being on board, and she had given them time to warm up all batteries even as ships around her blinked as they were taken out of play.
"Open fire, Mr. Gaeta. Let's show these toasters what it means to have a Battlestar up your ass."
Xxx BSG Xxx
He could hear her, her voice carrying across space and feeding into his command centre courtesy of the battle frequencies provided by the Cylon spy network
One by one, red blips denoting unknown Colonial Vipers were either labelled with a call sign or changed to blue when they were disabled. Even when Galactica launched additional forces, all it did was make him smile. She was never one for doing things the easy way, so why should he expect her capture to be by-the-book?
That was the hardest part of his plan – to make sure Vipers were taken off the board but not destroyed. To have her vaporized inside the blossom of a hellflower was not an option and until he learned which plane was hers, orders stood: disable only.
Tapping out a sequence on the control board, the lay out of the enemy deployment came into focus. Leaning on his elbows, he drew a finger around one ship where two red Vipers had taken up a patrol. Immediately, the colour changed to blue. She was not there, but someone worth protecting was, and she would put her fastest pilot and sharpest shooter on that detail. Another red blip escorted two ships that, once scanned, showed to have no weapons onboard. Now that was interesting – who is she protecting there, he wondered. The escorting ship was changed from red to blue; she was not flying that Viper. Looking at where his sister-ship was now in formation at the backend of the Fleet, where eleven Vipers made a significant dent in the Cylon Raider force, eight were still red. Shooting a glance at the wave of Raiders launched from his ship concentrated at the head of the Fleet, the kill counts there were more significant. A wicked light flared in his eyes as he made the eight Colonial signals blue.
Re-locating to the head of the table, he perched where he could look head on at the Galactica, the ships immediately around the Battlestar and the nine red enemy fighters. He was close – very, very close to having it all. All he needed was just another few minutes.
BSG Xxx BSG
Seelix tapped her comm link and opened a channel.
"Racetrack – Seelix; do you copy?"
"I copy Seelix; SitRep?" Racetrack asked.
"I have one pilot and two are floating dead in the water – safe but secure."
Watching a Viper bob and weave a Raider away from a civilian vessel, Seelix focused on the way the Raider passed over the easy target and stayed on the fighter. "Have you noticed something odd about how the Cylons are attacking us?"
The sound of Galactica's forward battery firing rounds delayed Racetrack's answer.
Coming back on line, Racetrack replied. "Starbuck paged us a few minutes ago – something about all this did not sit well with her either. She has Apollo communicating with Helo analyzing their attack runs."
"Glad to know it just isn't me. Good hunting, Racetrack," Seelix signed out.
"You too; good hunting," Racetrack echoed.
Xxx BSG Xxx
"Galactica – Apollo; have those BaseStars engaged yet?" Lee asked, looking out from the pilot's chair onboard his Raptor.
"Negative Apollo – all we're getting are Raiders. There is zero activity from the BaseStars." Tigh answered. A pause separated his second sentence. "Get onboard the nearest ship; we are two minutes from jumping."
"Affirmative Galactica; Apollo out," Lee said as he cut the transmission. Setting the alarm on his chronometer, he switched to the battle frequency and listened to Starbuck galvanize the squadrons as she took out another Raider. She was on the front lines, leading the charge while at the same time running a defensive play. What he wouldn't give to roll back time just to see her Pyramid trained mind re-configure the stratagems and deployments that were the crux of War College theologies.
Glancing out his port window, the mining ship's tanker was trailing Hot Dog's Viper. He could land the Raptor anywhere, as well as the Viper, providing the ship had mag-lock capabilities. The tanker was another issue.
He might be the CAG, but this was Starbuck's plan and she had the board just as much as Galactica Actual.
"Black Leader – Apollo; do you copy?"
"Go ahead Apollo," the sound of debris bouncing off her canopy punctuated Starbuck's reply.
"Black Leader – the tanker – it's too big to fit in The Rising Star's hanger bay. I am going to divert it back to the mining ship."
"Acknowledged," Lee heard no second-guessing in her voice – she knew that if he said he was sending the tanker back to the mining ship that there was enough time for it to get there before the fleet began jumping.
Starbuck's guns fired for several seconds before she came back on the line. "Talk to me, Apollo"
"Give me thirty seconds," Lee quantified. Triggering the wireless again, he hailed, "Helo – Apollo; got anything yet?"
The distant sound of Helo's voice came over the comm system as the scream of Cylon engines buzzing by the other Raptor echoed in the background.
"Yeah – but I don't like it. Tell me what you think then I will tell you my idea." Helo's voice rose and fell with the conviction he felt over his analysis.
"Okay – send it over." Lee's curiosity was piqued. Something had the normally unflappable Helo anxious enough to need a second opinion. Swivelling in his seat, he looked at his E.C.O. "Switch with me."
Settling into the now vacant chair and making sure his E.C.O had the stick, Lee punched up the information Helo streamed into the databanks.
It was a fast-forward of the battle as it took place from the moment the BaseStars jumped in-system.
Watching the blips of Cylon and Colonial signals play out, Lee tapped his helmet where his chin was and started thinking. Then he started thinking out loud.
Xxx BSG Xxx
Seven Colonial signals were still red on Number Two's tactical board.
Closing his eyes and sending a prayer to God, he waved his left hand over what represented the forefront of the combat zone.
Surrendering to God's will, he let Him still his arm. Three red blips were now shadowed by his palm.
There you are, he smiled as the other four Viper icons were changed to blue.
Making contact with his LSO one more time, he said, "Execute Phase Two."
Out of the launch bays, another forty fighters flowed from the BaseStar.
With them, one Heavy Raider slipped into the fray.
It was time.
BSG Xxx BSG
An alarm to the left of Dee's station sounded.
"Radiological alarm, Sir," she could not keep a breathless edge out of her announcement, "DRAEDIS is also picking up additional Raiders – the count is forty."
"How many nuclear signatures do you read?" Tigh asked.
It was a fight to get the next words out of her mouth.
"Forty, Sir – all of them are carrying nukes."
Swallowing the string of expletives that competed for voice-time, Tigh speared Gaeta with a flick of his eyes demanding an answer to his silent question.
"We are still more than a minute from computations being complete, Sir."
"Black Leader – Galactica; did you hear that?" Inhaling deeply, Tigh looked up at the DRAEDIS display and picked out where Starbuck was dipping and weaving.
"Yeah, I frakking heard that. Frak me." The sound of her punching the inside of her canopy was not missed by anyone. "How much more time do you need?"
Tigh blew out pent up breath. "Another sixty seconds before the final calculations are completed."
"Which means you really need at least another two minutes before everyone is away, right?" Her question was rhetorical because her next word mirrored what everyone was thinking.
"FRAK!"
Xxx BSG Xxx
Scanning the remaining Colonial forces on her inner console, she was the only pilot without a wingman. Which was good and bad thing. On one hand, she was free to pursue, annihilate, intercept at will while being totally accessible to any pilot who needed help without having to be responsible for another person's life. On the other, there was no one to back her up when she got in trouble – like she was right now.
"Coda – I want you to break off your attack run – change of plans."
Having one Raider on your six was fun, like having a puppy follow you; you could scare it off or distract the animal. Three on your six was like having a pack of rabid dogs jockeying for a kill-bite and now that there were more appliances crashing her party, she had to 'make room' for more 'guests'.
Starbuck explained what they were going to do as she saw it play out in her head.
"Copy that Starbuck, but what about –"
Referring to the Raider that had just locked onto him, a missile coming from the underbelly of Starbuck's Viper made his question obsolete. He was now free to participate in Starbuck's hair-brained idea.
BSG Xxx BSG
Waiting for Lee's analysis, Helo ran his projections on more time. Drumming his fingers against the keypads but not hard enough to activate them, he took his ideas one step further and his big-brother gene superseded his Colonial training.
Hollering to Racetrack, he felt the pull of the Raptor's burners being kicked into high gear as they shot across the battlefield.
Xxx BSG Xxx
Hitting the enter button, sliding out of the E.C.O.'s station and taking back the pilot's seat, Lee looked up. The E.C.O had manoeuvred the Raptor towards the front lines. A fresh wave of incoming Raiders was still more than a minute out, and a flash of ignited tylium made spots dance in front of his eyes for a moment. Clearing his vision, a glimpse of a name plate – Kara's nameplate – blinked in and out of focus as she dipped, banked and circled a freighter with no less than three Raiders on her burners. Behind the Raiders, another Viper was coming up on the trio of enemy crafts, but to Lee's trained eyes, by the time the pilot corrected his attack vector, Kara would be nothing more than cosmic dust and there would be nothing he could do about it. All he could do was watch and pray that she had enough time to eject.
The strength, beauty and power she transferred to her craft she carried under her control fell to the way side as he watched from his vantage point, in an unarmed bird, helpless to stop her death.
Relying on his Colonial training to keep him from crying out to her, instead, he started rehearsing how he was going to break it to his father that the Commander had to plan a memorial service for his daughter.
BSG Xxx BSG
Gaeta, Dee, Tigh and everyone else in CIC had their eyes glued to the DRAEDIS display. The fresh wave of nuclear-capable Raiders was still thirty-five seconds out and their best defence was soon to be a spray of charred metal.
Viper One-One-Niner was coming up and over a civilian freighter with three Raiders on its tail. The only Viper in any proximity was off course, coming in from the wrong direction to do any good.
A deep throated growl vibrated across CIC as the pilot wrenched her bird into a complete one-eighty-degree turn, flipping end-over-end at an impossible speed so that now, she was charging her attacker, making them break off and tumble right into the flight path of the dismissed Viper. In less then four seconds from her flip, three more Cylon signals disappeared off the board.
A round of relief swept the CIC and a few specialists clapped.
Glancing at the jump-clock, Tigh looked at Dee, "Tell the CAP to make emergency landings on Cloud Nine."
A hint of appreciation pulled at the corner of his eye as he waited for someone to get the last word.
Panting slightly, Starbuck's voice sounded over the comms, "Okay people – what's next?"
BSG Xxx BSG
Sending out a prayer of thankfulness for their sacrifice as three more Raiders were blown apart by Colonial fire, Number Two tagged Viper One-One-Niner.
Now, instead of three numbers representing the Viper, the identity of the pilot appeared next to the icon: Kara.
Xxx BSG Xxx
"Apollo – Helo; do you copy?"
Lee's hand moved automatically to open the inter-Raptor channel.
"Go ahead, Helo." Lee answered. "Did you get what I sent you?" Trying to figure out what the E.C.O was talking about, his heart was still hammering over watching Kara pull her squadron out of the fire and reform the front line. There were so few fighters left and they were still seconds away from jump co-ordinates. He and Hot Dog were seconds from landing onboard The Intrepid.
"Apollo – it's a trick!" Helo's voice erupted in his headset.