Hi, next round: chapter 8. Sorry for the delay. Hope you like.
Chapter 8: As of this moment, we are at war
"Go, go, go!" O'Neill called to her, pushing her hard towards the open hatch, but himself running in the opposite direction. Boomer did the same and as Sam turned her head while she was dragging Daniel along, she saw that the two pilots were helping the Chief with the evacuation. Making sure, that all deckhands could escape the oncoming impact.
She herself had all hands full with Daniel. He was somewhat conscious and tried to walk by himself, but she still had to support most of his weight, ensuring that his uncoordinated movements wouldn't drag them both down. Meanwhile, the klaxons kept blaring and indicating that this was really happening.
Finally, Sam and Daniel stumbled through the hatch together with many others. She guided his exhausted body on the ground and helped him leaning at the wall behind him. Then, without thinking about it, she jogged back into the hangar. Sam was, after all, an officer. And if she was willing to consider that the military ranks in this universe mirrored the ones she knew, Carter was actually the highest ranking officer. So, even if she didn't want to go back, it was her duty. But she wanted to help, staying in the hot hangar until the last one of the young deckhands was safe.
Carter entered the hangar as a young man in an orange overall stumbled upon her. She caught him just in time and helped him back on his feet. He nodded at her gratefully and then escaped through the hatch. At the other end of the hangar, she discovered O'Neill and Boomer. The Chief hung bleeding and unconscious between them as they hauled him along. Sam's legs functioned on their own as she jogged towards them to help. But she didn't get that far. Suddenly, there was a deafening bang.
A crunching sound filled the air. It was metal grinding against metal as the Galactica drifted into a spin, causing the ships and tools catching movement and crashing into each other. Sam noticed that she lost the ground under her feet when her body was catapulted through the air. She slammed against a wall a few feet away and fell to the ground, partly paralyzed with pain exploding in her back. With difficulty, she managed to keep her eyes open. But her vision was too blurred to detect something accurate. Instead, she heard the screams and the crackling of sparks surrounding her. She tried to sit up and had to accept, that her body wasn't functioning at all. She remembered all those moments these last six months when she'd mused, if maybe dying was the solution for all her worries. But now, as she was confronted with the very possibility of her own demise, Sam realized that she indeed wanted to live on. Even if her life sucked right now, she wasn't ready to quit yet. When she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer, Sam wondered if that particular choice was about to be taken out of her hands after all.
Outside, in the corridor, Daniel slowly regained consciousness. The fog that had previously hovered stubbornly in his head dissolved and he could think clearly again. All around him, the hallway was in utter chaos. Men and women in orange jumpsuits running around alarmed, shouting orders and spurring each other on. Many of them looked like they needed medical attention themselves, yet they worked on. With heavy tools in their hands and apparently desperately trying to open the locked hatch leading to the hangar.
Sam! Where was she?
Daniel scrambled to his feet and ignored the hellish pain in his leg as he supported his body, leaning against the wall. Frantically, he looked around, but he couldn't find her. Neither Sam nor Major O'Neill were with him in the corridor. Daniel swallowed hard and grabbed the arm of a man that was running past him.
"What happened?"
In contrast to the other crewmen, the man wore a dark green uniform. He had something like a minicomputer with him and seemed to be in a hurry. Still, he took the time to answer.
"The left flight pod was hit by a nuclear bomb. There's no sign of radioactive contamination inside, but it's dangerous for the ship and the emergency systems kicked in. The hangar is sealed off from the rest of the ship." He explained curtly.
The unknown man carried the aura of someone who knew what he was doing. As he positioned himself in front of the locked hatch and clapped his hands loudly, the uncoordinated bustle stopped immediately.
"Okay, guys. There are still about 40 of our people locked in the hangar. It's slowly getting uncomfortable and it's our job to get them out."
He pointed alternately to different deckhands as he gave precise instructions.
"Henderson, I need a wireless connection to the hangar. Lars, contact the CIC. Give them a status rep and tell them we'll need more time than we thought at first. Tobias and Lucy, go and get us the big hydraulic spreader and the heavy cutter. We might have to break through if we can't regain control over the damage control systems. Sanchez, make sure that there are a couple of medics on their way. James, you're with me. The rest has to go now. I know you want to help, but we need the space to move freely here."
As soon as he had assigned the tasks, a few rounds of resolute "Yes, Chief!" could be heard as deckhands hurried in all directions to follow their orders. The Chief stayed behind, together with the men he called Henderson and James. They removed a silver cover plate at the wall, exposing many ports and electrical connections, and started hooking up the minicomputer.
Unnoticed by the working men, Daniel limped to the sealed hatch and peered though the porthole. He squinted his eyes, but the glass was too dirty to see much. Soot and grime was smeared on it from the inside. Soot and grime? His brain literally stumbled over his next realization. Soot and grime meant that there was a fire raging in the hangar. Again, he pressed his face against the window and concentrated on discovering something that hopefully weakened this thought. But all he saw, was dark gray smoke. His next words were stuck in his throat, blocked by the fear for Sam…and the Major too.
"It's burning in there." He uttered at last. The Chief kneeled in front of the minicomputer's display, only looking up briefly.
"We know. The explosion roasted the fire fighting systems. That's why the damage control systems automatically locked up every possible entry."
Okay, that sounded logically. Containing the fire through sealing off the affected areas. Made sense. But, how could the trapped get out again?
"What about the people inside?"
"The locks will open again as soon as damage control system detects that fire fighting measures are carried out."
"But, you just said that fire fighting systems are damaged." Daniel snapped in panic. If those hatches would remain locked until the fire was out and if this Chief couldn't repair the fire fighting systems, it would mean that the hatches would only open when the fire extinguished itself. But that was much too late for the trapped people. They would suffocate or burn to death.
"Exactly that's the problem. We can do nothing from here. But inside the hangar is a console to activate the fire-extinguishing systems manually. We just need to talk to someone."
Upset and almost drained of all strength, he combed a hand through his hair. The stress of the past 20 or so hours made themselves felt now. He felt vulnerable, as if his whole body was a painful, open wound. The physical pain, the fear for Sam and the worry of being stranded in this reality forever, developed into a desperate anger.
"What are you waiting for? You have to help them! Stop sitting around and…" he yelled at the men. In his eyes, they were working in a maddening slow pace, although the opposite was the case.
The Chief didn't react directly towards Daniel's ranting, but he nodded to his colleagues.
"Get the guy out of my way!"
Daniel tried half-heartedly to resist when he was pressed against the wall. His head slammed against something hard, but the pain helped him to think straight again. He raised his hands apologetically and voluntarily moved back a few steps. The lightheaded feeling was gone and he realized, that he needed to stay calm and let those men work.
Restrained by his own terrible helplessness and uselessness, Daniel could do nothing but watch the Chief and his deckhands working and hoping, that their efforts would save Sam and the others.
"Done! We got a signal!" Finally one of the men announced, holding something in his hand that looked like a chunky handset. The Chief took it and wasted no time.
"This is Chief Tyrol, can someone hear me? Is anybody there?"
Silence reigned in the corridor as all of them waited desperately for someone to answer.
Sam heard a deep groan and startled, when she realized that she was the source. Painfully, she opened her eyes. Thick, stinking smoke stung in her eyes and drove her to tears. She was lying on her side and there was someone else with her. It was a man sprawled on the floor, facing her directly. He was silent and his eyes open, but lifeless. The pupils were fixed and a sharp piece of metal was drilled into his skull. She recognized him. It was the Chief and he was dead. Sam straightened her protesting body and tried to distance herself from the Chief's broken body.
She leaned against something hard and solid and noticed upon closer inspection, that it was the belly of a Raptor, knocked to the side by the force of the impact. Nothing in the hangar was still where it was supposed to be. Everywhere, ships, tools, boxes, debris and broken ceiling girders lay around scattered. From all directions, confused and pained groaning and moaning reached her. Sam rubbed her aching temples and coughed, as a new surge of smoke drifted past her. A fire, a burning fire. Chemical, acrid, smells hung under the ceiling prompting Sam to conclude that this was not just a simple cable fire.
She let her eyes wander and discovered Boomer. The young woman was huddling in a corner, pressing her right arm protectively against her body. But, sadly, no trace of Major O'Neill. Carter grabbed the Raptor's wing, steadying her body, and pulled herself up. Her limbs ached, but she didn't seem to be hurt badly. Faltering a few times, she scrambled through the field of debris. She encountered many hurt and dazed people. The ones who weren't seriously injured helped their colleagues back on their feet and stumbled towards the closed hatch.
When Sam recognized Major O'Neill's large silhouette through the smoke, she almost sank to her knees with relief. He also discovered her, climbing over a large tool box. When he reached her, he tripped over something and she put a steadying hand on his shoulder. A thin trickle of blood appeared from under his hairline and his face was covered with grime. Otherwise, he looked well and his posture betrayed no worse injury.
"You okay?" he asked, his eyes checking her body for damages just like she'd done with him a few seconds ago.
Sam nodded. "Yes. I'm fine."
"Where's Jackson?"
She rummaged in her still a little bit fogged mind until she found the answer.
"I got him out in time." She exhaled relieved.
"That's good. We should do the same. Air's getting stuffy."
Together, they made their way trough the rubble, holding onto each other as not to fall. When they arrived at the hatch, they were greeted by an angry and worried group of men and women. Many of them had naked fear literally written on their faces. Boomer struggled through the group and joined them.
"The hatch is sealed and the fire-fighting systems are down." She reported with a croaking voice.
"Yeah, I can see that." Mumbled O'Neill.
The two pilots shared a serious look. They knew what a sealed hatch meant. The damage control systems hat automatically cut the hangar off from the rest of the ship to protect the areas not affected by the fire, that was smoldering dangerously somewhere in the back of the flight pod. They wouldn't get out of here until the fire was extinguished. But if the fire fighting systems were down, there were only two more options left. The first was to manually activate the systems and the other…oh well, there was no use in thinking about it. When the guys in the CIC decided to take the second option, there was nothing they could do about it anyway.
"What now?" Carter wanted to know, studying the heavy und solid metal of the hatch. She guessed that the material was at least 20 cm thick and the hinges seemed to be double secured. Beside her, O'Neill sighed and shrugged his shoulders.
"First, I'm going to rattle stupidly at the door in the hope that it perhaps opens with magic, although I know that it won't happen. Then, I'll find myself something to hit the window, notwithstanding that the glass is shatterproof. And then, if nothing worked, I'll start to curse and wait until someone out there stumbles upon a useful solution."
Sam and Boomer watched him incredulously while he actually performed all three steps. He rattled the door, even gave it a kick, picked up a stay pipe from the ground and hit the window. At last, he cursed at the door, calling it a 'gods damn piece of junk'. When he was finished, he shoved his hands into his pockets and waited patiently.
"Uh, sir?" inquired Boomer and frowned. But the Major only raised a hand to stop her objection.
"Relax. My plan's working. And if not, there's still Plan B."
"Plan B?" Lt. Valerii pulled her apparently injured arm closer to her body.
"We all run around like a bunch of headless chicken."
Boomer shook her head resolutely. "Plan A, definitely plan A."
O'Neill rocked back on his feet, rolling his neck and popping the muscles there. "Yup, I second that."
In the corridor on the other side of the sealed hatch, Chief Tyrol and his people were stilly busy trying to restore communication with the trapped crewmembers. Meanwhile, paramedics and other deckhands willing to help had gathered. Apparently, it had spread to the farthest corner of this ship that their comrades were in danger and needed help.
But sadly, there was not much for them to do. The Chief had all his tools and deckhands he needed ready. They'd tried to break open the hatch, but except of a few scratches, the door resisted with brilliance. The hatch was build too stable. The designers had done a really good job. The system was a hundred percent burglar-proof.
"Damn it! Can anyone hear me?" Chief Tyrol tried again to reach someone via the communication station. Nobody answered. The Chief hung his head and looked at his men and women with regret in his eyes.
"I'm sorry people. Looks like we're too late. That's it."
Shocked murmur bore its way through the long corridor.
The Chief was about to start packing his equipment, when one of his men shouted excitedly.
"Someone's hammering against the hatch! Look, they are still alive!"
Tyrol immediately dropped everything and rushed to the hatch. With his sleeve, he wiped the glass there and dodged instinctively when he saw the blurred image of a metal tube advancing on him. Then he grinned. Indeed, someone in there was still alive.
"Sanchez, James, solder up the ends of the cables. Maybe that's the problem."
In no time, the two mentioned deckhands began to detach the minicomputer from the cables and started working on them with a blowtorch. When they were finished, they reconnected the mini computer and Tyrol picked up the handset.
"This is Chief Tyrol. Can you hear me?"
Tension spread as all held their breaths, waiting for someone to finally respond. Daniel stood in the midst of this foreign men and women. He didn't know them, had nothing in common with them. They didn't even share the same universe. But now, at this moment between hope and fear, he felt like they all belonged together.
Inside the destroyed hangar, almost everyone had huddled on the floor. The heat from the fire was spreading and the smoke getting thicker and thicker. O'Neill hovered near the hatch, always ready in case something positive would happen. He appeared calm and confident, but Sam thought she could see that a lot of it was just a façade he kept up for the young, non-commissioned officers.
So, when from somewhere near the door suddenly a crackling voice reached them, even the disciplined Major needed a second to react. First he stared in disbelief at the direction the voice came from, then he turned to the others.
"See, told ya' so."
With his humorous comment, he managed to generate a few laughs. Not so much out of humor, rather as a method to deal with the bottled-up fear.
"I repeat, this is Chief Tyrol. If you can hear me, then take the frakking handset!" rang out the voice again, this time vigorously. Beside Sam, Boomer put her hand over her mouth in surprise and muttered almost lovingly 'Chief'.
"Hey Tyrol, nice to hear from you. How 'bout you get us out of here. I'm not into smoked meat." O'Neill answered and couldn't hide a smile of relief.
"CAG, is that you?"
"Yep. Me, Boomer and about 30 of your deckhands."
Agitated voices could be heard from the other side of the hatch, as Tyrol obviously discussed what should be done with his helpers.
"Okay, there's good news and bad news. The good thing is, we're convinced that there is a way to disable the lockout. The bad news is, you have to manually bypass the fire protection systems. We detected the reason for the malfunction inside the hangar."
"Oy. Sounds like fun." Sighed O'Neill and wiped soot and sweat from his forehead. "Okay, what can I do?"
"I don't know how it looks inside, but I can imagine. I strongly suggest that this is a job for two. Is there anyone who can help you?"
Jack took a moment and let his eyes wander around the hangar. About 30 pairs of panic-stricken eyes stared back at him, silently demanding and expecting that he would get them out. Although they were all well trained deckhands, most of them were far too young to withstand such a massive pressure. Accordingly, they crouched on the floor, afraid that he'd force one of them to come with him. They knew their workplace in end out and realized that the stationary console for the fire fighting systems was in the back of the hangar. O'Neill glanced in the direction. The way was littered with wrecked Raptors, debris and scattered tools. Halfway, a maintenance bridge had collapsed and crushed a Raptor. Behind the damaged bridge, a reddish light flickered dangerously. The fire. If they wanted to get out alive, someone had to get very near to the burning fire. And someone was code word for Major Jack O'Neill.
Again, he looked around. Scrutinized every face. Nobody appeared to be physically or mentally able to help him. Normally, Boomer was his first choice. Apart from him, she was the highest ranking officer. But the way she clutched her arm like it was a broken wing, she wouldn't be a big help. No, he'd made up his mind. He would go alone.
"Dammit." He muttered when he realized his questionable fortune. He had to do this alone and this tour probably came without a return ticket. But there was nothing else he could do. It was his damn job.
"Negative Chief. I'll go alone."
Again, muttering on the other end of the line.
"Sir, I strongly recommend that you at least take one additional person. You may not reach the console alone, let alone getting back in one piece."
Jack knew that himself and it took all his strength not to snap at the Chief. He himself, was strangely okay with the prospect of not surviving this. If he was able to get all the others in safety, his life was a small price to pay. Maybe the horror of the last day made itself known in his mind, but it felt like he was living with borrowed time anyway. So many had died during the attacks on their colonies and if Tigh wouldn't have send him out to get those two terror suspects, he'd be among the dead. He was sure of that.
"I told you Chief, I have to gone alone."
He could hear Tyrol sigh. "Wait a moment, Sir." He answered and then shouted out to his deckhands. "Someone bring me that damned wiring diagram!"
While the Chief made preparations, O'Neill used that time to wave Boomer discreetly to him.
"Okay Lt., I'll take care of our little problem. In the meantime, I want you to ensure that everyone stays calm. Make sure that they stay on the floor and away from the smoke as long as possible. When Tyrol and his guys open the hatch, you'll get everyone out. Can I count on you staying behind until everyone is safe?"
The young pilot swallowed hard, but still nodded. Albeit reluctantly. "What about you, Sir?"
"Don't worry about me. Your only responsibility is getting everyone and yourself into safety. Are we clear?"
Boomer looked like she wanted to cry. She'd already left Helo behind. Everything in her baulked against doing it again. That both men had offered voluntarily to sacrifice themselves, didn't calm the little voice in her head, whispering to her that she was a disgusting coward. But an order was an order.
"Okay, sir. You can count on me."
When he could be sure that Boomer understood the importance of her role, Jack waited for Tyrol to instruct him. Inwardly, he prepared himself for what he had to do. He was so focused on his thoughts, that he startled when a hand touched his harm. It was the blond woman. What was her name again? Sam? He was pretty sure that Jackson had called her Sam. This mystery solved, what did she want from him? Apparently this question had been clearly readable in his eyes, because she answered in a confident voice.
"I'm coming with you." She said firmly, putting her hands resolutely on her hips. She was standing in front of him like someone used to do things her own way. Someone who knew very well that she could blow off every contradiction with a clever argument of her own. But she was barking up the wrong tree, here. He could be just as stubborn.
"No chance, missy." He refused and attached his bossy CAG face that clearly said 'You better get outta my way or I'll roll over you'. Sadly for him, she was immune to his super powers.
"You heard the Chief. This is a job for two." She argued, crossing her arms over her chest tenaciously.
"I said no. It's too dangerous."
"And it's not dangerous to risk suffocating in the smoke before you even reach the console, just because you want to massage your ego? If you fail, we'll all die."
Jack opened his mouth so say something smart, but had to acknowledge that she had hit the nail on the head. Why did the woman have to sound so damn logical and why in hell was he even listening? After all, she still was a terror suspect. But on the other hand, she didn't behave like one. If he didn't knew better, he'd say he had a fellow officer in front of him.
"You're not qualified for that." He retorted, but she had already another counter-argument ready.
"Oh, is that what you think? Believe me, I've been in dozens of situations just like this and I survived them all. What does that tell you?"
O'Neill's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Where and how could she have accumulated such an experience? The fleet hadn't suffered from a comparable incident in decades and the civilian space travel worked almost accident-free. Maybe she'd worked on a cargo vessel or a tyliummine? It was known that some of the operators didn't particularly care about safety precautions.
"Normally, I'd gladly argue with you for hours, we can even arm wrestle if you like that better, but I'm afraid we don't have the time." She threw back at him.
Jack grinned in surprise. Arm wrestling? He had to give her that, she had humor and sounded like her words weren't just hot air. She seemed absolutely confident of her abilities and that was much more than he could say about the nco's cowering on the floor. He felt himself swaying, changing his mind. She was stubborn, she was self-confident, she seemed to be physically fit and most of all she volunteered. Oh the heck, why not?
"Okay." He gave in after all, but raised an admonishing finger when she smiled at him triumphantly. Why the hell was she smiling about the prospect of stumbling over a hot pile of rubble? Slowly, but surely, the presumption crept up in him that Sam, or whatever her name was, was not a terrorist at all, just plain crazy.
"You do exactly as I tell you? Got that?" He relented to the urge to remind her again of his superiority, because she looked a little too victorious for his taste.
"We'll see." She countered so mischievously, that Jack couldn't help but to reciprocate her grin. Yup, she was definitely crazy and as he was grinning back so stupidly, that Jack was sure he wasn't far behind in the craziness-scale.
"Major O'Neill, are you still there?" Tyrol's voice came from the intercom. With a pointed nod, O'Neill motioned the woman over to him. He was standing left of the speaker while superwoman stood at the right. They had to put their heads together to understand Tyrol's precise instructions. Doing so, they were forced to look into each others eyes and Jack had to think a long time until it occurred to him, where he had seen such an intense blue the last time. It had been at a mountain lake on Aquaria. His home planet, now contaminated like the rest of their civilization. He'd probably never see something else that came close to this kind of blue than the eyes of this mysterious woman he had to trust, although he was pretty sure that she'd lost all her marbles somewhere along the way.
Despite everyone waiting quietly in the corridor, the tension of those present was almost physically perceptible. Chief Tyrol was leaning with both arms at a console and waited, eyes closed, for something to happen. It had been about 10 minutes since he'd explained Major O'Neill how he could activate the fire fighting systems manually from inside the hangar. Usually, it took about a minute to reach the regarding console, another 15 seconds to chose the right menu and then roughly 30 seconds before the computer systems started working. But there was probably an utter chaos in the hangar. They would have to give the CAG more time, Tyrol knew that. But if the systems wouldn't fire up soon, they'd have to seriously think about the alternative. The Chief dreaded that moment, especially because of Boomer being trapped too. He let his head rest against the cool material of the wall as he tried to concentrate on something else. There was nothing he could do anyway.
In the meanwhile, Daniel had found himself a place on the ground. His leg ached and made it hard for him to stand up. But he still refused to go to the infirmary. He wouldn't leave until Sam was safe. But time was dragging on and on and on. Daniel knew his stressed nerves were slowly caving out his mind, but it felt like they'd been waiting for hours now. Occasionally, they could hear the impacts of explosions as the fight was still going on in space. If Galactica's pilots were winning or losing, no one could know.
Unannounced, a roaring voice penetrated the sensitive silence among the helpers.
"What the frak is going on here?" shouted a man wearing a blue uniform, buttoned up wrong by the way. He was tall, lanky and almost bald. His long, skinny arms swung in tune with his strict pace as he hurried straight for Chief Tyrol. Daniel couldn't help but think, that the guy's pronunciation was wrong. He spoke the vowels in a strange way, sloppy and blurry, as if his mouth was full of cotton wool.
The Chief practically jumped and stood ramrod straight in front of the newcomer. Presumably his superior officer.
"Colonel Tigh, Sir! We're working on getting the fire-fighting systems back online."
The tall officer who had now received a name, let his eyes slide searchingly around. He reminded Daniel of a giant vulture. What Tigh saw, was indeed men and women with all sorts of tools in their hands and determined faces. But, no one of them was actually doing something, like working.
"I don't see you making any progress. What the fuck are you and your deckhands doing down here? We've been trying bring in the flight pods."
All color drained from Tyrol's face.
"You're preparing a jump?"
"Yes. We're jumping as soon as the last pilots are back. We're sitting ducks right now."
"But Colonel, we can't use the FTL drive with flight pods outside and the systems won't accept the order to pull them in until the fire's extinguished." The Chief said with a voice of a man who anticipated trouble.
Tigh twisted his mouth annoyed.
"I know that! The Commander knows that! That's why I'm here." He said grimly and his words suggested something heavy.
Chief Tyrol sensed it too, and raised his hands soothingly. "Sir, Major O'Neill and Boomer are in there. They're trying to boot the fire fighting systems manually. If you'd just give them some more time I'm sure…."
Tigh snorted. "Time is one of the things that we don't have. Our birds are out there and they are shot down like clay pigeons protecting the Galactica. And here you are, advising me to wait for two people."
"35 people are in there, Sir. Most of them fresh out of training." Tyrol pleaded with his superior.
While the two men discussed what to do next, Daniel watched the confrontation with growing interest. He didn't really know what exactly they discussed, but he sensed that it was something with big consequences. Somehow, he was absolutely sure that the outcome of this talk would decide whether Sam and the others would get out alive.
"The president could be in there, for all I care. Think this through Tyrol! We're talking about just 35 people in the hangar. More than 3000 people on this ship will die if we don't do something and the fire reaches the fuel pipes! Do you understand? I want you to immediately activate decompression of the left flight pod. That's an order, Chief!"
Decompression? Daniel had heard that phrase before. If he remembered right, this Colonel wanted to vent the hangar. Something fateful settled in the pit of his stomach. The vented air had to go somewhere. Oh no, if decompression of the hangar included opening airlocks to get rid of the oxygen, and therefore extinguishing the fire, it would mean that every one who was locked in there would die either suffocating or being sucked out of an opened airlock. Chief Tyrol's protest confirmed his suspicion.
"But, they'll all die during venting. They've got no chance! You can't do this!"
But Tigh was adamant. "I said, seal off the affected areas and start the emergency venting of all compartments."
"Why don't we give them a little more time. Please, Sir!"
"Don't frakking plead with me. I gave you an order! I'll do it myself, if you're too frightened to do your job."
Chief Tyrol and Colonel Tigh stared at each other. The Chief clenched his fists, struggling with his morality and his duty. But it was a short fight. He looked away guiltily and Daniel realized, that the other man wouldn't disregard a direct order. He knew from his own experience with the military, that non commissioned officers found it particularly hard to even think about insubordination. Although it was clear to see how much Tyrol wanted to say no, he would still do it in the end.
But Daniel wasn't a member of the Colonial Forces. He wasn't even part of this universe. In addition, he had already the prospect of death penalty hovering over him, he'd been forced to watch the total destruction of an entire civilization and moreover, he possessed a gunshot wound in his leg. With so much bad luck on his side, it was almost impossible to dig himself any deeper into shit than he already was. How much worse could it get for him? Chief Tyrol had his career to loose, if he disobeyed the order. But Daniel would lose something much more important, if no one intervened. As far as he could tell, the way back home was blocked with many obstacles. Who knew if he'd ever get back again? Sam was the only thing left of his life. She was his best friend, his resourceful ally, an unyielding supporter and strong shoulder to lean on. He wanted, no, he couldn't lose her now. And he sure as hell wasn't willing to sit back and watch while cold hearted Colonel Tigh signed her death warrant.
Strengthened by these thoughts and boosted by fear of loss, he suddenly jumped up and pushed two men out of his way. He saw himself raising his arm, as if he was standing outside his own body. Daniel wouldn't describe himself as aggressive or overly violent man. He preferred to discuss conflicts, rather than use his fists. But what did it matter now, what he preferred? He was only thinking about Sam, and about the fact, that Jack would be so proud if he could see him now. Jack would have cheered him on, he was sure of that as he took a swing. His fist made hard contact with the cheekbone of the gruff Colonel. The thin man had just enough time to set up a completely perplexed face when the archaeologist's blow collided with this face out of nowhere. Tigh stood dazed for a second and everyone in the corridor didn't dare to even breath, then the Colonel simply tipped backwards. Falling like a sack of rice.
Not one of the surrounding crewmembers thought about catching their superior. They were far too surprised that a man no one of them knew who he was or what he was doing here, had displayed the guts to do exactly what they wished to do secretly. Daniel had knocked the hated Colonel Tigh off his feet.
Jackson rubbed his arching hand and felt Tyrol's eyes on him. The Chief stared at him with open approval. The rest of the crew wore matching faces and Daniel thought that some of them were barely keeping themselves from applauding him. He cleared his throat, because he didn't like it that everyone was staring.
"How much time is left until this ship…?" Daniel broke off as he realized that he had no clue how to finish the sentence. There was so little he knew about this universe with certainty.
"Explodes?" The Chief helped him out and continued. "I'd say, five, six minutes maximum. If the Major hasn't managed to get the fire fighting systems back online until then, we'll have to do what Colonel Tigh ordered."
Daniel nodded his head. He knew, that his physical effort had bought Sam and Major O'Neill a few more minutes. But when that time was over, the lives of over 3000 crewmembers inevitable had priority over the few souls inside the hangar. What those extra time would cost him, he'd surely find out later. After all, he'd just sandbagged a Colonel. But he hoped, that it was not in vain.
An electric spark flew her way from the console next to her head and Sam had to jump back to avoid being burned. The back of her head collided with Major O'Neill's sternum and the grunted, as his body absorbed the bounce. She felt his hand on her back as he pushed her on and helped her climbing over the slippery cockpit of a destroyed Raptor. Her feet landed on the other side and found, fortunately, firm grip immediately.
They were fighting their way trough the rubble that once had been a fully functional hangar deck. They scrambled over broken Raptors, fallen ceiling beams and pushed their way through a mass of smoking headlights and scattered tools. It was tedious, hot and stuffy.
The Major came, half falling half skidding, to a halt beside her and let his gaze wander.
"Oh boy! I'm too old for this shit!" He assessed and Sam had to agree with him. They had barely managed half the distance, still it wasn't getting easier. Directly in front of them, broken down and shattered into many pieces, a maintenance bridge blocked their way.
But it didn't matter, they had to go on. One after the other, they shoved their bodies trough a narrow passage between the remnants of the bridge and the wall. They couldn't help but notice, how the metal was heating up around them. Their path was leading them past and in a near vicinity of the burning fire. Because it was his ship, and he was familiar with the hangar in spite of the debris, Major O'Neill took the lead. He circled another toolbox, then stopped as if rooted to the spot. Sam stood on tiptoes, to see over his right shoulder.
To their right was a balcony. It ran parallel to the wall and was secured by a chain railing, so that nothing and no one could accidently fall from there to the hangar. And said chains were currently the only reason why the whole deck hadn't already exploded. On the balcony, stood a big, lonely metal rack. The impact of the atomic bomb on the left flight pod had knocked it over, so that it was only stabilized and kept from falling down by those chains. But not the metal shelve itself was dangerous, but what was loaded. A small missile was laying sideways on one of the shelves and threatened to tumble down, should the metal chains around the rack yield for any reason.
"Frak." Commented O'Neill as he stared at the explosive device right in front of them.
"If that thing comes down…" he started and raised his eyebrows.
"Kaboom?" Sam finished the thought for him.
"Something like that. Come on, we gotta hurry."
Slowly and with cautious steps, they crossed the path directly under the dangerous missile. The ship creaked all around them, making it hard to hear something else but the metal's fight against material fatigue.
The Galactica was repeatedly plagued by the vibrations the bullets and rockets of the Cylon ships caused. Every time the ship trembled, the missile above them rolled a tiny bit further. All of a sudden, there was a loud boom and everything around them shook as if they were driving a car down a bumpy road. The material of the outer skin groaned under the strain as the ship tipped to the side.
As soon as O'Neill and Carter understood what was happening, their worried glances met the shelve above them. As if in slow motion, they watched as the metal rack tipped over some more. The missile caught speed and rolled over the shelf and was falling down. Sam widened her eyes and sharply inhaled the smoky air. Her eyes lost sight of the missile when she felt something push her back roughly and her legs hit a toolbox behind her. Sam stumbled and her hand couldn't catch hold in time. She found herself lying on the floor, her fingers flailing and groping for something. She found a round metal and used it to pull herself up again. When she straightened up, Carter searched frantically for the rocket, and for Major O'Neill. There should have been an explosion, and she was curious to find out about the absence of one.
She found Major O'Neill standing among the ruins, about three meters in front of her. His body was bent as he pressed something with hands and arms to his torso. It was the missile.
"What the hell…" Sam began, then broke off as she noticed anger mixing with her words.
What an idiot! That was a typically stupid O'Neill maneuver! While it would be the only logical choice to run away from an explosive device, you could count on Jack O'Neill running towards it. This selfish, reckless, insane, suicidal son of a bitch! But sadly for her sanity, he was also a selfless, courageous and self-sacrificing moron and as much as Sam tried, she just couldn't stay angry with him. Not when he had just saved the whole ship and especially not while he was wearing this endearingly silly expression on his face. One that seemed to say 'Hey Mom, look what I found! Can I keep it? I swear I'm not gonna blow something up, at least not deliberately. Pretty please?'
He nodded at her encouragingly. "Go on." He told her and she felt herself shaking her head resolutely.
"But…" Sam protested. She couldn't just leave him here. Not with an armed weapon in his hands.
"It's no biggie."
What? That thing could rip him into pieces, for gods sake and he was telling her 'no biggie'? She definitely hadn't missed his almost naïve recklessness.
"I'll take care of this cutie and you make sure that we're not sucked into space."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
The Major crossed his fingers under the missile for a better grip.
"If we can't get the fire fighting systems online real quick, the Chief has no other choice but to start decompression of the hangar and then…you know, we go flush out to space." His eyes slid to the wall opposite them and Sam noticed the pressure locks there. Apparently, they could be opened to initiate an emergency venting of the deck to extract oxygen and the artificial atmosphere from nourishing the fire. And if that happened, they would indeed be sucked into space. Not a very quaint idea.
"I'll be right back." She retorted as she started her way towards the console, forcing herself not to look back at him, although Sam thought she'd heard him saying 'Good girl."
With shaky legs and bursting nerves she struggled through the debris, not considering her own safety. Sam was so focused, that she didn't even feel it when sharp edges grazed and tattered her clothes and skin. Running, jumping, crouching and with a good deal of falling she mastered all obstacles, always listening to the telltale sound of an explosion. Every second the detonation didn't happen, let her hope and gave her strength to believe that she could make it after all.
She almost missed the relevant console, running past it, but at the end the neon red color couldn't been overlooked. Sam narrowed her eyes, took a deep breath to calm her nerves, then touched the screen with calm fingers. The display showed her the register of a pump system and she almost rejoiced with relief. The Chief had explained her how to activate the fire fighting systems as best as he could over the intercom, so she recognized the pump system as the one that transported the fluids to extinguish the fire. It was almost too easy, but considering that Major O'Neill could be ripped in to pieces every second, or that she was just a few moments away from being sucked into space, easy didn't seem to be the fitting word after all.
She touched the screen and a flywheel appeared. Using this, she navigated through the operating menu until she found the fault diagnosis. Carter assigned the computer to perform a complete failure investigation of the fire fighting system. A bar appeared, showing the progress. While it filled antagonizing slowly, Carter tipped with the foot impatiently on the floor. There was less and less time until the crew was forced to start the decompression.
Finally, the display showed her error code '15 FFS 2/3'. Carter rummaged in her memories. The Chief had instructed her that error code 2/3 required a manually bypass of the security systems. She took a deep breath and went to work. Although this systems were new to her, they were build very intuitively and her fingers flew over the display in spite of everything. By the time she was putting on the final touches, the display was totally dirty from the soot and sweat on her fingers. She hit the start button and left the computer to do its calculations. Again a bar. But this time, thankfully, it filled much faster. Once it was full, the screen told her 'all systems ready for use'.
That's it? So easy? Sam was waiting for something to happen. The few seconds seemed to last hours. Then, at last, she heard a loud gurgling sound in the tubes above her head. As if something unwieldy was forced through a too small opening. Then, white foam rained down on her. She caught some of it with her hand and sniffled it. The smell was pungent and chemically. But it did its purpose, and very effectively so. Almost immediately, the smoke disappeared and the air cleared again. Probably a chemical reaction. She stretched, stood on tiptoes and glanced towards the fire source. There, too, the blazing flames subsided slowly. Sam exhaled in relief. They'd cheated the hangman once again, for now. But the day wasn't over yet.
Daniel massaged his throbbing temples. His leg hurt, too. In the corridor smoldered a tense silence. The minutes went by uneventfully. The Chief had sent two paramedics to bring the unconscious Colonel Tigh to the infirmary. Jackson wondered, when they would come back to throw him into another prison. He had no clue whether the military was allowed to arrest civilians in this society. But even if it was forbidden, maybe there was no institution left to supervise the military actions.
He wasn't religious, although he'd studied many different cultures and religions. He found it fascinating, but above all this his experiences with the Goa'uld had ensured that believing in any kind of supernatural, godlike being wasn't overly tempting for him. Nevertheless, he found himself sitting on the floor like a picture of misery and folding his hands to say a prayer, begging for Sam's live to whoever or whatever would listen to him. He was terrified and ashamed to the same level, that he couldn't bring himself to worry about the others trapped in the hangar as well. But Sam and he were more than just simple friends. She was family, the only part that he had still left of his own reality. It was honestly unimaginable for him to lose her.
When something happened at last, Daniel had problems to see something else but triumphantly risen arms.
"They did it! They systems are back to normal again!" Shouted the Chief and the corridor exploded in spontaneous applause.
"Okay, okay, that's enough guys. Back to work." Calmed the Chief again and flailed his arms. "Make some space so we can open the door."
He nodded to two of his deckhands and they used a large lever to break open the hatch. The men groaned under the effort, but they won the fight against the lock.
The door swung open outwards and a blast of acrid smoke poured into the corridor. Some of the helpers were coughing, but not one thought about stepping back. As the first of their trapped colleagues stumbled out of the hangar, their friends greeted them with helping arms and encouraging pats on the shoulder. Who wasn't able to walk on his or her own, was immediately handed over to the paramedics. The Chief stood at the front, organizing the help. He only lost his self-control, when a young woman hobbled towards him.
She was asian looking and wore one of the flight suits. Her arm seemed injured because she held it protectively against her body. When she saw the Chief, she sagged briefly as if collapsing. Ignoring all other persons around them, she rushed to him and for a fleeting moment, she looked ready to fling her arms around his neck. But then she stopped abruptly and a neutral expression appeared on her face.
"Hey Chief, thanks for getting us out."
Chief Tryol swallowed hard and looked her so deeply in the eyes, that Daniel was sure that there was something more than just plain relief about the wellbeing of a colleague. Feelings, they were not allowed to have. He knew those looks.
"You're welcome. Glad you're okay el-tee."
The moment between the two was broken as a medic pushed between them to reach a hurt deckhand.
Daniel turned his attention back to the hatch. He was still waiting for a sign of Sam or Major O'Neill. Finally, after it seemed that everyone else had made it out of the hangar okay, he discovered a blonde head in the smoke and he almost lost his balance in sheer relief as he stood up clumsily.
"Sam!" he called, taking a shaky step towards her as she came through the hatch. She seemed to be okay. Worn out looking, with ripped clothes and soot covered face, but otherwise well and healthy. However, her dismissing posture froze him in mid-motion. With defensive arms and a worried shake of her head, she kept him at distance.
She glanced warily over her shoulder and took a step to the side. The reason for her concern was walking right behind her through the door. It was Major O'Neill. He was walking slightly bent, as if he had a back ache, but the real reason was the heavy thing the was carrying.
"Is that a missile?" Daniel blurted out in shock and his experience told him, that a Jack O'Neill was capable off all thinkable reckless actions. Sam nodded grimly and somewhat pissed off. Apparently, even she wasn't overly happy about him carrying around a missile like it was a baby.
"Yes, of course it is." She growled and fired laser-like glances at O'Neill's back, who stood in front of the likewise totally perplexed Chief Tyrol.
"Hey Chief, nice to see ya." Said the Major in a conversational tone. Quite as if he was meeting the younger man for a beer, instead of standing with a warhead before him.
"Sir?" The Chief uttered, staring at the missile and appearing to be totally taken by surprise.
O'Neill pursued his lips, looking around thoughtfully. Then he lifted the sensitive explosive device up a bit, moving his upper body cumbersome.
"Looks like I've got something your people lost. Could you…you know? Take it, I mean? It's gettin a little heavy."
Tyrol scratched his head baffled. "Oh yeah, Sir. Sure." He snapped his fingers and two of his deckhands came forward, understandably reluctant. They took the missile gently out of the Major's hands, eying him with grim looks as they carried the explosive away.
The Chief escorted his people with watchful eyes until they were out of sight, then he turned back to his superior.
"The Commander wants to see you immediately at the CIC. We'll jump to Ragnar Station as soon as the FTL is ready."
Small wrinkles appeared on O'Neill's forehead.
"Okay, sounds logical. We need ammunition and fuel to cut and run." He speculated, but sounding like he expected the exact opposite.
Now. it was the Chief furrowing his brow as he shook his head.
"No. We're not running. The Commander wants to go back and attack the Cylons."
"What! That's the most stupid thing we could possibly do!" exclaimed the Major alarmed and ran a hand through his short brown hair. He eyed Sam and Daniel shortly as if he expected help from them.
"Commander Adama wants to support the fleet in the battle. Granted, the Galactica's not in the best condition, but…" began the Chief, but was interrupted quickly.
"That's the point. There is no fleet to support. Every ship's destroyed."
Tyrol closed his eyes stubbornly. "That can't be true. I mean, we would know if the fleet was destroyed. We would've received an emergency signal, or…." He broke off uncertainly. His eyes shone with pure rejection of what he had just heard.
"It's the truth. They're all dead." Explained O'Neill, and then said those frightening six words no one wanted to hear or understand.
"We are the only ones left."
The Chief leaned back against the wall.
"We didn't know. The Commander thinks that we're still fighting, that we can still win."
"He's wrong. We've got no chance. The Colonies are lost. We can only help ourselves."
Tyrol swayed a little, again shaking his head as if he could thereby hurl the sad truth out of his skull.
"The whole ship Is preparing of the fight. We even reactivated the museum vipers. The FTL drive is ready in about 15 minutes. We'll jump at any moment."
At these words, Daniel lowered his head and muttered "Oh, no." The last time he'd been in a space ship during such a 'jump', he'd almost barfed on his shoes afterwards. He was seriously afraid that he was developing an allergy for this jumping. He'd also observed how various crewmen responded to the prospect of such a jump. They all looked slightly concerned. As if it was something special that the Galactica would travel this way.
"I'm going to the CIC." He heard the Major say and felt Sam hauling him up. And then they were on their way to this CIC. Nobody stopped them, as they tried to keep up with the jogging Major. The chaos and confusion on the ship made sure that no one noticed two strangers that shouldn't be here at all. O'Neill was running in front of them and he would've probably fallen into a sprint, if he didn't had to constantly dodge other crewmembers. Some of them, he simply knocked over on his way to the CIC.
Sam and Daniel had no other choice but to rush behind. Because of his injury he could only limp, making it hard for them not to loose sight of the faster man. Although the construction of the ship reminded them of an aircraft carrier, they still didn't dare to run around the foreign ship without a guide. They knew how to navigate inside a Goa'uld or Asgard ship, but that was because they also knew almost everything about their culture and technical know-how. This reality, however, was in spite of all the obvious parallels to the greater part unknown to them. The risk was big, that they took a wrong turn and ended up in an opened airlock.
They had no time to memorize any remarkable points. As best as they could, they rushed after O'Neill who took no account of them. It was quite possible, that he hadn't even noticed that they were following him. But for them, it was almost the only logical thing to do. They knew no one here. Despite the fact that Major O'Neill theoretically was a stranger to them too, he was the only one they felt somewhat familiar with. For Sam and Daniel, it was only natural to follow him. After all, they'd spent many long years together following Colonel and later General O'Neill. For them, it had never really mattered where to. They had just that kind of blind trust that made them following him everywhere. Just because he was leading them. That was reason enough.
Finally, after a seemingly not ending sequence of identical looking grey corridors, they reached their destination, the CIC. O'Neill slowed his pace marginally, as he dashed into the big room. All heads present turned to him. Some honestly happy to see him, some confused and at least one grimly. Three men in blue uniforms were standing together at a luminous table in the middle. They stared at the Major expectantly, at the same time appearing to be super important. One of them was Colonel Tigh, who was sporting an impressive colored shiner. Daniel grimaced and tried to hide behind Sam, making himself invisible as much as possible. He wasn't under the impression that the Colonel was a very pleasant guy to be around, especially not when he'd been hit by a civilian. In front of the non-commissioned deckhands, nonetheless.
Sam was looking around with interest. The CIC was clearly the command center. The room was big, about the size of the gateroom. Many half-moon shaped consoles and work stations were arranged on three staggered levels. She lifted her head and discovered, that there was also sort of a balcony directly above them and even this space seemed to be crammed with all kinds of displays and computers. The center was dominated by four large screens. Beneath them was an octagonal table similar to a large, illuminated touch screen.
Sam and Daniel positioned themselves unobtrusively in the background, knowing that they technically had no right to be here, while O'Neill jumped down the few steps to the center console and the three waiting men. He nodded respectfully as he greeted them.
"Commander Adama, Lt. Gaeta, Colonel Tigh….oh, looking good." He allowed himself a smug comment when he saw Tigh's black eye. The older man just grumbled miserably to himself.
The man he'd called Commander Adama ignored the allusion. He wasn't a very tall man, but there was something about him that inspired utmost respect. Even if you didn't know him. In his blue uniform, standing straight and proud, he looked like the spitting image of a steadfast leader.
"Major, good to see you alive." His voice was rough and smooth, revealing that he had everything under control.
"Thanks Sir, good to see you too." Said O'Neill and wasted no time getting to the point.
"Chief Tyrol said you're planning to go back to Caprica."
The Commander nodded. "Correct. We've just received a distress call from Admiral Negala."
Jack swallowed hard. "Sorry to tell you this, but the Admiral is dead. The whole fleet is wiped out."
No sooner than he'd uttered those words, all activity in the command center dried up. All eyes were focused on the four men in the middle. Colonel Tigh stared at the Major with wild eyes.
"What the frak are you talking about, O'Neill. The emergency call's not even 30 minutes old."
30 minutes. So much had happened. Hard to believe that an entire civilization had been destroyed in that short span of a time.
O'Neill ignored Colonel Tigh and sorely focused on his Commander, talking forcefully to him.
"I've been there when it happened. The Cylons somehow managed to disable the fleet's systems. All systems failed, every ship was paralyzed. Then they dropped a bunch of nukes on Caprica and I bet they've done the same thing to the other Colonies. Believe me Sir, there is nothing left to fight for." He finished his description of the last hour, looking at his Commander intensely.
Utter confusion immediately filled the CIC. Frightened and unbelieving voices rang out, some shouting and arguing whether the Major was right or not. No one wanted to believe it. After all, they all had family or friends in the Colonies.
"The entire fleet wiped out! We would know that by now!" argued Tigh and stepped up to O'Neill. His posture spoke clearly of open confrontation. But Galatica's CAG wasn't deterred. Especially when he knew that he was right.
"Not necessarily. Our systems are bonkers. Something's wrong with them. How can we know that the Cylons aren't feeding us with wrong data?"
"That's frakking mad! You're crazy!" Shouted the Colonel, his head beet red.
"With all due respect, Sir." O'Neill defended himself, staring down at the slightly smaller man and his tone indicating that he felt anything but respect for Tigh. "You've not been there. The Cylons caught us with pants down. Nothing's left."
A bitter grin appeared on the face of the haggard Colonel. "You want to know what I think? I think you're just afraid. You haven't been accountable for months. You and Starbuck are nothing more but a pain in the ass and I…" he grumbled and ended his speech abruptly when he noticed Sam and Daniel. His voice trembled with rage as he pointed accusingly at the archeologist.
"What the hell is he doing here?! This is the guy who attacked me!" raged Tigh.
O'Neill whirled around to his human cargo, studying Daniel with an appreciative glance. Apparently, Colonel Tigh really wasn't the favorite man on this ship. The Major's undisguised amusement goaded the bald man even more. He waved two uniformed security men over.
"Take them in the brig. I want to take care of them myself."
The security guards approached Sam and Daniel, but didn't get very far because O'Neill quickly moved and pushed his tall body in between. The men looked alternately and uncertainly between the Colonel and the Major, clearly not happy to be caught in this verbal fight.
"If they go anywhere, it's the infirmary. They are my responsibility."
Carter wasn't sure whether the Major's resistance was for their benefit, or just to show Colonel Tigh that he didn't think much of his orders. In any case, it was working. The security guards stepped back. They were smart enough not to interfere in the dispute between the two officers.
Tigh displayed a sardonic grin when he understood who Sam and Daniel were.
"My goodness O'Neill! Are those the terrorists? And you bring them here? To the Galactica? Now I know that you are completely crazy!" He snapped. But his reprimand showed only moderate success.
"Oh, should I have thrown them out of the Raptor about halfway?!" was O'Neill's sarcastically answer.
"That's enough!" Commander Adama's commanding voice interrupted. "Quiet, both of you. You're acting like children!"
Guiltily, both bowed their heads. Around them, the junior officers tried to do their job. But they became increasingly anxious upon watching the two experienced officers quarreling.
"Sorry Bill, but I won't listen to this crap." Tigh managed to excuse himself and at the same time start a counterattack. You had to give it to O'Neill, that he didn't visibly respond towards the invitation to further dispute.
The simmering fight between the two officers was interrupted by sobs. A young, dark-skinned woman behind a console wiped the tears from her face embarrassed.
"Lt. Dualla?" Asked the Commander, his voice soft and soothing.
"Incoming priority message, delayed timecode, Sir." She began and steadied herself on the console, as she read the text on her display. "The Fleet Command announces: Admiral Negala is dead. Battlestar Altantea's been destroyed. So 's the Triton, the Solaria, the Columbia…the, the message is cut off."
"Try to establish contact." Ordered Adama.
Dually tapped on the screen, but she had to admit defeat. Her voice was grim, as if she had to force herself to form each word anew. "Scorpia Shipyards…annihilated. All orbital stations…destroyed. We are not receiving any communications from any of the Twelve Colonies. Not even beacons. We're alone."
Major O'Neill refrained from pointing out that this was exactly what he'd been trying to explain. Rubbing salt into an open wound was not his style. It was nothing to boast with.
Commander Adama took a step towards the center console. He stared thoughtfully at the screens there, then let his eyes wander over the distraught faces in the CIC. Studied his officers, trying to determine what he could expect of them. But it was not about what they might could do, the only thing that counted was what they needed to do. And for him it was clear, that the Galactica didn't admit defeat. This ship had survived the first Cylon War. No one on board of his ship was a coward. They would fight to the last man and if they would go down, so be it. But retreat, that wasn't an option. Never.
He turned to his XO. "We've got no choice. Colonel Tigh, please plot a hyperlight jump from our position to the orbit of Ragnar. Lt. Gaeta, calculate the coordinates. Lt. Dually, prepare everything for an announcement. I'll take over command of the fleet."
While Tigh grinned, Jack felt like he was talking to a brick wall.
"But Sir!" He protested and took a step towards his superior. "I think you seriously misunderstand the consequences. If we go back, we'll all die. It's suicide. We need to back off."
Adama let the words sink in, then he literally exploded. But he was not loud or gesturing wildly. Rather, his voice was low and vibrating with anger. He was growling and looking the Major strictly in the eyes.
"Don't you dare tell me about consequences! Lee was secretary Roslin's escort. I know exactly what the consequences are!"
Jack held his breath. Lee was Lt. Lee "Apollo" Adama. The commander's only living son. If he'd been part of the pilots that escorted secretary Roslin, who had attended the decommission ceremony, back to Caprica he was most likely dead as well. A normal escort consisted of four Vipers. A civilian ship and four Vipers were no obstacle for the Cylon fleet. The Commander had two sons. Zac, the younger one, had been killed years ago during an airshow and now he had also lost his older son.
"I'm sorry, Sir." Jack stammered. What else could he do? He couldn't even begin to imagine how it felt to lose a kid. Nothing he could say would change that. So he didn't try. He respected Adama too much to torment him with ineffable meaningless words. Adama was a living legend. More that just Commander and mentor. Adama was the embodiment of a leader and O'Neill felt himself give in. This man would die for his ship and his crew and how could he possibly refuse to do any less?
Adama now stood directly in front of him. Whilst the Commander was a good head shorter than his Major, it still felt like he was rising above him.
"Are you finished now? Can you focus on you job or do I need to replace you?"
"No Sir."
"Good."
The Commander turned around, so that he could see the entire CIC.
"I know you're afraid. But we need to pull ourselves together. We all have lost loved ones today. I know I ask much of you, but I need you, the Twelve Colonies need you. You can grieve later, now it's time to fight back."
When he saw how his words affected the junior officers, he nodded satisfied. He could always rely on his people. Now he needed to talk to the rest of the crew. Everyone had to prepare and they needed their Commander's guiding words.
"Dualla, is my line ready?"
The young woman nodded. She'd stopped crying, instead wearing a resolute expression on her face.
Adama walked to the illuminated table and put a clunky microphone to his mouth. He didn't hesitate and was completely resolved when he spoke.
"This is the Commander. Moments ago, this ship received word that indeed a Cylon attack against our home worlds is underway. We do not know the size or the disposition or the strength of the enemy forces. But all indications point to a massive assault against colonial defences. Admiral Nagala has taken personal command of the fleet aboard the Battlestar Altantea, following complete destruction of Picon Fleet Headquarteres in the second wave of the attacks. Newest information says that his ship and others are destroyed. How, why- does not matter now. What does matter, is indeed that as of this moment, we are at war. You've trained for this, you're ready for this. Stand to your duties, trust your fellow shipmates, and we'll all get through this. Further updates as we get them. Thank you."
As Commander Adama was speaking, Sam noticed that the words were affecting her too. She was infected by his fearlessness. He was obviously a very special man. An officer that evoked loyalty among those serving with him and inspiring them to top efficiency and beyond. He reminded her a great deal of General O'Neill.
The officers in the CIC straightened up noticeably. They all stood at attention, waiting for their orders. Adama cleared his throat and fixed his XO and CAG with a stern look.
"We'll jump to Ragnar Station. Colonel, please ensure that everything that can fly is bucked up. Major, I want you to accompany Chief Tyrol's team. Go find me some bullets."
"Aye, Sir."
The Commander gave Lt. Gaeta a handsign. "Lt. Gaeta, resume jump prep."
"Resuming jump prep."
O'Neill rejoined his maybe prisoners. His gaze was still worried, but also purposeful. He crossed his arms and stared at Daniel, who leaned on Sam.
"You better look for something to hold onto. This could get uncomfortable."
"Why? Aren't you doing this 'jumping' constantly?" Inquired Daniel and grew pale at the prospect of having to witness another one of those 'jumps'.
O'Neill pursed his lips. "Normally, yes, but…Galatica's last jump was 24 years ago. Let's hope she's not too rusted, eh?"
"What?!" exclaimed the archeologist, but Jack went on as if he hadn't heard him at all.
"Plus, when Gaeta miscalculates even a tiny little bit, we could end up in the sun. And then….boosh…sunburn."
He said it as if it was no big deal and punched Daniel matey on the shoulder.
"It'll go all right." Concluded the taller man, winking at them.
"Attention on all decks: jump prep underway. Set condition two throughout the ship. Set condition two throughout the ship." Geate spoke via intercom. His fingers darted across the keyboard and Daniel hoped that he had triple checked the coordinates.
"The board is green. Ship ready to jump, Sir."
Adama clasped his hands behind his back.
"Execute the jump, Lt. Gaeta."
Daniel hung his head in misery. "Oh, I hate this." He whined when the terrible feeling of being folded up returned to his body.
A/N: Some of you might have noticed that I use 'minutes' as time unit, despite using the term 'centon' as a synonym for minutes in chapter 6. At first I planned to use the units of time from Battlestar Galactica TOS to strengthen the aspect that Sam and Daniel now have to deal with a different culture and society. But during translating, I realized that I was just confusing myself and concluded, that it could be counterproductive to use the fictional time units. So, I decided that the Colonists will use the usual time units.