Responses to Earlier Comments:
Blaze, agreed. It brings new meaning to Kara's "nothing but the rain" response. The Beast is parked for now but will return. Thanks for the additional feedback offline. I toned down Cru's actions a little to keep him more in character - more military method than retributive.
Thanks for the response, Chronos!
War Sage, I wrote about 800 words on Cru having to report to Cain but it put him in the wrong place at the wrong time. One day this fiction will end and as a last big installment, I'll post all the work that ended in the "Unused/Extra" folder :)
***I would love to hear from all of you. Please comment.***
Disclaimer: Please note: I own no part or share in the Battlestar Galactica realm, either commercial or otherwise. This story is submitted for entertainment purposes only.
Reminder: I did not spend time making up non-earth names for BSG things - glass, headset, boom mic, etc. They are in there as is. I wanted to avoid introducing new terms, explaining them, and potentially causing confusion if/when they are used later without their explanations.
Chapter 26
The Unforgettable
"I'm not hungry. I may not be for a long while."
~Cru's Journal if he had time to keep one.
Galactica
Day 181 (After the destruction of the resurrection ship)
Three men sat together in Adama's quarters. They were the three highest-ranked bridge officers aboard Galactica. Adama was pouring drinks. It should have been Cru pouring, as the most junior-ranked of the men, but not this time.
Admiral Cain was dead, but it was not why the men were meeting.
"Full recovery, then?" said Cru to Adama about his son.
Lee Adama had piloted the stealth fighter up to the massive resurrection ship, disabled its ability to escape, and collided with a Cylon raider while speeding away. Cru and his ECO, "Dragoon" recovered Lee in a daring grab and got him clear of the battle wreckage.
"That is good to hear, sir," added Cru.
"He spent two days in a pressure tank," said Adama as he slid a glass back over to Cru and one over to Colonel Tigh, "The doctor says he will make a full recovery."
"Strength of the young, I think," said Cru.
"To the resiliency of our youth," said Adama in a level voice. He held up his glass in an offhanded toast.
"Here-here!" said Tigh and Cru in response.
The toast was hollow in a way, for Cru. He wasn't as old as the two he sat with and therefore was somewhat out of place, toasting the young. But also, he was older than the viper and raptor pilots by many years, and so the toast was not to him. He was in the gray area between "our youth" and either standing command, a desk job, or whatever retirement meant in a ragtag fugitive fleet.
Adama fell silent for a moment looking down at his glass. Cru and Tigh picked up on the change and waited.
"Major, you've done me a turn," said Adama without looking up.
"I did my job, sir," said Cru.
Cru thought about the risks he took getting through the heavy debris field, going after Lee Adama. Long ago in his raptor days, he'd have been called back before making such a dangerous rescue. Except, the human race was a finite number clawing back from the brink of annihilation. Chasing down even one lost soul was paramount if not an apex requirement. But this one soul was the son of Cru's leader, the senior-most military officer in the fleet, and a man Cru held in high regard. He would have flown that raptor to hell and back, to retrieve his son.
"I'm grateful," said Adama.
Adama lifted his head and looked straight into Cru's eyes. Cru wanted to flinch away but he felt locked there in place. Adama had a strength of command through his appearance, his character, and his ability to lead. Returning Adama's gaze, being held there by the man, was an immediate self-review of whether Cru deserved to be in his presence.
"I would do it again, sir," said Cru in reply.
Tigh clapped Cru on the back. "It was Top-Gun flying I'm told."
The moment was broken and Cru was freed. Cru downed his drink in a single swallow. Adama and Tigh did likewise.
"Somewhat less than that, Colonel, I assure you," said Cru with a light laugh and a changing of the tone. "True story, my ECO conveyed her displeasure at my flying, the whole way. I don't know if I've ever heard that many obscenities come out of a single mouth in one sitting - and her being, you know, from the Navy and all."
Adama gave a light smile.
Tigh laughed loudly. "Don't get me started, Marine!"
Cru laughed as well. "It was funny, although not at the time - I blasted open part of the wreckage - it's in my report. It was under pressure and blew outward. I swear, that ECO was cursing me in some guttural, long-dead language, like ancient Lovecraft or something."
Tigh laughed again. "Sounds like insubordination to me."
Cru laughed again as he recounted the moment. "It sounded like base fear to me, sir, and her almost soiling her drawers."
Adama gave another rare smile. "I'm pretty sure no one refers to trousers as 'drawers' anymore."
"I'm not sure they call them 'trousers' either," said Tigh as he tipped his glass to get the last drop.
"Fair call," said Adama as he bent over towards the side and picked up a sheet of paper from the nearby desk.
Cru gave a curious look. The document looked official.
"What's that?" asked Tigh. He was done waiting for Adama to refill the glasses and reached for the bottle.
"It was in the last packet of documents from Admiral Cain," said Adama. He handed the document to Cru.
Cru scanned through the document. Cain was giving Cru a choice of demotion to the rank of Corporal or process out of the Marine Corps into life in the civilian fleet.
Cru smiled. "Wow. I'm free. Gentlemen, drinks on me."
"Nice try," said Adama with another smile.
"Yeah, fat chance of that," said Tigh as he poured another round. "Once a Marine, always a Marine."
"In fact," said Adama, "I have a new assignment for you."
"So, no cush job in the Civvie fleet?" asked Cru with a laugh.
"No. I'm sending you to the Pegasus. They have a detachment of marines. I want you to take command of them and the marines here on Galactica."
Cru was struck dumbfounded.
Tigh beamed.
Months earlier, Tigh had landed on Bree's Twin after an attack on Cru's freighter over supplies. This was a meeting with Cru and Evvie for the second time. The first being when Cru and Evvie had been delivered to the Galactica beaten and bloody, as prisoners. Tigh took a proud sort of responsibility in opening the dialog with Cru and bringing him back to service.
"Sir, I am humbled by your confidence in me." Cru gave a smile as he looked sidelong at Tigh. "You know they have guns and armor, right? Just checking."
"Gods help us," laughed Tigh.
~~~~~/~~~~~
"Staff Sergeant, call them to attention."
Staff Sergeant Gentry turned as Cru entered the room.
They were aboard the Pegasus. More than forty marines had gathered to learn their fate. Cain was dead, assassinated in her quarters. A bullet to the head at close range ended her life and changed those of the marines under her command. Her marines were the enforcers of her will. Cain commanded with an iron fist, to be sure, and she didn't need the heavy armor and weapons of the Marines to see her orders carried out. Still, she stationed those marines in conspicuous locations, in full sight, as a reminder of what follows failure or disagreement.
"Yes, sir," replied Gentry as he snapped to attention. "Squadbay, ten-hut!" he shouted over the many voices.
The room was silent in the next moment. All the marines were standing, boot heels together, arms at their sides, tall and rigid - most of them.
"Sergeant, how many marines are serving aboard Pegasus?"
"Sixty-three, sir," replied Gentry. His eyes were forward. He spoke as the military do when reporting to a senior.
Cru studied the room in silence, for almost a minute. Most of the marines were in their battle gear. Their weapons were holstered on their hip or slung over a shoulder, or within immediate reach. Most of them were grunts. Most of them were as big as Cru or bigger. Some of them had seen combat, Cru could see this straight off. Marines who hadn't gone to war still came to attention like they were fresh out of boot camp - this could go on for years. Combat changes a person. The small things, the snap-and-pop of military protocol, were no longer the great importance they used to be.
"I'm told Admiral Cain released most of the women marines from service. Is that true?"
"'Released' is one way to put it, sir."
"Sacked?"
"Yes, sir, that would be more in line with the event."
"Get them back, effective immediately."
"Yes, sir."
Cru had met, worked with, and led many marines during his years of service. He thought he recognized two of the older ones in this group. He was good with faces, but the names, not so much.
"I don't do speeches," Cru said to Genty. "I'm not going to start now."
"Understood, sir," said Gentry.
"We'll talk soon. Stand down your people."
"Yes, sir."
Cru sat down in an office that had been cleared out for him. He left the door open and was aware of the many glances in, at him, as the marines passed by. He began pouring over fitness records. The Admiral tasked him with finding two marines he could promote to Lieutenants. There would be interviews and inspections, and challenging work to separate out rank and file from the leader material. Cru would remain a bridge officer because both ships lacked enough experienced leaders to round out their shifts. So, he had to build the command and find two marines to pass it off to. He knew he would spend less and less time on Bree's Twin.
Cru's thoughts strayed to Evvie and lingered there for a short while. He recalled the quiet woman who came aboard following after her husband and later that day cradling the man's lifeless body. But that moment did not define her and it wasn't long before she and her two children were essential members of the crew. Cru smiled at the thought of her wearing his clothes and how amazing she could make a dreary, threadbare, vendor t-shirt look. He thought of the early morning she sat with him and admitted a deep fear of losing her husband's children. He remembered her being nearly dead on her feet, filling his and Colonel Tigh's coffee mugs in the ship's galley, and Tigh acting goofy around her. He smiled again as he remember the first haircut she gave him and how he didn't want it to end. Now, she was a leader in her own right as she managed Bree's Twin during his absences and managed the ship's contributions to the fleet food supply chain and all the spare parts that kept many ships running. Still, when Cru finished a rotation and returned to Bree's Twin every three or four days, she was always there waiting for him at the access port, with a cup of her jet-fuel coffee ready, a sweet smile, and an organized list of work needing Cru's review.
Cru had been done with the military before the Cylon attack. He was an "Inactive Reservest" which meant he went about his civilian life as he pleased but checked in with the Marines twice a year. There was a part of him that wanted to be that civilian again, even in the far reaches of space on a life-and-death journey of escape. But, there was a really big part of him that wanted simply to return to his old ship and yes, to be with Evvie.
He focused on the tasks at hand.
~~~~~/~~~~~
Passenger Liner, Harrak
Early hours, by Caprica Time
Cru and a crack strike team moved through the silent and darkened hallways of the passenger liner, Harrak. They had sidled up to the ship in Raptor 442. The pilot's callsign was "'Downtown'". Cru knew him from the 33 minutes/rinse/lather/repeat days after the Cylon attack. Downtown chased down him and Bree's Twin and led them back to the fleet.
Weapons were up, locked, loaded, and ready for business. Gentry lead the team deep into the ship's understructure. Cru and a second marine brought up the rear in a command/overwatch position. Gentry halted the team while he checked their bearings on a tablet. Cru did the same with his tablet between scanning the shadows and listening with his senses piqued for anything untoward.
Gentry wore a tactical headset with boom-mic. His voice was whispered as he spoke. "Point says it's clear, sir."
Cru wore the same style of headset. "Understood," he said back to Gentry in the same low voice. "Move your people forward. Do the needful."
"Yes sir."
The group moved forward again, towards a door forty feet up the corridor. There was a marine positioned ahead of Cru who signaled back the movements.
"Major, how 'bout you walk behind me?" whispered the marine with Cru. "Sargeant Gentry says if you die, he'll have my ass."
Cru gave a light chuckle. "Alright, PFC, do lead the way - and ask the good Sargeant if I get training wheels while we're at it."
"Sir?" said the marine with a little confusion.
Cru shook his head indicating the marine should forget it. "Go ahead, Marine."
The team of nine, Cru and two marine fire teams, moved slowly and quietly forward.
Cru tapped the marine on the shoulder. "Lights out. Someone's coming up from behind."
Like a well-oiled machine, the team of nine backed into the shadows and silently took up positions. Within moments, the hallway, in the low light and shadows, seemed quiet and abandoned.
Thirty seconds ticked by while someone slowly made their way toward the hidden team, A tall fellow of medium build, with a beard, mustache, and unkept hair, whistled a tune as he made his way past all nine marines without realizing he was being watched. He stopped at the door across from where Gentry and a Lance Corporal named Lauftin waited.
"Dumb-ass mother-frakkers," said the fellow. His name was Breck. "You're Frakking ice-pops now, ain't ya?" Breck seemed to be addressing whoever was behind the door. His tone fell under the categories of mocking and derisive.
"Damn…" said Cru quietly to himself. He had a thought and it wasn't a good one.
The whole reason the team had silently boarded the passenger liner was that the mixed passengers had separated into their own colonies with Taurons being the largest represented. The smallest population was the Sagittarons with some fifty-three adults, young adults, and children. The ship's captain could not say when, but at some point, the Sagittarons were just gone. This information had made its way back to the president's ear. She flagged the newly-promoted Admiral Adama to act on it quickly and on the hush. Cru and two fire teams, nine members total, was the Admiral's response. The mission was for information-gathering but the use of deadly force was authorized if needed. The area where Cru, Gentry, and the team moved through was said to be run by an intimidating thug calling himself the "Deg'alldif Thora'g" in the old Tauronic, otherwise known as "Chief Warlord".
Cru could see the door was sturdy enough for pressure and had the locking hardware for it. Above the door was a sign in blue block letters with the word, "Staging". Cru had studied the ship's details before the mission. They had arrived at the staging bay near the ship's main hold. It was a room that could be depressurized and opened to the outside, for the quick on-loading and off-loading of cargo and supplies. Breck had called whoever was in there, "frakking ice-pops". In Cru's mind, he could think of only one thing meant by it.
"Take him," said Cru into his mic.
In a short heartbeat, Gentry and Lauftin sprung out from concealment caught hold of Breck, and slammed him up against the bulkhead. The marine next to Cru immediately knelt low and covered the rear approach with his rifle. Another marine up by Gentry did the same for the forward approach.
Lauftin took a quick glance through the door's small window and stopped there as if caught in place.
"Lauftin?" called Gentry as he held Breck and others secured him. "SitRep?"
Lauftin gave a slight shaking of his head as he stared through the window. "They're all dead."
The Staging Bay had no containers and was mostly empty except for fifty-three bodies, from young to old, gathered by the door and a second larger door to the left. Even frozen and covered in ice crystals, the Sagittaron facial features were evident on many. The simple garbs of neutral and rustic colors marked them all as one.
Cru and Gentry moved the team swiftly through the ship's interior and tracked down the alleged "Deg'alldif Thora'g". They exchanged small-arms fire with a thicket of defenders and broke through too late to stop Cal Sedlen-Dormer, the self-proclaimed warlord, from taking his life and others around him with a hand grenade.
~~~~~/~~~~~
The trip back to Pegasus was unbroken by words, except for the pilot lining up and landing his raptor. The men and woman marines who made up the strike force were silently coping with the mission's horrors. Cru took the time to start writing his report.
~~~~~/~~~~~
Bree's Twin
That evening, late
"What's wrong?" said Evvie.
"Tough day."
"You're wearing your training sweats. Where's your uniform?"
Cru had been wearing his uniform as he and others helped gather up the Sagittaron people and bring them over to the Galactica for final interment. The resultant mess of the bodies as they thawed, rendered his uniform unusable.
"It was tough on the uniform, too," said Cru without looking. "I have others."
Cru had entered onto the receiving deck through the access portal. He closed and sealed the hatch with his back to Evvie. He clicked on the mic, told the raptor pilot on the other side she was clear to disengage, and thanked her for the shuttle over.
Cru locked the access against unwanted visitors - those who might sneak over for a midnight raid on the crop gardens. When Cru turned back to the room, Evvie was there in his direct path. She sensed the strain in Cru's tone and the way he carried himself - the slow deliberate movements, the tired posture, and the distracted but focused look on his face - if two such descriptions could be used together. Her eyes sought answers in his eyes, but she 'treaded lightly' with them.
"A tough day is not so uncommon," said Evvie. "You want to talk?"
Cru spoke no words as he stared at Evvie. His 'tough day' was a reminder of what people and hate were capable of doing. As always, it was the children lost that weighed so heavy on him. He had seen other such acts in the military, especially in the asteroid belts when arriving after raids on one faction by another. It was nothing he ever wanted to remember.
"Okay, Hon, come with me," said Evvie as she took him by the hand. Cru did not resist as she lead him away. He was tired and drained and emotionally spent. Evvie didn't need to know the details. She didn't need to guess at them. She knew Cru was working out something in his mind that wanted to break down into strong emotions. "Let's get you settled."
~~~~~/~~~~~
Author notes while writing
I feel like "logical precedence" is driving me. Cru can't avoid military service. His no-fly status seemed foolish with the chronic lack of pilots. He is ordered to take command of the Marines which seems like a no-brainer. I don't think he would have a choice in these things so I don't feel I have one. Commanding the Marines is not where I intended to go, but it does get him onto the Pegasus where I will need him in the future.
The writing is getting dark - more so than I want. In the show, we see humanity falling apart by how the pilots and crews act - Lee and Kara being frustrated and angry and questioning decisions, Tyrol and Helo, etc. We see the falling apart of command aboard ship but not so much out in the fleet, which I think must be far worse.
I don't remember seeing women marines over on Pegasus and I didn't rewatch the related episodes to check. But, it seems like something Cain would do to remove anyone she might feel compelled to treat differently. Side note - I've done work for tough women leaders who I thought were extra brutal on their women subordinates.