With the Weapons of a Woman
by Soledad
For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the Introduction.
Author's notes: Unlike the series, I use Glen A. Larsen's original concept of Cylons being born as organic beings and turned into semi-organic machines gradually. The original concept had them as reptiloid cyborgs, which I find more interesting than merely out-of-control robots.
Chapter 14 – Fire Below Carillon
In the ensuing chaos Serina's main concern was to find Boxey before the boy would be caught in the crossfire or get trampled down by the panicking masses.
"Boxey!" she screamed, dodging around upturned tables and fallen chairs towards the elevator bank. "Boxey, where are you? Boxey!"
"Mommy!" the high little voice finally answered, when she'd almost given up hope, and in the next moment she spotted the boy, covering behind Apollo. She ran to them and picked him up in her arms, clinging to him for dear life.
"Boxey," she all but sobbed. "Boxey, you're alive…"
"Over that way!" Apollo cried, reminding her that this wasn't the time for an emotional breakdown. "That entrance is clear now! Follow me quickly!"
He led them through one of those hexagonal-patterned, semi-translucent yellow archways that seemed ever-present on the planet, even in the areas built for entertaining human guests. Outside, it was as gloomy as ever, with the addition of rain stinging their faces. Red beams from Cylon helmets cut through the darkness, scanning the area for new targets, and behind the beams the bulky, glittering figures of Cylon centurions could be vaguely seen.
Serina was petrified with terror. In theory, she knew what a Cylon was supposed to look like, of course. Everyone in the Twelve Colonies had known it for the last thousand yahrens. They'd all been showed footage and blueprints. But aside from the infantry troops, nobody had actually seen a live Cylon… live being relative, of course. Even the combat pilots only ever got to do with the Cylon raiders, fighting them from the cockpits of their Vipers, out in space – very rarely the Cylons themselves.
Watching the something clumsy killing machines from behind the grog fountain, where Apollo had pushed them to have some cover at least, her fear became mind-numbing. It was hard to imagine that these… things had been born as living creatures, fitted out with more and more biomechanical parts during their accelerated growing process, until they became nothing but an armoured metal suit, steered by an organic brain – the only part of the original being that remained.
They didn't look like living beings at all! They appeared entirely mechanical – soulless – moving forward with slow, indifferent precision, driven by their main directive: to wipe out all human life.
Because human life, with its relative freedom and individuality, offended their rigid sense of order. And because they could.
And Sire Uri had been stupid enough to believe he could negotiate with them?
The battle raging on around and inside the casino made it adamantly clear that any such delusional attempt would be doomed from the beginning.
"We don't have enough firepower," she heard Apollo mutter angrily next to her. "There were too many fake blasters among that fake Blue Squadron."
"W-what fake Blue Squadron?" she asked, her teeth audibly clattering in fear.
Apollo squeezed her hand encouragingly. "I'll explain alter – assuming we make it out of here in one piece. I still don't know what was in my father's mind when…"
He was interrupted by the unexpected, albeit very welcome appearance of a landram over the hill near the fountain, with the massive shape of Sergeant Jolly mounted on a gun turret. The fat pilot started blasting in a wide angle, mowing down an entire group of Cylons in mere microns.
"He's zeroing in on them by the light of their helmet beams!" Apollo realized, grinning like a loon. "Good work, Jolly! You two, stay under cover for the moment; I'll be back."
He ran to the landram on which Jolly sat, without waiting for her answer. At the same time, another two landrams appeared, their gunners randomly firing at Cylons and Ovions.
"Assemble squadron!" Apollo cried, reaching the landram and scrambling aboard. "Where the Hades did you come from, Jolly? Not that I weren't deliriously happy to see you…"
"We're here courtesy of Commander Adama, Captain," Jolly replied. "He sent the landrams to cover for you guys in case a fighting broke out in the casino."
"He knew it would happen?" Apollo was truly astonished. Jolly nodded, grinning from ear to ear.
"Your father is not easily fooled, Captain. He also ordered us to collect Red Squadron and get them to their Vipers. Which happen to be down on the planet – well, most of them."
"Red? Why just Red?" Apollo was till a little perplexed.
Jolly grinned manically as he fired off another round, mowing down several of the approaching Cylons.
"Blue didn't get to go to the party to begin with, sir," he explained. "Except for Boomer and Starbuck, that is, who had to play hero with you down here, at the councillor's little celebration," he shrugged and fired again. "Guess all three of you had to go, so Sire Uri wouldn't get wise he didn't have all the military personnel at the party."
Apollo frowned. "I see. But if Blue didn't go to the party, who were those guys wearing our uniforms?"
"Anybody the commander could find aboard the Galactica to fill the uniforms," Jolly told him; then he broke into another broad grin. "You should have seen the guy who got mine."
Apollo grinned, too, remembering the man in the oversized uniform he'd seen in the casino. "I think I did, Jolly."
The shooting had quieted down in the meantime and then stopped entirely. The Ovions were scattering, probably seeking refuge in the hidden access tunnels to their subterranean halls, and even the Cylons seemed to be retreating, away from the casino.
"What are those fracking tinheads up to now?" Apollo swore. He preferred them in clear sight, where he could shoot them better. Jolly shrugged.
"I'm not sure; but before Hades broke loose, I received a report that air activity had been tracked by scanner on the Galactica. They thought it might be Cylon fighters. The tinheads may be returning to their ships."
"Then we better get to ours and damn fast!"
Apollo jumped off the landram and looked around, trying to assess the situation. From the main entranceway of he casino, the rest of the guests was scrabbling out, heading his direction. Starbuck and Boomer were assembling the genuine warriors – basically Red Squadron – who were eager to give the Cylons Hades. Apollo joined them and explained as succinctly as he could what he'd just learned from Jolly.
"Red Squadron, you're to go ahead with the first landram. Your Vipers have been secretly taken down to the planet – go and get them. You'll be at slight disadvantage, starting from the surface, but hopefully you'll be spaceborne before the Cylon attack force reaches the fleet. Starbuck, Boomer, go with them!"
"What about you?" Starbuck asked.
"I'll follow you in a minute," Apollo promised. "I just need someone to take care of the civilians. Get into the landram in the meantime!"
The pilots nodded, and Apollo looked around frantically for the right person he might be able to trust. After a micron, he spotted the tall, patrician figure of Doctor Paye among the hysterical guests. Unlike the others, the Aquarian was remarkably disciplined, even though deathly pale. But again, he was a doctor. He'd been trained to deal with hysterical patients. He'd have to do.
"Patroclus!" Apollo cried out, using the man's true name deliberately to get his attention.
He succeeded. Paye's head snapped around; then, recognizing him, he relaxed slightly.
"Apollo," he acknowledged the Strike Captain. "How can I help?"
"I need you to take care of the civilians," Apollo replied. "Round them up and get them to the shuttles. We'll have a little fighting to do before we could follow."
Paye looked at him for a moment intently; then he nodded. "All right. You can count on me."
"That's exactly what I'm doing," Apollo gestured for the Red pilots to follow him to the first landram. "Thanks."
"All part of my job," Paye shrugged; then he raised his voice, so that the panicking civilians could all hear him. "All right, people, listen to me! These landrams will take you to the shuttles. No, we can only hope to get out of here relatively unharmed if we do this in proper order. So, I want the women and the children to gather first…"
His calm, collected voice – his bedside voice, as he always called it – helped Serina to pull herself together; at least on the surface. She picked up Boxey and joined the steadily growing group of frightened women and children heading towards the second landram. Muffit scurried after them dutifully.
Reaching the vehicle, they were joined by Colonel Tigh, still in his dress blues that were now somewhat tattered and soiled, holding his left arm, which hung limply at his side.
"Are you injured, Colonel?" she asked.
Tigh grinned like a lupine, his teeth flashing very white in his dark face, seeming every bit the reckless warrior he was said to have been in his youth.
"Just a stray shot from a Cylon blaster," he replied dismissively, his eyes glittering with the excitement of the recent combat. "I got at least five of them first, though."
He clearly missed the good old days when he'd been allowed to fight in the front line, instead of being trapped on the bridge of the Galactica, forced to watch helplessly the younger generation fight – and die.
"You should go with the first shuttle, sir," Apollo, running up to them, said, but Tigh shook his head determinedly.
"Not yet. I'll go with the last one. I still have a working blaster – and one good hand to fire it. These people might need protection."
Apollo knew there was no use arguing with him. Tigh took duty very seriously. So, instead he turned to Serina apologetically.
"Take care of yourself," he said. "I'm very sorry, but…"
Serina silenced him by grabbing him by his lapels and kissing him hard, ignoring the disgusted looks Boxey shot her. The boy didn't condone what he called "yucky stuff".
"We'll be fine," she said. "Get going."
He did, climbing into the landram with Boomer, Starbuck and the rest of the pilots and the vehicle set off at once. Patroclus gave Serina a gentle shove.
"We must go, too," he reminded her. "We have no time to waste."
More people were fleeing from the casino as he spoke, screaming and stumbling over each other in their panic. Behind them a fresh troop of Cylons emerged, their weapons blazing. A man in civilian garb, who'd almost reached the landrams, got hit, wavered and fell – and didn't get up again. A woman broke through the crowd, ran to him, stumbling over the hem of her long skirt, fell to her knees and tried to help him up, but to no avail. She hugged his lifeless body, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Serina!" Patroclus hissed, grabbing her arm with a vice-like grip. "Get in the landram! You can't help them!"
She knew he was right, but it was a hard thing to do. It could have been her in that crowd, defenceless and beyond help. But she had to think of Boxey now, and so she pulled herself together. She climbed into the landram, while Patroclus picked up a kicking and flailing Boxey and practically threw him inside.
Boxey protested stubbornly. "Muffit! We can't go without Muffit!"
Quite frankly, Serina couldn't care less what was happening to the stupid droid, but she knew the child would see it differently.
"Ssssh!" she said. "Muffit can take care of himself. He's a cleaver one. Now, come with me and be quiet!"
But Boxey was crying inconsolably, and she needed all her strength to drag him away from the entrance, so that other people could get into the landram, too.
Finally, the vehicle was full – probably a great deal fuller than originally supposed to – and they set off with the best speed the heavy and clumsy thing was capable of. Capable – but not usually meant to. It was a bumpy ride, although, fortunately, a short one. They were all bruised and hurting when it reached the landing area, someone even sported a broken arm.
Serina climbed out of the landram, dragging a crying Boxey after herself – and stopped in astonishment. Beyond the parking shuttlecraft, she could see row upon row of sleek, battle-ready Vipers on the ground, waiting for their pilots to take them into battle. Said pilots were climbing into the cockpits already, putting on their helmets.
"Emergency takeoff in five microns!" someone yelled. She recognized Apollo's voice.
"But they haven't got their pressure suits on!" somebody else protested. "Will they survive the takeoff at all?"
"Actually, it's the launch tubes they need the suits for," she heard Patroclus explain. "The G-forces are a lot less dangerous when they launch from the planet surface. And they're trained to endure pressure up to four G without a suit. It won't be pleasant, but they will survive, and they won't pass out in a crucial moment."
Serina had her doubts about that, and it made her worried. Dead pilots in uncontrollable Vipers weren't much of a protection, after all. But she could not waste any more time on the problem. The shuttles were ready to take off, and they had to board them, had to leave Carillon while they still could.
Patroclus stuffed as many people into the shuttle as it was physically possible. They could not take such matters as overcrowding the vessel into consideration; they might not have the chance to come back for those left behind. Boxey was still bawling for that stupid droid of his, and Serina began to doubt that gifting Muffit II upon him had really been such a good idea from Apollo.
She picked up Boxey and pushed through the crowd with him right forward to the cockpit, where they could crouch down in a corner, next to the door. She knew the takeoff would be rough, with twice as many people aboard as there should have been, and she wanted to spare the boy – and herself – any unnecessary injuries.
Plus, from here she could hear the pilot talking to Flight Control. She preferred to be prepared whatever might come.
"Galactica Flight Control, this is Shuttlecraft Number One, ready to takeoff," a female voice that she recognized as Dietra's was saying.
She relaxed a little. Dietra was the best shuttle pilot in the whole fleet; with her at the controls, they actually had a chance to make it.
"Start when ready," the voice of Rigel, the flight control officer of the Galactica, answered. "And hurry up! We've got incoming war machines on short-range sensors, reaching killing range in forty-five microns."
"We'll be there in twenty," Dietra replied confidently; then she switched on the loudspeakers. "Prepare for emergency takeoff in five-four-three-two-one – now!"
With a great lurch, the shuttle abruptly left the surface in a very steep, almost vertical vector. Dietra was clearly trying to reach the Galactica in record time. Serina felt her stomach twist uncomfortably, and for a moment she thought she'd become sick. But this was not her first time in an evacuation shuttle, and with some effort, she forced her stomach to quiet down.
Boxey was less fortunate; he threw up unceremoniously all over her, and by the noise in the unlit passenger area, several people did the same. Others were shrieking in panic, and somebody was sobbing loudly. There would be more injuries by the time they got back to the Galactica – assuming that they'd make it.
"Sorry," Dietra told them through the loudspeakers. "We don't have the time to do this the easy way. Hang on, people, we're almost home."
The twenty-micron-ride to the Galactica was a nightmare in the overcrowded, dark and stinking shuttlecraft. What made it even worse was the knowledge that they had to reach the battlestar before the Cylon attack would hit. Boxey, not really understanding what was going on, was whimpering quietly, too scared to even cry anymore. The panic of the adults was having a deteriorating effect on him.
Twisting her upper body, Serina managed to glance out of the small window behind her. Something grey was filling her field of vision, and she understood that they were approaching the Galactica rapidly. From the corner of her eye she could even catch a glimpse of the lights of the landing bay. The tight knot in her stomach loosened a tiny fraction. They'd almost made it.
The lights came closer, then they engulfed the entire shuttlecraft, and in the next moment they touched ground – surprisingly gently. Serina remembered what Dietra and Brie had said about their abilities to set down a shuttle like a raw egg and realized that they hadn't been exaggerating.
"Stay where you are!" Dietra warned her passengers through the loudspeakers. "We must wait until all shuttles have landed and the bay has been pressurized again. Don't try to leave the craft; the door's locked anyway and only I can release the lock."
It took about three more microns until the other shuttles landed, too, and the doors were finally released. A lot of people, wearing the black uniforms of Council Security, were waiting to lead people to the emergency shelters. They'd be returned to their respective ships later, when the battle was over. Right now, they had to clear the landing bay, as soon as possible, so that the shuttles could try to make another run for the people still on the planet.
"Don't return to the Galactica with them," Security Chief Reese told the shuttle pilots. "We'll be engaged in battle by then. Take them to the Rising Star and the Gemini fighters. Commanders orders."
The pilots acknowledged their orders and climbed back into their shuttles, ready to launch as soon as the by was cleared. Reese escorted Serina to the snap doors personally.
"Commander Adama wants you in Core Centre," he told her. "Said something about recording the battle."
She looked down at her ugly blue dress, now wearing the telltale signs of Boxey's recent sickness. "Like this?"
"I doubt the commander would care," Reese answered with a shrug, "but Lieutenant Athena sends you this." He handed her a hooded tunic. It was a bit large in size but at least covered the soiled part of her dress. She pulled it over and followed the man out of the landing bay.
On their way to the bridge, one of the instructors came to take a reluctant Boxey with her to the Children Care Centre. Serina was impressed by Athena's obvious attention to detail – and that in the middle of a crisis, right after having caught Starbuck with that little blonde tramp! Clearly, she was nothing if not professional.
Core Centre was an apid-hive of subdued activity. When she entered the huge room, her first glance fell on the large tactical display, showing a chequered grid of their immediate surroundings, with the symbol of the Galactica in the centre of several concentric rings. The outer ring was marked red, and a great number of small triangular symbols were approaching that red circle.
"Enemy vessels are closing in," the calm, collected voice of Flight Control Officer Rigel was saying at the same moment. "Thirty microns until reaching killing range."
Thirty? Dietra must have made the trip from the planet in a mere fifteen microns, then. No wonder they had been shaken up so much!
"Recall all warriors from the surface," Adama instructed Flag Lieutenant Omega, the head of the bridge crew, who nodded and hurried off to carry out his orders.
"Twenty-five microns and closing," sweet-faced Rigel counted down calmly.
Adama spotted Serina standing in the doorway and waved her closer.
"I'm grateful that you've made it back in time, my dear," he said with fatherly warmth. "Why don't you go to your office and start recording? If we make it out of this trap, I want the upcoming generations to learn from it something important."
"And that would be?" she couldn't help but ask.
"That one should never make the same mistake twice," Adama replied grimly. "The Cylons have lured us into a trap once – never again."
"But we are sitting in a trap, aren't we?" she asked, gesturing towards the tactical screen.
Adama gave her a grim smile. "Not as much as they would like us to," he replied. "Watch!"
Serina ran to her office and started the recorder, using the view of several external sensors. She'd cut them together to a coherent report later; right now the important thing was to get as many details as possible. Then she hurried back to the bridge, where she could watch the battle on the big screen.
"Lunch all Vipers," Adama ordered, and Omega pressed the alarm button.
""Blue and Green Squadrons, get ready to launch," he ordered.
The klaxon went off immediately. The screen showing the pilot's ready room switched on, showing a number of warriors scrambling to their feet and running to the corridor. On the launch board, squares of light flashed on, indicating each Viper warming up in its launch crib. When all the lights had flashed on, Omega said in his calm, even voice – his bridge voice, as the pilots, whose lives often depended on his concentration, used to call it:
"Commander, defence wings Number One and Number Three have launched."
Serina watched the launch on the big screen with bated breath. The Vipers flying in pre-battle formation were an awesome sight, and she felt hope rising in her heart again, despite the sheer overwhelming odds against them. One after another, the sleek machines peeled off and followed the flight corridor Apollo, Starbuck and Boomer had cleared fort he bigger ships only days earlier, going out in a single file to confront the approaching enemy.
"Then microns and closing," Rigel reported. "Telemetry reports indicate that the Cylon task force counts three entire flights."
Serina wasn't entirely sure how many Cylon fighters that meant, but seeing how Athena had gone stark white, it couldn't have good news.
"Our squadrons won't stand a chance," the commander's daughter whispered.
"They won't be alone for long," Adama replied. "The others are on their way and, using the contingency battle plan, they'll be joining blue and Green Squadrons shortly."
"Enemy closing in: five microns," Rigel said. "Colonel Tigh reports that Red Squadron has taken off. The Colonel himself is on his way back with the last shuttle."
"Will they get in before we engage the enemy?" Adama asked.
"Doubtful, sir," Rigel answered, "but Dietra is a good pilot. They might make it nonetheless."
Adama nodded, pushing the concern for his oldest, best friend in the back of his mind. Right now, he had more pressing issues to care for.
"Cylon attack force now at killing range," Athena announced, and everyone on the bridge tensed. "First defence wing is about to make contact with the enemy."
As the defence wing came into view on the main screen, Serina was shocked by how pitifully small they looked against the wall of the Cylon armada.
"Oh, by the Lords of Kobol…" they could hear one of the pilots murmuring over his comm.
In the next moment, one of the lead Cylon ships went into a roll and fired of both laser cannons as it flew by a Viper. The Viper, unprepared for the attack, took the hit full on and exploded, nearly blinding everyone on the bridge as they watched it on the screen.
"Positive shield, now," Adama ordered. "Switch the main screen to tactical display. Activate laser turrets."
Athena pushed a button and the thick metal hatches closed before the large window planes – still, they had the time to see two more Vipers being wiped out by the Cylons. Red emergency lights blinked on on the bridge, and Omega activated the automated board guns of the Galactica.
The tightly bundled laser beams of the battlestar's main weapons swept away the first rows of the Cylon fighters. Only one of them could get through; the main screen, now in tactical modus, showed its symbol hit upon one of the landing bays and explode.
"Fire in Landing Bay Beta," Omega reported with eerie calm. He as famous for never losing his nerve in battle, and now Serina could see that his fame was well-founded.
"Damage controls," Adama replied, equally focused.
"There are too many of them!" Ensign Greenbean's near hysterical voice resounded through the bridge. "Roll out, hit them from the sides!"
The Colonial Vipers pulled off, but they looked too thinly spread to do much damage, and the majority of the Cylon attack force was still outside the range of the Galactica's board cannons.
"Where in Hades is Red Squadron?" Greenbean shouted, frantic with nerves.
As if mocking his panic, two more Vipers exploded simultaneously.
"So much for trying to hit them from the sides," another pilot muttered angrily.
Athena turned around, her face white with terror, and knowing as Serina did that she wasn't one to panic easily, that was a frightening sight. "There's nothing to stop them!"
At the same time, the tactical view switched to another sensor input, showing the symbol of Carillon and a number of flying objects ascend from the planet surface like a swarm of angry apids.
"Sir, telemetry reports incoming surface party," Omega reported. "Form scan positive: they're not Cylon war machines. They're ours, every single one of them."
Colonel Tigh, having actually managed to get back just in time, thanks to Dietra's piloting wizardry, entered the bridge in that very moment, and walked up to Adama. He was still holding his arms and must have been a great deal of pain, but he was ignoring it for the sake of more important things.
"It seems that a lot of our pilots have violated orders and skilled the party, Commander," he deadpanned.
Adama nodded, his face revealing nothing. "it seems so, doesn't it? Remind me, Colonel, to discuss discipline in the ranks."
Tigh snapped to attention. "Yes, sir!" he replied crisply, but his barely suppressed grin ruined the effect somewhat.
In the meantime Red Squadron reached the battlefield and the warriors threw themselves into the fight with passion. The tactical display marked the name of the pilot from each individual ship, so it was easy to follow the events – easy and doubly frightening, now that one knew for whom to tremble.
Serina saw Apollo's ship fire at a Cylon fighter, slicing it into ragged fragments. Then she could hear his voice, too, warning one of his fellow pilots.
"Look out on your wing, Jolly!"
"Which one?" the laconic voice of the fat pilot responded. "They're all over the place, Captain. They're…"
He was interrupted by a hit on his tail. His Viper started rocking from side to side.
"There's too many of them, Captain!" Greenbean cried, panicking in earnest; not that it would stop him from firing at the Cylons like a vengeance demon, though.
"What do you mean too many?" Jolly asked, seemingly unperturbed, and Serina was surprised by that; she'd never have thought that the overweight pilot would be so calm in the middle of a battle. "I'm here, aren't I? Watch out to the left, Captain!"
Thanks to his warning, Apollo evaded a Cylon fighter with a sweep left and a quarter turn and a spin to the right. It was like watching a ballet – only a lot more deadly. Because when he came out of the spin, he opened fire, cleaving his attacker across the middle with a clean shot. Both pieces skewered out of control and fell back towards Carillon. Serina pressed a hand to her mouth in fear and excitement. This was the first time for her to actually see how the young heroes, of whose deeds she'd so often reported in Transmission, fought the enemy – and enemy that outnumbered them by several magnitudes.
Another Cylon raider scooped around, tracking Apollo's wake and firing. Apollo put his Viper into a reverse loop, coming down on the Cylon from above, like an avian-of-prey, and running a line of fire along the top of the entire spacecraft. A sudden explosion followed, instantly transforming the Cylon ship to debris. It was an amazing maneuver, more so considering that he was one of the only three pilots without a pressure suit on. Serina was surprised that he hadn't passed out in the middle of that loop, but Patroclus must have been right: the Colonial pilots were well-trained and could endure a lot.
"Commander," one of the sensor crew reported, "four Cylon fighters have come out from behind the cloud over Carillon and are about to attack Red Squadron from behind."
"Activate defence grid Gamma," Adama ordered.
"Yes, sir," Omega, sitting at the console of the tactical officer, answered crisply and moved his hands across the controls like a virtuoso giving a piano concert.
Catching the Cylon ships as they attempted a flyby, the Galactica fired her long-range laser cannons. The four ships exploded almost simultaneously.
Serina caught herself cheering with he bridge crew.
Red Squadron, led by Apollo, Starbuck and Boomer, was now in the centre of the battle. The Vipers of the three quickly formed a triangular formation, much like the one they'd used while blazing the path through the minefield, and swept down together on the wall of Cylon ships, firing their board cannons in all directions. Cracks appeared in the Cylon ranks. A series of explosions blew up many of the close-flying craft into a million pieces. Apollo, Starbuck and Boomer went into a tight turn together and fled the counterattack.
"That's a few for the Atlantia," Starbuck said darkly.
"And for Zac," Apollo added.
Other Vipers from Blue and Green Squadrons came in with their guns blazing, and blasted way at the Cylon vessels. The wall of menace was quickly turning into a wall of fire and shattered spacecraft – not all of them Cylons, unfortunately.
Reports were now coming in so fast that they were difficult to assimilate. Serina felt like a crawlon in the centre of its web, trying to keep up with the abrupt changes of the scenery, but it was not an easy task.
"Commander," Tigh hurried up the gently curved, semi-circular gangway separating the bridge into higher and lower sections tow here Adama was standing, "the Cylon supreme task force seems to be retreating, at least for the moment. Should we give pursuit?"
"Our warriors all request permission to locate and pursue the Cylon baseship," Athena supplied.
Adama, however, shook his head. "No; we must conserve our resources if we want to protect our people. Bring the fleet home, Colonel."
Tigh nodded and walked off to give the orders, his injured arm hanging forgotten on his side. Adama turned to his daughter.
"Call the other ships. Tell them we're heading back through the minefield corridor. We've got to get out of this trap, then accelerate all ships to maximum travelling velocity. I don't know what exactly is going on down on Carillon, but we can't afford to take any chances. We've got to get moving in case the whole planet blows up."
"Which is a distinct possibility," Omega told him. "Scanners show a series of large fires on the planet surface, and there are multiple explosions above the Tylium mine."
"Exactly," Adama said. "If it gets any worse down there, with a working minefield on one side and exploding Tylium on the other, we'd be between Diabolus and the deep blue. Colonel, have them all be prepared for emergency speed."
"Yes, sir," Tigh replied through his headset, as he was currently on the other side of the bridge. "I'm on it."
He methodically hurried around the bridge as they set their course for the minefield corridor, barking orders in an extremely clipped tone that got everyone's attention at once, directing the assembling of the fleet, the tricky flight through the minefield, and the subsequent landing of the fight squadrons.
Ten centons later he walked up to Adama's position again, looking worried.
"Commander, everything is set for the passage through the minefield corridor," he reported. "However, two of our warriors are overdue and unaccounted for."
Adama's thick eyebrows drew together in concern and displeasure. "Who?"
Tigh swallowed hard and Serina knew the answer before the colonel would open his mouth, because why else would he look so grim?
"It's Captain Apollo, sir," he admitted unhappily.
Adama went very still for a moment, his face showing no emotions.
"Who else?" he then asked, although the answer was fairly obvious. Apollo and his wing-mate were all but joined at the hip, after all.
"Starbuck," Tigh replied, according to everyone's expectations.
"I see," Adama's face was cold and hard and stone. "Well… nothing we can do about it. Prepare the fleet to enter the corridor. The Galactica will be the last ship to make the transit – that will give them the time to catch up with us… if they can. Rest of the fleet will go first. Those are your orders, Colonel."
"Yes, sir," Tigh was already on the move to carry out those orders when Athena turned around with her chair.
"Commander, we're picking up pre-attack conversation on a Cylon frequency – between Purple and Orange Squadrons," she said, clearly perplexed. "We don't have Purple and Orange Squadrons!"
"Purple and Orange?" Adama repeated, sounding every bit as perplexed as she had and looked at Tigh askance.
The colonel shrugged, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. "Starbuck and Apollo?" he suggested. Adama closed his eyes for a moment.
"God help them both. Colonel, send the rest of the fleet through the corridor. Then give me a real-time view of Carillon," he added for Athena.
Lowering the physical shields would have been too risky, considering the likely explosion of the planet, but the external sensors were able to provide a fairly realistic view, too.
Athena switched the big screen back to real view, scanning the surface, and now they could all see the big fires raging all over the place, not only the mine. The Tylium below the surface was clearly burning. And rising above the rim of the burning planet, an ominous, grey double disc could be seen: unmistakably a Cylon basestar.
"There it is," Tigh murmured, "as ugly as ever. Lieutenant," he turned to Athena, "can you put that pre-battle conversation on the loudspeakers? Let us hear what our young heroes are up to now."
Athena did as she was told, but for the time being there was no conversation on the Cylon frequency previously used by their star pilots.
"Something is wrong," Omega murmured. "Why are they bringing the basestar closer to the surface? They ought to know how risky that is, with all those explosions down there."
"Perhaps they still believe they're being attacked by multiple squadrons and want to use the planet as a shield," Tigh accepted a report from the sensor crew. "Sir, telemetry reports surface of Carillon reaching vapour point."
"It seems they're realising that they've been cheated," Omega commented, as the basestar opened fire at the Vipers they could still not see on the screen, being too small in comparison. "May be a little late for them, though."
Suddenly Apollo's voice resounded all over the bridge.
"Okay, Starbuck, let's get out of here! All that Tylium's blowing the planet apart."
"You won't get any argument from me!" Starbuck replied, laughing.
"Negative shield, now," Adama ordered
Athena pushed the button with a well-manicured finger, but even in direct view, all they could see were the huge lightning bolts vibrating over the red rock formations on the surface, between planet and basestar. There were more and more of them by the micron, growing in length and thickness, crackling ominously, licking along the underside of the Cylon ship hungrily.
"Commander, we must leave!" Tigh warned. "The planet's gonna explode; if the shockwaves don't tear us apart, the exploding minefield will!"
"We can't leave yet!" Athena whispered in distress. "Not while Apollo and Starbuck are still out there!"
"We must," Adama replied heavily. "We can't put the whole ship at risk. We must get through the corridor, and get to safe distance from the minefield before the planet blows up. Best speed, Colonel!"
"Yes, sir," Tigh gave the orders, and the Galactica lurched forward through the dangerous corridor at a breakneck speed and didn't slow down until she joined the rest of the fleet, waiting on the other side.
Barely had they caught up with the other ships, long range sensors showed Carillon blow up in a spectacular fireball, taking the Cylon basestar with into its fiery grave, leaving nothing but space debris in its wake.
When they stopped seeing stars, Rigel turned around, her gentle face radiating joy and relief.
"Commander, Landing Bay Alpha reports that Captain Apollo and Starbuck have just landed their Vipers. Sir, they're both alive!"
Serina saw Adama close his eyes in gratitude before her legs would give in and she collapsed in the middle of the bridge, fainting in relief.
~TBC~