Disclaimer: Do not own yada yada yada. You all know this by now, and you all know that I know this, so don't anybody get any ideas about suing me.
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Orbit of New Caprica, Inside the Ionic Nebula
CIC, Battlestar Galactica
Things had mellowed out a bit now. The UNSC ship had repelled its boarders without the need for Colonial assistance, the commander of the ship having cancelled his request shortly after the Raptors carrying the Colonial Marines had launched, unwittingly averting a potential disaster.
Now, though, Lieutenant Felix Gaeta was carefully monitoring the DRADIS screens, watching the approach of two UNSC fighters and a 'dropship', escorting the commanding officer of the Magnus and a small number of high-ranked officials from the smaller ship. There would be no such strokes of luck to prevent this meeting between Admiral Adama and Commander Burrows.
Gaeta watched the Magnus and the mysterious ship it had defeated as well, making sure neither of them made a move without him, and by extension the whole fleet, knowing about it. He watched as a pair of Mk VIIs launched from the Galactica,moving toward the dropship and its two escorts; they would be guiding the dropship into the Galactica's flight pod.
With a sigh, he reached over and grabbed a cup of lukewarm Tauron coffee, sipping at the rejuvenating brew, then glanced back at the DRADIS screen. And froze, staring wide-eyed at the empty space on the screen that the Magnus had occupied just seconds ago.
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Admiral William Adama was frustrated. He muttered curses to himself as he rifled through his small locker, searching for the sash that went with his dress uniform. It wasn't the first time the damnable sash had gone mysteriously missing before an important meeting. He pushed aside a small mound of clean uniforms, and smiled triumphantly to himself as the sash fell from the locker to the ground, bending down to pick it up.
"Admiral Adama, report to CIC. Admiral Adama to CIC," the familiar voice of Lieutenant Gaeta cut through the relative silence of the room. The admiral huffed in annoyance, but made his way over to the intraship phone that hung on the wall by the desk in his quarters.
"This is Admiral Adama. What is it, Mister Gaeta?," Adama asked, holding the phone in place by leaning his head to the side and pressing it between his shoulder and neck while he fiddled with the sash.
"The Magnus, sir. It just disappeared off of DRADIS!," the younger man answered from the other end. Adama dropped the sash on top of his desk and got a better grip on the phone.
"Say that again, please Mister Gaeta," Adama asked, a frown etching itself onto his features.
"It's gone, sir, there one moment and gone the next," came the reply.
Where the frak could it have gone?, the older man thought to himself.
Aloud, he said "Did it jump away? And what about the shuttle they were sending over?"
"I don't know if it jumped or not sir, but the shuttle is still on DRADIS, less than a minute away from docking from the look of it."
"Keep me informed, Mister Gaeta. I'll have to ask our guests about this once they arrive. In the meantime, I need to get down to the docking bay," Adama replied, reaching for his sash again as he hung up the phone.
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Battlestar Galactica
Port-side Flight Pod, flight deck
Commander Lee 'Apollo' Adama frowned at the shuttlecraft the 'UNSC' had referred to as a 'dropship'. He was more than a little concerned about letting such an obviously armed ship aboard the Galactica, but the aging battlestar wasn't his to command; that was up to his father.
Still, he couldn't help but eye the ship warily, taking note of what looked like missile pods attached to the short, stubby wings of the craft, the nose-mounted weapon that tracked back and forth across the flight deck, adhering to the movements of the pilots head, and of the identical weapons mounted at the very end of the stubby wings on fixed mounts.
The ship itself was vaguely reminiscent of a Raptor, sharing similar design principles, but it was larger and had smoother edges. Beside Apollo, Colonel Saul Tigh mumbled something under his breath. On the other side of Tigh, Admiral Adama stood impassively, keen eyes taking in every detail of the craft.
To Adama's right stood President Gaius Baltar and Vice-President Tom Zarek, and standing behind those two was ex-president Laura Roslin, present more by the courtesy of the Admiral than for any official business. And, of course, the craft itself was surrounded by deck hands, flight officers and Marines.
There were Marines stationed at every exit to the flight deck, and a six man unit standing with the military and civilian leadership of the Colonies, all armed with assault rifles and all ready for anything.
Apollo was pulled from his thoughts as a loud hiss came from the dropship as the vehicle equalized it's internal pressure with that of the Galactica's flight deck, then a large, rear-mounted door opened swiftly and silently, and the Colonials got their first real look at the UNSC.
Two men dressed in combat fatigues and sporting advanced-looking body armour and shooter's glasses moved quickly out of the dropship, splitting up at the end of the short ramp, their odd looking weapons pointed unthreateningly at the ground. Apollo couldn't place it, but those weapons looked strange somehow…
He looked up as two more men stepped out of the back of the vehicle, both dressed in what was clearly their version of a dress uniform: dark grey slacks and light grey button-down dress jackets, polished black shoes and a light grey cap with a black bill. The jackets each sported numerous medals and campaign ribbons and were decorated with golden buttons and shoulder epaulettes, and on the right breast of each, as well as on the caps, were the letters 'UNSCDF', stretched across a banner underneath a planet upon which perched what appeared to be a large bird of some kind.
The two men halted, snapped to attention, and gave a near perfect simile of a Colonial salute to Admiral Adama, a gesture which the Old Man returned instinctively.
"Admiral Adama, sir? Permission to come aboard?," the man on the right asked, his hand dropping to his side.
"Permission granted. You're Commander Burrows, I assume?," Adama asked as the two men stepped down from the dropship and moved to stand closer to the Admiral. Two more men appeared from within the ship, sporting the same gear as the first two to appear.
"That's right, Admiral. To my left stands Colonel Thomas Locitz, the Commanding Officer of the UNSC Marine detachment aboard the Magnus. Behind us, waiting with the dropship, are the members of Spectre Team Nineteen, a Special Operations Division employed by the Office Of Naval Intelligence, lead by Sergeant Major James Allen," Burrows answered, and one of the men back at the dropship, sporting three pinkish horizontal scars on his face, nodded to the Colonial delegation.
"It's a pleasure to meet you. To my left are Colonel Saul Tigh, Executive Officer aboard the Galactica, and Commander Lee Adama, CO of the Pegasus," Adama paused as the men exchanged brief greetings with one another. "To my left are President Gaius Baltar and Vice-President Tom Zarek, as well as former president Laura Roslin."
Once again, greetings were exchanged, but Adama noticed that both the Commander and the Colonel appeared to be wary of President Baltar.
Smart men, Adama thought ruefully.
"Gentlemen, I can't thank you enough for the assistance you rendered the fleet against that unknown ship," Roslin said as she shook hands with Burrows, flashing a smile in Baltar's direction. The president looked flustered and angry for not having thought of saying anything like that himself, but suppressed it quickly.
"Commander Burrows, would you care to accompany us to my office so that we may speak with some privacy?," Admiral Adama asked, stepping in before Baltar could say anything.
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Battlestar Galactica
Admiral Adama's Quarters
Commander Burrows sipped cautiously at the alcoholic beverage called 'ambrosia' that he had been offered by the Admiral as he sat in the small but comfortable quarters of the man. It tasted like very sweet whiskey, and had a strong burn as it slid down his throat.
"Strong stuff," Burrows said, tipping his glass politely to the Admiral. "Reminds me of a sour mash whiskey from back home."
"So, Commander…how did you get such a high rank at such a young age?," Colonel Tigh asked somewhat suspiciously as he tossed back his own drink. Burrows frowned, a brief look of confusion crossing his face, before a glint of realisation appeared in his eyes.
I should have realised that their medical technology would be behind ours, he said to himself.
"I'm sorry, Colonel, I should have guessed by the apparent technical base of your ships that our military technologies may not be the only thing the UNSC has that is more advanced than your own," Burrows said aloud. "Do not take that as an insult, this is a mighty fine beast of a ship you have here, and certainly an innovative design, but I doubt that with your current technology she could take on one of our light cruisers."
"Excuse me, Commander, I'm not sure what you're getting at," Baltar cut in before anyone could say anything else.
"Of course, I apologise for taking so long to get to my point. I am not young for my position, Colonel. In fact, I'm actually older-than-average for it. You see, I'm sixty-four years old, Colonel Tigh," Burrows answered, hoping that that little bombshell wouldn't upset things too much.
The room was completely silent, and Burrows had the feeling that he should be hearing crickets chirping somewhere in the background.
Sixty-four! That's impossible, he doesn't even look any older than Lee, Admiral Adama thought to himself, glancing between the surprised - and sceptical - look on his son's face and Burrows' own equally youthful features. Despite the infeasibility of the other man's statement, for some reason, Adama believed him.
Not so Colonel Tigh, unfortunately.
"Get the frak outta here! You honestly expect us to believe that you're older than I am?," Tigh grizzled out, refilling his glass and glaring at the Commander.
"Whether you choose to believe it or not, does not matter to me at this point in time," Burrows replied calmly. "What does matter right now is that we learn what we can about each other, because I don't know if I can trust you people yet and I'm sure you feel the same way."
"I agree," Zarek said, glancing at Baltar and Roslin, then to Adama. "The fact remains that although your actions almost certainly saved the fleet, we don't know what your intentions were, and still could be, after that."
"I'll be blunt here. We're lost, probably a very long way from home, and we were hoping to negotiate for some local star maps off of you," Burrows answered quickly, hoping to quell any thoughts the Colonials might have of the Magnus and her crew trying to kill them or conquer them.
"What about your ship?," Adama asked. "Where did it go?"
"Go?," Burrows said, looking at the Admiral in confusion. "She hasn't gone anywhere. I left her with strict orders to carry on with repairs and remain on station."
"The Magnus disappeared off our sensor screens during your transit here," Adama countered, sipping at his glass of ambrosia and keeping his eyes on Burrows' face. The other man was quiet for a time, seemingly thinking something over, then his face lit up.
"Ah!" he said. "Our passive ECM systems must have finally been repaired."
"Excuse me, what is 'ECM'?" Roslin asked, shifting her glasses on her nose and leaning closer to Burrows. Colonel Locitz leaned back a little in his seat, cleared his throat.
"ECM is an abbreviation for 'Electronic Counter-Measures', ma'am," he answered. "ECM makes it harder for enemy ships' sensors to find us, and for them to lock onto us with weapons. Because the Magnus is a stealth cruiser, her passive systems are somewhat stronger than most other ships, and her active systems are stronger still."
"If the Magnus disappeared off your sensors at such close range, and only under passive stealth, then our tech base must be higher than yours by a greater margin than we initially thought," Burrows said, seemingly more to himself than to anyone else. He seemed to shake himself free from his thoughts, then turned to face the Admiral.
"As we've already established, we need to know more about each other. So, first things first: where are you from?" Burrows asked.
"Ah, the Twelve Colonies of Kobol," Apollo answered for his father. "What about you?"
"Well, I've never heard of Kobol before, but I am from a colony. I was born on the fortress-world Bastion," Burrows answered, and looked surprise as the Colonials all seemed to deflate before his eyes.
"Did I say something wrong?," he asked, looking around the room at his hosts, before sharing a look with Locitz.
"No. No, it's just that we were hoping you were from the Thirteenth Tribe," Zarek answered. "Now, what about your technology? We've never seen anything like it, except in bad science fiction."
"I'm not exactly a quantum physicist, but I'll tell you what I can about our infantry hardware," Locitz offered. At Adama's nod of assent, Locitz waved Allen over from his post at the door with a pair of Colonial Marines.
"The Sergeant Major is equipped with only some of our basic equipment, so you'll have to bear with us a bit," Locitz said by way of apology for the small amount of information he could reveal about the gear Allen was carrying.
"Allen is wearing a titanium/ceramic composite trauma plat on his back, chest and shins, which provides excellent protection against projectile weaponry. The glasses he is wearing are Mark Six Seeker shooters' glasses, and come with an integrated heads-up display, featuring a targeting reticle to aid in aiming and an ammunition counter," Locitz explained, gesturing to the nominated pieces of equipment.
Pretty advanced stuff, Adama thought, nodding slightly to himself.
"…and, of course, the weapon slung over his shoulder," the Colonel continued, even as the Sergeant Major unslung his weapon and held it in a non-threatening pose. "Is the LAR-90 pulse laser rifle."
"Pulse laser?" Apollo queried, a confused look crossing his face. "You brought training weapons with you?"
"Training weapons?" Allen answered. "Commander Adama, I can assure that this rifle is just as deadly as any projectile-based system you would care to name."
"This is preposterous!" Baltar snorted. "You can't really expect us to believe that you have, in your very hands, an energy-based weapon. The power requirements alone for such a thing discredit you."
"Really?" Allen shot back. "If you don't have energy weapons then I guess energy shields are something you've never even considered. So, if energy weapons and shields are preposterous, perhaps you'd care to explain why your fleet couldn't even scratch that alien ship?"
Everyone was silent at that, and Adama looked around the room, gauging everyone else's reactions. Baltar still looked sceptical, but Zarek and Roslin both appeared contemplative. Burrows and Locitz appeared to be doing their very best to relax in their chairs, Tigh was knocking back another drink, and Apollo appeared to be pretty much sold on what the Sergeant Major had said.
"Dad, he's right," Apollo said, leaning over to whisper in the older Adama's ear. "Gun cam footage from the Vipers confirms it: something was definitely protecting the unknown fighters from harm, and it took a lot of hits from their KEWs to do anything more than bounce away."
Adama nodded, and opened his mouth to say something back, when he was cut off by Baltar again.
"Aliens? Do you take us for fools? Colonial history confirms that no alien races have ever been discovered!"
"There's a first time for everything, Mister President," Allen ground out, sending a glare to the other man that made him firmly clamp his mouth shut.
"I'm sorry, Commander, but something you said earlier has been bothering me," Roslin spoke up, breaking the silence that followed Baltar's out burst and Allen's reprimand.
"What would that be, Miss Roslin?" Burrows asked, placing his glass on the low coffee table in front of him.
"You said you had never heard of Kobol, but that you were born on a colony I've never heard of before. If your colony wasn't founded by Kobol, then what world was it founded by?"
Everyone seemed surprised at the question, and the Colonials all leaned in closer to the Commander, waiting for his reply.
"Bastion is the closest extra-solar colony from our home system, Sol. The world from which we originated from is commonly known as Terra, although some people still insist on calling it Earth," Burrows answered, and again silence reigned. Then, with such suddenness that Allen very nearly flicked off the safety of his rifle, the Colonials broke into smiles and cheering.
"What did I say?," Burrows said, astonished as Laura Roslin crushed Tom Zarek in a hug.
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Magna Carne (AKA 'First City), Capital of Eden Prime
City Limits
Lieutenant Colonel Arthur Clements grunted as he hefted the artillery magazine, the two privates with him struggling under the weight. The magazine contained eight 155mm for the H-MAP-197 Heavy Mobile Artillery Platform that sat with its three brothers, shelling the inner city.
The artillery crews had burned through thousands of rounds in support of the Marines and PDF troopers fighting it out in close quarters deep in the city, but the L-MS-MAP-209 artillery had dropped tens of thousands of 40mm air-bursting shells into the city.
The Light MetalStorm Mobile Artillery Platform was based around a very old - but very effective - design created by MetalStorm Industries, based out of Brisbane in Australia back on Earth. The weapon itself had twenty-four barrels, each one firing from its own magazine of thirty-two shells, and the whole platform was able to belt out an impressive three thousands rounds per minute. Which made it the perfect anti-infantry artillery unit, but somewhat inefficient in terms of ammunition consumption.
All around Clements, dozens of artillery batteries thumped, hammering the once-proud city to dust from a distance. From reports coming from the frontlines, it was obvious that the Jaffa had never before encountered either artillery or armoured vehicles, which gave the defenders an enormous tactical edge.
Unfortunately, that edge had been offset by the enormous numbers of Jaffa that were constantly pouring into the city. There were three-thousand-five-hundred Marines and eight thousand PDF troopers in Magna Carne, but Intel's best estimates put the current Jaffa numbers at just shy of fifty thousand, and while the defenders were holding their ground, they certainly weren't actually pushing the attackers back.
"Loading incendiary!," shouted one of the men at the H-MAPs, and two more men rushed in and loaded a four round magazine of Napalm incendiary rounds. Clements winced; if the higher ups had authorised the use of Napalm, things were obviously getting desperate in the city.
Clements and the two privates finally reached their gun, loaded in the fresh magazine. Almost as soon as the magazine was loaded, the enormous gun thundered twice in rapid succession, and somewhere, many kilometres off in the distance, a dozen Jaffa met bloody ends.
"Sir!" Clements turned around, saw his aide, Corporal Tarner, heading for him. "Colonel Clements! It's happening!"
"Calm down, corporal. What's happening?"
"HQ just got a burst communication from one of the recon drones in the system. It was from Vice-Admiral Porcini," the younger man answered.
"Vice-Admiral? I thought Porcini was a Rear-Admiral," Clements asked, to which Tarner shook his head emphatically.
"Not anymore, sir. HICOM bumped his rank," he replied. "But that's not important, sir. Porcini is launching Redemption!"
Clements looked at Tarner, stupefied for a moment, before the news finally hit him. Clements said nothing, but took off at a dead run towards the HQ tent, Tarner hot on his heels, thinking back on what Redemption was.
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Magna Carne (AKA 'First City), Capital of Eden Prime
City Limits
48 Hours Earlier
"…we've been heavily reinforced, but most of our new units are designed for anti-raider duty. Until Bastion FLEETCOM is able to get some more of our heavier units out of mothballs, we'll just have to make do and accept our losses."
Clements watched the recording closely, and beside him General T'Terak squinted his large eyes, the Tau examining Artemis Porcini's face just as intently. The older Admiral sighed, removed his cap, and ran his hand over his smooth, bald head.
"I'm not going to lie to you, gentlemen; this operations success rate is very low, even in our best simulations. We've got some superdreadnoughts here, and plenty of carriers, but given the enemy's speed, it is inevitable that we must close with him to knife-fight range. We intend to tie their ships down in orbit for as long as possible."
Clements glanced around the room, taking in the sombre and sullen faces of the twelve highest ranking people within three hundred kilometres of First City.
"…I understand that the anti-orbit cannon in the Aleggra Mountains was offline at the time of the invasion for maintenance. We need that gun online to provide a distraction for our fast-movers to get in close so we can launch dropships and OHEVs with reinforcements for the ground fighting. Once our superdreadnoughts have flushed their external missile racks, I will send you a transmission telling you to activate the cannon."
Glancing down at his hands, Clements saw the faint tremble of excitement. For just over a week now, the men and women of Eden Prime had fought against the invaders. It was pure luck that none of the ships in orbit had fired on ground targets.
"…calling the operation Redemption, in honour of the battleship that died defending your world in orbit. Make no mistake, gentlemen. We will have only one chance to pull this off. If we don't get this right the first time, it could be weeks - maybe even months - before the fleet has enough strength to try this again. You have your orders, gentlemen. When we are ready to launch Redemption, I will send a burst transmission. Good luck, and God bless."
Admiral Porcini's face disappeared from the holo-display, and Clements sighed. He would have preferred a direct-link FTL communication, but a burst communication on riding a whisker-thin laser com bead was virtually undetectable, and he understood the need for secrecy in this matter.
Still, now they had something to look forward to, and now they had a definite goal to settle on: getting the massive anti-orbit cannon ready for a fight.
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Magna Carne (AKA 'First City), Capital of Eden Prime
City Limits
Present
Clements burst through the open tent 'door' to the HQ and immediately began shouting orders to the artillery co-ordinators. They had only three hours before the first SD showed up in Eden space, and they had a lot of work to do before then.
"Break out the reserve munitions! Anything we have left, I don't care, we need it all!" Clements shouted to be heard over the other commanders in the HQ tent, all co-ordinating a counter attack on the Jaffa to serve as an extra distraction.
"Sir, should we maintain our fire or slacken it off to preserve more munitions?," a young Tau female asked as she scribbled down munitions stores calculations on a pad.
Clements thought it over, but quickly dismissed it. "No, if we slacken off they might think we're up to something. We want them to think we're on the defensive for as long as possible before we launch our attack."
The Tau nodded, then intently went back to her calculations. Across the room, Clements caught the eye of General T'Terak, and the unusually tall Tau immediately began moving towards him.
"General," Clements said by way of greeting.
"Good tidings are upon us, Lieutenant-Colonel. I have just finalised a plan for a combined arms blitzkrieg into the city; our infantry will remain as they are, holding key points in the city, but our tank divisions and battle-suit squadrons will be moving against the enemy within the hour," T'Terak said, blinking slowly as he stared out at the fields of artillery units.
"That's excellent news, sir. We have enough reserve munitions for our artillery to support your advance with constant fire for six and a half hours, give or take a few minutes, sir," Clements replied, gesturing out at his artillery units.
"Very good. Colonel Tashimi should be reaching his objective shortly," T'Terak replied, referring to the human who was leading a small group of Marines into the mountainside to activate the anti-orbit cannon. Without air support, Tashimi had had to go in on foot, and had been travelling through the dense jungle that surrounded the base of the nearby mountains, under which were ancient alien bunkers that the civilians were using for cover during the fighting.
"Then all that's left is to wait," Clements nodded.
"Yes, Lieutenant-Colonel. Wait, and pray."
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The jostling of the tank didn't bother Michael Cortez anymore; he had gotten used to it during the days since his café shoot-out. They had entered the jungle without too much trouble, and were now less than an hour away from the bunkers.
Matthias Hennes had decided that he and his tank were better put to use escorting civilians to the bunkers than attempting urban combat, seeing as the Myrmidon medium tanks were designed for open warfare.
Although he knew that the chances of him stumbling across Emily as soon as they arrived at the bunkers, Cortez couldn't help the little knot if excitement that rested in his belly at the thought of seeing her again.
The tank had essentially made its own path through the forest, trampling trees and any creatures unfortunate - or stupid - enough to get in their way, and the only reason they knew they were going in the right direction was because the Aleggra Mountains lay directly North of Magna Carne, and according to their compasses, they were going directly North.
K'Ton grumbled something about insects as he slapped violently at the nape of his neck, then turned to face Cortez.
"Do you think we are close to the bunkers yet, Michael?" he queried, slapping at his arm.
"Couldn't tell you, but I guess we have to be pretty close by now," Cortez answered, glancing around at the other people with him; a handful of civvies and four Marines, all of them riding on the outside of the tank.
"Well, I'd guess maybe another hour or two," Sergeant Randy Peters grumbled as he shifted around in his powered armour.
"Good, because I grow weary of these-"
K'Ton's reply was cut off as he was suddenly surrounded by rings of golden light, and disappeared from sight. Cortez made to stand, but then he too was engulfed in the light, and everything went black.
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"Greetings, Reclaimers! Oh, I'm so happy you finally decided to come visit me!"
Cortez didn't recognise the voice, but he blinked groggily as he turned to face the speaker. And blinked again. Then raised his laser rifle to aim at the droid in front of him.
"What the fuck are you?," he growled out, then glanced to his left were he saw K'Ton squatting and clutching his head, clearly feeling ill. He glanced to his right and saw the armoured form of Randy Peters, also aiming his weapon at the floating basketball-sized machine.
"I am Five-Oh-Fifty-One Reticent Observer, the Monitor of this installation," the little yellow ball answered, the glowing light that looked similar to an eye brightening and dulling as it spoke.
"Installation? Where are we?" Peters asked, shuffling closer to the robot.
"Why, the Shield, of course."
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A/N: Sorry for the short update this time, but a number of very bad things have kept me away from working on most of my projects.
Next chapter will feature the attempt to liberate Eden Prime, bring us back around to the Covenant and have the Prometheus's findings revealed. And maybe a few surprises along the way…
On a sadder note, if anyone is the praying type out there, I'd like to ask that you spare a thought for Rohan Kelly, my next-door neighbours son, who drowned early on New Years day, just twenty months old.
