Battlestar Ajax,
36 hours after Fall of Twelve Colonies
Commander King strode back into the CIC after catching six hours of rack-time.
"Colonel, how's the ship been in my absence?" he asked.
"The Reunion has exited our starboard flight pod and there wasn't any damage like Major Burr was worried about on the upper surface of the pod."
King nodded in acknowledgment. "Good. Continue."
"Well, the passengers of the Reunion have been relocated to the other ships but we're going to have to find them a more permanent place. Most of of them are living in cargo holds."
"They're going to have to tough it out for now, but send officers over to the passenger liners to see if they can scrape up any more space in the cabins. What else?" replied King.
Looking down at a piece of note paper, the XO continued.
"The crew we sent over to Reunion have pulled most of its salvageable parts but said that most of it was useless junk. The ship apparently didn't have the best maintenance chief and pretty much everything was more rust than steel. They said it was maybe a month of space duty or one atmospheric landing before it disintegrated."
King shook his head in disappointment. "Gods damn it. I was hoping we'd get something useful from it. What about the civilian ships? They give passenger counts yet?"
Siler flipped a page in his notebook and nodded.
"7617 plus 1854 from the Reunion puts our total count at 9471 men, women, and children. Enough food and water aboard those ships to keep the civilians alive for two months when you take into account their Reunion passengers."
King shook his head. "Two months is not a lot of time in space."
"Agreed, but one of the civilian ships, the Spectrum, is an agricultural ship. Right now its growing an assortment of roses and trees, but, do you remember a few months ago when that Aerilon company started selling cloned seeds?"
King nodded, vaguely remembering reading it somewhere.
"Yeah, well apparently, that drove normal seed prices way down for a few weeks."
King interrupted him. "Colonel this is all fascinating," he said sarcastically, "but how does it relate to our food supplies?"
"Well, the super cruise ship, called the Harmony, the biggest civilian ship, its operating company bought up all the cheep seed it could for a garden it lets its passengers operate. The thing is apparently pretty big. Anyway, they bought up a three year supply and froze it. They've got corn, tomato, and wheat seeds. A one year supply for the fleet including us."
Commander King smiled at that, happy they wouldn't have to worry about food shortages and rationing for almost a year. "What about our stores? How are we on food, water, and ammunition?"
"Well, our water tanks are all topped off. However, food is going to be slightly larger problem. One of our food storage bays was affected by the nuke and a lot had to be jettisoned into space so we lost ever a third of our food supplies.
King became worried. His XO had put off the ammunition report. "And our munitions stores?"
"We used a lot of ordinance in the battle and we had to transfer a lot of our Point Defense Gun ammunition to Athena on the third day of patrol after their armories suffered a corrosive chemical spill and those are obviously gone. Plus, someone fouled up at Supply and we never received a full resupply on ammunition."
"How bad?" asked the Commander.
"Bad. Eight nukes and enough ammunition for twenty minutes of fighting at most."
"Gods, twenty minutes?"
"And even that's stretching it."
Commander King looked down in frustration. Because of some desk-jockey frak-up,his ship was in danger of running out of ammunition in the middle of their next firefight.
"What about our ammunition manufacturing facilities?" Siler shook his head.
"We just don't have the raw materials."
"Have you checked for isolated Colonial armories?" The XO nodded and grabbed a scrap of paper off the tactical display.
"Its called Armag Station. It was originally supposed to support ships traveling between mining colonies in the asteroid belts of nearby systems and Scorpia. Last report had enough ammunition inside to fill our armories as well as the Delphi's and more."
"I know there's a catch." There was always a catch. Experience had taught him that.
"Thee Cylon Basestars reported near it before reports stopped. They may have moved off or-"
"Or they may have destroyed it." finished King. Siler nodded.
"Alright, we'll send a Raptor to perform a recon. I don't want to jump in blind. Set it up. I'm going down to sickbay to visit our and Delphi's wounded."
Siler saluted and began preparations for the Raptor sortie.
Leaving the CIC, Commander King walked down the long hallways of his ship. As he strode through he looked at his crew. Many moving faster than they had before, moving with a purpose.
Though his crew hadn't been much in the way of slacking before the attack, they had lacked motivation. They simply went about their duties because it meant a paycheck.
Now they had a reason to move the slightest bit faster, to jog when they could walk. To double check when they weren't sure. To volunteer for the occasional detail.
However, they were also demoralized. They moved because they were scared and angry. Almost all had lost a friend, a loved one, or a family member.
It was his hope he'd be able to use that in a way to prevent his crew from making reckless decisions.
Before he even reached the medical bay he began to smell death. He could smell death in the air. When he rounded the final corner and entered the final hallway leading to the Medical Bay, he was greeted by a horrifying sight.
There were gurneys filled with wounded Colonials. Blood covered the floor and orderlies were running about frantically.
Commander King didn't say anything. He simply walked among them, being constantly pushed and shoved out of the way. The interior of the medical bay was even worse. Apparently there wasn't enough room in the dedicated Operating Rooms so surgeries were being performed with little more than plastic sheets around them.
He had seen countless men die in battle. In the Cylon War, he had been a Viper pilot and served aboard the Battlestar Athena, one of the original twelve Battlestars and the one that had represented Picon.
During that time, he had seen things that usually only resided in horror movies. During one of the many boardings of Athena, he had seen a Centurion who had run out of ammunition, rip a man's arms off his body. It had then used the arms to beat him and a fellow soldier to death before it had been destroyed.
Such acts of violence had hardened him and instilled a feeling of hate towards the Cylons. At that moment, the experiences of the Cylon War were the only things preventing him from vomiting.
He stood still for a moment to compose himself before moving on. He entered the Recovery Wing of the medical bay and found the person he was looking for.
Doctor Richard Stern, Chief Medical Officer of Ajax, rushed by Commander King until he grabbed his arm.
"Major, what the hell is going on in here? Why are there patients is the hallways?"
The normally strong figure of the tall, dark-skinned Gemonese man looked haggard and tired. His eyes were bloodshot and bags had formed under his eyes.
"Commander, they're in the halls because we don't have enough room in here for them! I have nine doctors, thirty nurses, and over six hundred patients. I'm running out of pain medication, gauze, antibacterials, and everything else."
"I'm sorry but half the civilian ships don't have medical bays! What do you want me to do, leave them to die on their ships?" he asked.
The tired Doctor sighed and covered his eyes with his hands. When he pulled them away there was blood on his forehead. Dr. Stern then looked King dead in the eye.
"That's not what I'm saying." Stern leaned in to whisper into the Commander's ear. "What I'm saying is we can't handle another instance like this. We're gonna hove to scrape the civilian ships for med supplies if you want to keep this room anything but a morgue."
"Speaking of which, where are you storing the dead?" he asked.
"Storage Bay Six." With that the Doctor quickly left to answer a young nurse's plea for help.
It was a short walk to Storage Bay Six. Inside were at least 200 bodies draped in Colonial flags. There were three Marines inside taking down information from the deceased.
He walked over to the only desk in the cavernous room where a Marine sat, pen in hand copying the information onto official logs.
"What's the count?" he asked. Apparently the Marine hadn't noticed him and immediately came to attention and saluted, in the process knocking over his metal chair. The disturbance caused the other two two snap salutes as well.
"As you were." The other two marines continued their grim work an the first man relaxed.
"What's the count?" King asked somberly. The black-clad marine righted his chair and sat back down.
"Right now we have 481 and counting. Major Stern told us to expect at up to 100 more."
King nodded somberly. "Carry on." he said to the Marine. Before he walked out, he looked back once more at the long lines of flags. Bowing his head, he walked out of the cavernous chamber.
He walked slowly back to the CIC without saying a word. As he entered he walked to the tactical display in the center of the room.
"Colonel Siler, I want you to contact the Captains of the other ships, including Captain Lawrence, and have them come aboard. When they arrive send them to the Pilot Ready Room."
"Yes sir. The Captains of several of the ships have been asking for just that."
King walked out of the CIC and headed to his personal quarters, leaving the ship in the capable hands of Colonel Siler.
When he entered his room, he immediately shed his tunic and tossed it aside. He grabbed a bottle of ambrosia and a glass and sat down at his desk. He poured himself a drink and reclined, the old chair creaking as he did so.
After downing his first glass and pouring himself another he stared at the two photos on his desk. The first was of his family during a hiking trip they had taken several years prior in the Picon wilderness.
The photo had been taken when they were standing on the top of a cliff overlooking a beautiful valley covered with trees with a pristine blue river running through the center. His mother, father, and brother were standing while him and his sister were kneeling in front of them.
The other was of him and his lifelong friend Brian Harris. They had grown up together and when the time came, they both entered the Fleet together. They passed flight school together and, in a one-in-a-million coincidence, they were posted to the same Escort as their first assignment.
However, that was long ago, and everyone else in those photos, with the exception of himself, was dead. For almost an hour, King just stared at the photos, downing another two drinks in the process.
Finally, the telephone on the wall beside his desk rang and he picked it up as he sat his drink down.
"Commander, the civilian Captains are aboard and waiting for you in the Ready Room," said Lieutenant Riden.
"Alright, thank you lieutenant. Tell them I'll be with them in a moment."
"Yes sir," replied the young officer. King heard him hang up and did likewise. Sighing, the Commander rose and put his blue tunic back on. He exited his dark room and headed towards the Ready Room.
As he walked through the halls he felt the alcohol's effect on his body. He forced himself to walk straight without swaying.
When he entered the Ready Room, a large room with enough seating for two squadrons at a time, he saw the front of the room held bickering civilians in all manner of dress.
Captain Fairbanks, his CAG, was attempting to keep them civil and was actually holding two men apart. The men actually looked like they were about to come to blows.
"Gentlemen." he said in a calm voice. Immediately all eyes snapped to him, and he could swear he saw relief in Captain Fairbanks' face. Almost as soon as he made his presence known the civilians approached him.
They also began shouting all sorts of things. Considering there were only seven men and women among them, it was an impressive noise.
The aged Commander held up his hands and waited for them to calm.
"Now, if you're done, perhaps we can get down to business?" he propositioned. The civilians slowly sat down in the front seats and he moved behind the podium at the front of the room and Captain Fairbanks moved beside him.
"Now, I'm sure you all have questions and requests and I'd like to hear them. But before that, let there be no doubt. We are at war, and the civilian government is gone. Therefore, I am officially declaring martial law."
As he said that, the civilians began to whisper among themselves. Several shook their heads.
"Having said that," he said, holding up his hand, "I don't intend to rule every aspect of your lives. Your ships are still your ships and I'm not going to appoint some of my men and women to Captain them instead of you."
This seemed to put them at ease and he decided to continue. "My Executive Officer has been collecting requests and manifests, but I'd like to hear from you directly. First, would you begin, Mrs?" he said, pointing to a short, dark haired Asian women on his far right.
"Sharon Williams, Captain of the Colonial Mover Lightning." King nodded, remembering the ship.
"Ah yes, you were carrying furniture and paper to Canceron, right?" The young woman nodded.
"Yes sir. We also had a load of refrigeration units. I would like to draw attention to the fact that my fuel reserves are dangerously low," she said, shooting one of the other Captains a murderous glance.
"Well, if I remember correctly, there is a Tylium transport in the fleet." He looked around inquisitively at the other civilians and one rather pudgy, pale man stood. He wore a cheap suit and was sitting at least a seat away from the closest Captain.
"Yes, that's my ship, the Titan. And I'm afraid I'm not authorized to release any of that Tylium."
"And you are?"
"Harry Reed."
"Mr. Reed, there's absolutely no reason you need to keep that much Tylium locked up in storage bays while these ships die." Before he had even finished Reed was shaking his head.
"I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do. The Tylium doesn't belong to me, it belongs to Tylium Mobile. I can't give away what's not mine."
"Mr. Reed, Tylium Mobile no longer exists."
"Even if that's true, I still cannot release a single ounce of Tylium." Clearly this man was unwilling to give an inch.
"Mr. Reed, if you cannot release the Tylium, then I'm afraid I will have to commandeer it. You have six hours to begin fueling the other ships before Marines will be sent to recover it." Commander King was in no mood to play around.
The short man sat down with a huff, but said nothing further.
Before he could continue the meeting, the phone on the wall of the Ready Room rang. Captain Fairbanks moved to answer it and after a moment, said, "It's for you Commander."
Picking up the phone, the Commander said, "King here." On the other side was Colonel Siler's voice which sounded slightly shaken.
"Commander, I need to talk to you in person. Right now. Its urgent."
"Alright I'm on my way." Turning to the curious faces of the others in the room, he said, "I'm afraid I will have to hand this briefing off to Captain Fairbanks. I'm needed elsewhere."
King rushed to the CIC and when he entered he saw Lieutenant Riden, Colonel Siler, and a pilot in her flight suit looking over pictures on the Tactical display.
"What's so urgent it warranted me leaving the civilian Captains?" The three Colonials looked at him with concern and worry on their faces.
King looked down at the pictures and instantly realized they were from one of the reconnaissance flights they had been running over the various Colonies.
The pictures were close-ups of a large group of buildings surrounded by a fence. The buildings themselves were long, steel structures and were organized in nine long rows surrounding a circular courtyard in the center of the compound. The buildings each had one end at the center and one end near the edge of camp.
"What am I looking at here?" he asked. The pilot spoke up.
"Sir, this was taken on Picon's Northern Hemisphere near the equator. I managed to get some extremely high resolution photos. They show a large concentration of Centurions in this camp." This confused him.
"Why are the Cylons operating a camp on the surface?" They already had Basestars to launch any number of fighters or deploy of Centurions, why did they need a ground base?"
Then Colonel Siler spoke. "That's not the reason we needed you here." The Colonel then handed him a series of photos taken at three different times during the day. The first showed a large concentration of dots that didn't shine like the Centurions.
The second showed a line of these dots heading toward a large trench. The last photo showed the line coming back. It was then what he realized he was looking at. He picked up the second photo and looked really closely.
He realized the dots weren't just digging a trench. They were digging graves. He looked in horror to his XO who nodded grimly.
"Greg, its a gods-damned concentration camp."
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