Chapter 3. A Brief Calm
Freighter Bill Thurston 12. – Helios Beta System, Approaching Virgon.
Interlocking his fingers, Marel Banners, the second mate on the whale-like commercial freighter, yawned and stretched his arms as far he could before releasing them with a forced sigh. He smiled as he checked the course, only a few more hours till port, then 3 days off. This trip couldn't end soon enough for him; savoring the thought of leave, he was about to ask Parah, the Chief Mate, if they could open up the throttle a tenth or two. To hell with the Tylium, they could always buy more he thought. An icon on his console began to blink red for his attention. Frowning slightly, he slipped on his headset before toggling the com system on.
Three loud buzzes sounded before an automated voice began. "Attention. This is an Emergency Broadcast from the Colonial Aerospace Administration, This Is Not a Test. All civilian ships in the Helios Beta Star System are to hold position until further notice. Regular traffic may resume after an All Clear Signal is sent. Do not approach the planets Virgon, Leonis, or any other Colonial Port in the Helios Beta System under any circumstances."
Seeing the man suddenly stiffen, Parah waited for the twenty-something year old Navigator and Com officer's report. Just slightly concerned, Parah gruffly queried the officer, "Well?"
Confusion and a hint of aggravation on his face, Marel turned to his superior, "C.A.A. has ordered all ships in this system to hold position."
"Mr. Banners, please play the message over the speakers." He looked down, quickly bringing up information from the communication servers and DRADIS scanners. His review finished moments later, Parah grabbed the corded phone from the side of the chair and quickly relayed the message to the Captain. With a grunt, the seasoned officer got up and crossed to the helm station, "Mr. Evans, bring the ship to a complete stop. Mr. Banners, please send our position to Virgon Control." He paused a moment, waiting for confirmation that his orders had been carried out. "All right people, now we wait."
Odin Hangar Deck
In the hangar, orange covered crewman wielding wrenches, spanners, and tablets were swarming over every one of the twenty Vipers and the two remaining Raptors assigned to the Odin. Three groups of two-man teams weaved and wound their way thru planes and other obstructions in the hangar as they each manhandled a large fuel line dispensing critical Tylium to each plane. To the left a small legion of crewmen in red-coveralls was determinedly pushing several carts loaded with missiles or carrying countless rounds of bullets to be loaded onto each craft. There were small groups of yellow-clad crew men standing to the side, waiting their turn to move the planes into position. Dispersed throughout, safety officers dressed in white watched over their flock. And in the center stood a diminutive copper-haired woman, barking seemingly random, but specifically-directed orders to the players waltzing through the massive hangar.
Derek paused a moment before carefully crossing the space towards his Viper. He had just gotten to it, ducking under the wing. He was inspecting the starboard missile rack when a very sharp, "Captain!" cut thru the background cacophony of noise that dominated the hangar. He turned his head, a mix of determination and aggravation shown on Chief Jung's face.
"Captain!" she barked again, stalking towards him "While I appreciate your dedication, this is not the best time!" Quickly closing the distance between them, she came to a stop before finishing dismissively, "Sir."
Looking down at her, Derek stuttered for a second, before sheepishly uttering, "I uh, thought I… never mind."
Swishing her hands at him she kiddingly scolded, "Go! Go! Go!"
"Right, if any of the other pilots come, send them to the ready room. Thanks."
"No problem Captain, thank you for getting out of my hair!" she smiled back and gave a brief curtsy for effect. Suddenly, she snapped her head to the left, her body immediately following, "Marcelli! You Frack Wit!" Derek watched her storm across the hangar deck, "We just put that Gods-Damned Reaction Control Thruster back together!"
Making a hasty retreat, he went a few meters down the corridor, finally reaching a small hatch on his left, a black placard to the right of the handle read "Pilots Ready Room". He pulled the hatch open and quickly ducked through and into the dark room. The lights came on automatically as he entered. The floor sloped down slightly towards the front. Derek squared his shoulders as the weight of the room pressed on him. Ten rows of chairs bisected by a narrow walkway filled the room; the walls along the sides were decorated with framed prints and rosters of the current and former squadrons who had called the Odin home. Long and narrow, the room was large enough to accommodate 80. Muted lighting, tan walls, and an onyx tiled floor conveyed a serious and contemplative atmosphere to its occupants.
He reached the lectern and switched on the computer. There were several screens in front of him, each one designed to display different types of information. Typing his security clearance into the computer, he would be able to access any information, orders, and communications that were necessary.
He walked to the poster which displayed the current squadron serving aboard the Odin. Three bronze stylized chevrons were depicted "flying" out of the frame. Large italicized letters above the picture read "FC 215 - Deltas", below the logo, in smaller print was a list of the pilots and crew for the squadron. His name, call-sign, and position were centered above the rest.
The intercom chirped, "Attention, Captain Robinaux, contact C.I.C. immediately. Repeat, Captain Robinaux, contact C.I.C. immediately."
He picked up the receiver and pushed the activation button, "This is Captain Robinaux, please patch me through to C.I.C. Thank you."
Lt. Sampson's voice came thru the line, "Captain, please turn your monitor to channel 3 for conference with Actual."
Turning on the monitor Derek found that the Commander, the Colonel, and Major Barclay were waiting for him. "Captain, we have just received orders" he paused, sharing a troubled look with the Colonel next to him, "Fleet HQ at Picon has been destroyed, we are heading to Virgon. Admiral Nagala is taking command of the fleet there."
Derek reviewed the information that was scrolling across the screen next to him. The data seemed not surreal, but impossible, a terrible dream that could never actually happen. Numbly, the officers discussed this nightmare as if it were fact, and within 10 minutes, had roughed out a plan of action, their collective best for entering the fray.
Freighter Bill Thurston 12. – Bridge
Standing behind the helmsman, Rebecca Davenport glared through the forward windows. Buzzing chaotically in the background, disorganized, broken, and garbled wireless messages called out quietly through the main speakers, more often than not, contradicting each other. "I can't see shit," she growled. Not that she expected to see anything, but she knew that it was better than continuing to pace through the cramped bridge. She took a deep breath, in an attempt to calm the storm of emotions raging through her. "So? Anything?" she asked in a clipped huff.
Marel Banners looked to Parah, as if for reassurance before answering. "Not a word skipper. We are maintaining position outside of Virgon per C.A.A. orders." He waited while her entire body seemed to coil in frustration, then release as she made a choking sound in resignation. "We're getting a lot of cross talk on the wireless, none of it good though."
"Well, what are you getting?" She scowled, while hard work, blunt honesty, and vulgar humor came naturally to her, patience did not.
To her surprise, Parah answered for the nervous navigator. Short and hefty, in his mid-fifties, her Chief Mate was a fellow retired Colonial Officer. "Well, if you're to believe the nonsense on the radio, you'd think that there's a war on, and the fleet is being slaughtered." He paused, his blue eyes hardening, "That's crap though; DRADIS and wireless signals indicate at least three separate C.D.F. battle groups in system. That's a hell of a lot of firepower." Puffing his chest out in self-importance, his square head now focused down, directly at her, "If you ask me, there's been some sort of disaster, my bet is another terrorist attack." He raised his hands, "Some of those damn 'freedom fighters'," pantomiming quotation marks with his fingers he snorted.
Rolling her eyes, "Don't forget, Parah, most of us on this ship, myself included, are related to some of those 'freedom fighters'" she replied icily, complete with air quotes. "Now then, am I correct in assuming that we are too far out of system for effective DRADIS coverage?" she asked, while walking to the back of the cramped bridge.
"Uh, yes ma'am" replied the navigator, sounding even more timid than usual.
"Very well, continue monitoring the wireless and DRADIS, I'll be back in a few minutes." With that, she turned her back to the crew and quickly proceeded out of the hatch towards the officer's mess.
Odin – Pilot's Ready Room
Singly at first, then in small groups of three to five, the crew members of Odin's air wing began filing into the room. The usual banter and bravado between the men and women of the squadron was gone, replaced by sorrow, anger, shock, and determination. Derek cleared his throat briefly. Behind him and to his right, a screen displayed the Helios Beta star system. Home to the colonies of Leonis and Virgon, a large asteroid belt separated the interior Leonis from its forested rival. "Let me have your eyes." he paused momentarily, finding everyone already at attention. "We will be joining the fight at Virgon." A brief pause, he continued, "Admiral Nagala has interposed his fleet along this line between the Cylons and the planet." Green circles lit on the screen behind him indicating the position of the enormous Colonial fleet. Flashing red pentagons facing them indicated the Cylons. We will be rejoining the Battlestar Ajax and the rest of Battlestar Group 43, as well as the Battlestars Columbia, Erasmus, Jupiter, Mercury and their support vessels." He paused a moment to appraise the demeanor of the soldiers under his command. "We will trap the Cylon fleet between Virgon and the Ouranos Asteroid Belt". Additional green circles flashed into existence on the outside of the asteroid belt. "This will allow us to neutralize any surviving Cylon units, protect Leonis and other core assets from interior incursions, and deny the Cylons refuge in the asteroid field."
Most of the flight crews were taking notes, others nodding their heads, a few with vengeance in their eyes were ready to bolt to their Vipers. "Our mission is to engage any Raiders, and other small support craft, be that landing craft, air control craft, etc." He spent the next few minutes summarizing the details of their attack, ordinance types and amounts being loaded onto the Vipers and Raptors, and the little bit of information that they had on their opponents. When he finished, Derek deliberately scanned across the room and back. "Today, the Cylons drew first blood, and it was our blood." The schematics of the Cylon craft behind him were replaced with photos of the four Raptor crewman lost at Armistice Station. A simmering rage began to burn deep inside, with both hands tightly grabbing the top of the podium he growled. "Remember your duty, stay with your wing-man, if you lose your wing-man, find another, and let's make gods-damned sure, that we repay our losses earlier today in spades!" He paused one last time, releasing the podium; he placed his hands at his side as he stalked in front of the lectern. His head straight, eyes hard and determined, he seemed to look every pilot and service member in the eye at once. "History will record that the first shots of this war were fired upon members of the Escort Cruiser Odin. I would like for history to record that Odin fired the last shots."
"SO SAY WE ALL!" Every soldier in the room thundered in unison, the narrow walls and hard ceiling and floor amplifying their cry of solidarity. "SO SAY WE ALL!" Derek joined the third and final chorus, his deep voice pushing through the others, "SO SAY WE ALL!"
"Then man your planes, and let's kill some Fracking Toasters!" Derek watched as the group stormed out of the ready room in a barely controlled rush. Derek followed them down the hall, within moments they were swarming thru the hangar deck.
Upon reaching his Mark VII Viper, Derek began a quick walk around of his plane, checking the engines, their mounts, scanners, and landing gear. His hands stopped when he reached the starboard cannon, his fingers softly padding the barrel, quietly reassuring himself and his plane that they were ready to fire their first shots in anger. He dipped under the wing, checking the missiles latched underneath, then scrambled below, checking the port side missiles and finally, pausing again at the port side cannon. He forcefully squeezed the barrel of the gun before emerging from below. His resolved steeled, he swiftly climbed the ladder and gracefully slipped into the cockpit.
A second set of hands appeared from the right, fingers quickly connecting data cords and life support cables from his suit to the plane. When complete, he and his Viper would nearly be one, each taking cues from the other, prodding and supporting the other when needed. Only together, could man and machine hope to save their friends and families. He gave a quick thumb's up to the deck hand, who responded with a quick salute before scrambling down the ladder as the canopy closed down over his head. Derek, immersed in his preflight checklist, barely noticed the four yellow clad crewmen, hooking his Viper to the tractor, slowly pushing him through the airlock and into the launch tube in front of him. His Viper came to a sudden stop, pale bluish-white lights along the ceiling and recessed into the walls dimly illuminated the long triangular tube in front of him.
A quiet beep signaled through his helmet speakers, "Attention all hands, this is the Commander. In a few moments, we will be jumping to Virgon to aid our brothers in this desperate battle." The Commander paused for affect "Trust your training and your fellow crew, and we will come through this together. Prepare for immediate combat jump on my mark."
He reached into the pocket on his left breast, carefully retrieving a small picture and tape. Reaching to the only bare spot in the cockpit in front of him, he softly posted it, before gently tracing the outline of his wife and daughter staring back at him.