Battlestar Galactica Fan Fiction Story
Battlestar Group 41
Those next few hours really tested my abilities to lead, manage, and run a ship. I always made fun of my peers that went to War College then on to other career enhancing programs. I always looked at provisional schools as nothing more than more time doing something I didn't care for. I figured that I didn't get paid more for being a CAG or an XO so I didn't care. I was beginning to understand a lot that day, including how my friends got the positions they did. That day I learned why those schools were important.
A medical team had retrieved David from the NAO corridor and bandaged up everyone in the CIC, including myself. From reports, triage had slowed and higher risk patients were being operated on. The first estimate had around 300 dead, with another 800 missing. It shocked me because the Craton's normal operating crew was around 1500. Aside from the lives lost, the ship herself was hurt. Raptors eyeballing the damage had reported the forward port side of the ship was damaged so severely it would take weeks in dry dock to fix. We didn't have weeks. Furthermore, the damaged communications array was located in that section.
We figured out a lot over those few hours. Ensign Stevens had uploaded the old CNP and plotted our position. I had jumped us over half a light-year from our last position in orbit of Virgon. The computer had calculated we were in the void between our solar system and the outer edge of the Prolmar Sector. We were too far out for a short range broadcast so I ordered a Raptor to make multiple jumps back to the remaining colonies to inform them of the CNP weakness.
I stayed in the CIC and went over all the remaining information we received during the short battle. I pieced together that the Atlantia was hit by two nukes. She survived the first, but the second went right up her starboard flight pod. The resulting explosion's concussive energy is what knocked the Craton the first time. The damage control team reported low level radiation in the bow, so we didn't get hit by a nuke. They did detect hull fragments from another ship, most likely the Atlantia. The evidence led us to believe, after the shock wave from the Atlantia hit us, a big chunk of its flight pod broke off and impacted us. That impact was the second, more powerful, jolt we felt.
With 800 people missing, we assumed that they were in the forward sections that breached and vented atmosphere. Of the 300 dead, most fatalities were head trauma and smoke related. The 400 survivors did all they could to repair our crippled vessel. I intended to fix the ship, and go back for any survivors. The armories were still full and undamaged, but we couldn't get to our most important offensive weapon, the Main Forward Batteries. Through all the automation, we couldn't do anything if the physical connections between the computers and components were broken or severed. And most of our guns were not responding to digital commands. I didn't care to go back for anyone, but it was expected of me so I pressed on.
My brain stacked in order what we needed to do next. With engineering good to go, we had to get in those forward sections. I had teams outside welding holes, and teams inside going compartment by compartment. A repair team would enter a decompressed compartment, weld the fractures (if they could) then do a compression cycle. After they determined enough pressure was being maintained, they moved on to the next section and repeated the process. I was not concerned with slow leaks just as long as the compartment didn't rapidly decompress. The process was slow, but it worked. On the lighter side of things, continual reports were coming in of survivors in sealed compartments.
With repairs well underway, I stole half an hour to myself. I wanted to get cleaned up. I had a bag of clothes and personal items, but they were in a locker in the forward sections. I didn't have any quarters on the Craton because I wasn't assigned to the ship. When I thought that, I looked down at where Sheraton's body was a few hours ago, and I immediately realized I did have quarters, the Commanders Quarters. After secretly referencing a map (I was embarrassed) I gave the CIC to Ensign Stevens and retreated out the sliding glass doors located on the smaller parallel wall in the trapezoidal room. The corridor jigged and jagged left and right. Lights were busted and some were flickering like strobes. I remember being surprised at how empty it was, then I realized there were only about 400 people alive, and everyone was busy repairing the ship.
After stepping through a secure hatch, I saw the Commanders Quarters. The opaque glass double sliding doors were located at the very end of the corridor. When I approached them, I noticed the stenciling on the glass COMMANDER RONDA SHERATON. Seeing her name made me gulp. I entered a workaround code in the keypad and the doors slid open for me. Then they slid shut again after I was inside. The room was a mess. Her personal effects were everywhere. The fluorescent lights had busted over the glass table in the middle of the room. I walked further into the quarters, past the guest area, and into her office. Again, things were everywhere. The glass desk was overturned and files were thrown everywhere. The lamp that was on the desk was flickering.
I walked into the small hatch behind the office and found myself in her bedroom. A single bed (well made of course) and a night stand with a lamp and a few controls were in one corner. In the other corner was a wall locker. I saw pictures of her family in frames all over the floor, and I remember refusing to look at them. When I entered the bathroom and hit the light, I was shocked at the man looking back at me. I had blood all over my face. My hair was matted with dry sweat and blood. I had scorch marks around my neck and over my uniform. My uniform sleeve was cut off and I had a Velcro cast on my broken arm. I saw that I had clear streaks down my face where I cried. I realized I looked like everyone else on the ship. I looked like I just survived the end of the world.
My dad set me up on the counter in the bathroom of our town home. I was so scared that day. While I pouted, I heard him wetting a rag in the sink. Then, using his big burly hands, he lifted my chin and looked down at me. The big man that was my dad always towered over me. "Kiddo, we are alive, and thats what matters." I turned to look into the mirror as he rubbed my face. I was covered in ash and soot. As he wiped away the dirt, I realized the importance of what he said.
I looked into that mirror while I ran the sink over a rag. Just as I began to clean myself up a bit, I said out loud to myself "we are alive, and that is what matters."