Chapter 8. Safe harbor
Bill Thurston 12 – Bridge
Rebecca sat quietly on the bridge considering her next move. They had been hiding undetected in the asteroid belt for almost an hour, but that would change soon. Seething in anger, she fruitlessly searched for any way to reach her home. Shifting in her seat, she held her head as if in pain. She desperately wanted to go to Sagittaron. She knew there were survivors, and she would cram every last one that she could on board. But there was no way her ship, 'an unarmed cow', as Parah had described it, could make the trip and survive, she thought bitterly. Patrols of Cylon Raiders were already getting too close for comfort. Grudgingly, she admitted that she was out of options, and that it was time to go. Grabbing the phone's receiver at her chair, she depressed the buttons to connect her with Cargo Hold 5.
A gruff voice answered immediately, "Hold Five, Gammons."
"What's your status, Parah?" she asked curtly.
"We are all set here, Captain." He paused a moment, "All life pods and refugees have been secured."
"What was the final count?" She waited, hoping for some good news.
"Including Captain Robinaux, we recovered 21 life pods, three Vipers, and one Raptor. We were able to pick up 180 survivors and 139 victims for a total of 319 souls."
She closed her eyes briefly as she absorbed the number of dead. Quietly, she replied, "I was hoping there would be more survivors."
"Yeah we all were." He paused a moment, "Most of the life pods were damaged. They mostly died of exposure. Gods willing, it was quick."
Suppressing a shudder she quietly recited, "So say we all." Looking at the DRADIS screen, she brought the receiver back to her mouth. "Parah, we've done all we can do here. Please finish prepping the hold for an FTL jump. Then bring Captain Robinaux to the bridge, it's time to find the Galactica."
Rebecca had just finished confirming the engine status with the Chief Engineer when Parah and Derek passed through the bridge's hatch. She waited as they strapped themselves into the available chairs. Parah quickly reviewed the monitor at his station.
Turning away from his monitor, Parah looked directly at Rebecca. "Ship is secured and ready for Faster than Light Jump at your discretion, Captain."
She deliberately nodded her head once in acknowledgment. "Thank you," she replied. She took one last long look at her home planet. "Mr. Evans, be sure that we have a still of Sagittaron. I have a feeling, it's going to be a while before we see our home again," she directed her helmsman somberly. She waited for his acknowledgement before picking up the phone. She depressed the top button, holding the receiver in front of her. "Attention all personnel, it's time we left. Prepare for immediate FTL Jump, and Gods willing, we will meet up with some friendly faces at our next stop."
Raptor 307 - Ragnar, just inside outer atmosphere.
The electromagnetic radiation, which rolled and tumbled through the atmosphere of the gas giant Ragnar, provided the perfect cover for the Colonial Raptor and the two accompanying Mark II Vipers. Lt. Margaret "Racetrack" Edmondson glanced briefly at the clear DRADIS screen below the large canopy of her scout craft. Seeing no change in the readings, she turned her attention back to the collection of photographs that she had brought with her. She began weeping quietly, as she flipped to a picture of her family taken months earlier at a resort on Canceron. That was the last time she had seen her parents and sisters. She smiled tightly, recalling the surf crashing over her and Michelle in the emerald green waters.
"Hey did you see that flash?" One of the marines seated behind her called out.
Her breath caught in shock, she stared at the blinking contact on her DRADIS screen. She snapped her head up, frantically searching for the contact at her 9:00 High. "Skulls! What do we got out there?!" she cried out anxiously to her E.S.O. seated at the back of the ship.
The tension palpable in his voice, Lt. Hamish "Skulls" McCall quickly responded, "DRADIS contact. 235 carom 42. Range is 410,000 kilometers and decreasing, bogey has a constant velocity of 500 km per second." Carefully refining the controls on the ship's scanners, he continued his report. "I'm not detecting Transponder Codes, DRADIS scan matches configuration for a Class-J. Inter-System Freighter."
She quickly scanned the sensor readings on one of the smaller screens to her right. Activating her com systems, which were being augmented by a cabled transmitter buoy deployed behind her Raptor, she began her report. "Racetrack to Actual, a Class-J freighter just jumped in system and is approaching. Sending data packet now."
Colonel Tigh's sharp and bitter voice barked in response a few moments later, "This is the X.O. Racetrack, visually confirm identity of ship and crew, escort freighter to anchorage if confirm friendly." There was a brief pause before he continued, now with a cold edge, "You are authorized to eliminate that ship if it poses a threat."
Swallowing a small amount of bile in her mouth, she responded; "Aye Sir. Confirm ship and crew ID, escort to Anchorage if verified, eliminate bogey as hostile if poses threat."
"Roger that, good hunting Lieutenant," the Colonel responded before closing the transmission.
Toggling her com system again, she radioed the Vipers hiding in the upper atmosphere with her. "Duck, Red Wing, I am bringing up main power now. Time to meet our guests." Flipping a switch next to the wireless system, she activated the winch to reel in the communication buoy.
Duck's voice called out, "Roger that, Racetrack, fall in behind Redwing and me." She watched the two tri-engine fighters pull into open space. Her board showing green, she pushed her throttle forward and quickly slid into formation behind and below the escorting fighters.
Bill Thurston 12- Bridge
Rebecca shrugged off the effects of the FTL Jump, "Report!" she bellowed in Marel's general direction. Tapping her fingers against the arm rest on her chair, she impatiently waited for the DRADIS and Navigation sensors to come online. She relaxed as the screens blinked off and then on, the ship's position appearing on the navigation screen followed by a clear DRADIS scan a few moments later.
Checking his screens, Marel answered "Jump complete, we are on course towards Ragnar Anchorage, DRADIS is clear."
"Very good, maintain course and speed, Mr. Evans," she said to the helmsman. Watching her monitor, she tried to relax. Giving up, she turned to Derek, "So where are your friends, Captain?"
Thinking for a moment, "They are probably docked at the station; there should be a recon team hiding in the upper atmosphere." He paused a moment before continuing, "Unless they have already left."
Shaking her head, Rebecca answered back, "Yeah, that's what I was thinking." Standing up, she began making her way to the plotting table in the back. "Parah, Marel, Derek, we need options."
Derek was just arriving at the station when the Helmsman called out, "DRADIS contact, three small craft on an intercept course. They're coming in fast, Captain!" He watched the others turn and run to their stations, he elected to stay at the plotting table.
"Marel, plot a jump anywhere now! John get ready to bring the engines to full power. The overhead speakers crackled to life just as Rebecca finished strapping herself into her seat.
"Unknown Vessel! This is Colonial Defense Forces Raptor 307. Power down your engines and identify yourselves immediately." There was a brief pause, before the young woman's voice returned, "I am authorized to fire on your vessel if you do not comply. Respond immediately on this channel."
"Marel! Turn on the transponders now and then open a channel to that Raptor," she called out in a rush.
Raptor 307
"She's squawking recognition codes!" Skulls called out from his station. "We are receiving a wireless transmission from the freighter."
A woman's voice erupted over the speakers in the Raptor. "Freighter Bill Thurston 12 to Raptor 307, we are friendly, repeat we are friendly. Do not fire."
"I guess we got their attention," one of the marines joked from behind.
Racetrack shook her head with a combination of relief and amusement at the Marine's comment. Mostly stifling a laugh, she flipped on her com system "Raptor 307 to Bill Thurston 12, please verify licensed Commanding Officer, Registry Number, homeport, and your last port of record."
"Raptor 307, this is the Commanding Officer, Captain Rebecca Davenport, Registry number Robert-4-Kappa-Charlie-Delta-7-5-Alpha. This ship and crew are based out of Tawa, Sagittaron. Our last port of record was Promethea, Aerilon."
She waited as Skulls verified that the freighter Captain's report matched the registry files associated with the transponder codes being transmitted by the ship. "How we doing Skulls?" she asked.
"Good so far, codes check out," he answered easily.
Racetrack watched her DRADIS screen as she rushed towards the rapidly decelerating freighter. A feeling of relief washed over her as she monitored the freighter's engines throttle down to idle speed. Scanning through the canopy, it only took her a few seconds to pick up the freighter flying above them. "Raptor 307 to Bill Thurston 12, do you have a shorter designation I can use, your full name is a mouth full."
"That's an affirmative. We go by BT-12."
Racetrack absently listened to the Marines talking behind her as she began her approach to the massive star ship. The two Vipers ahead of her were set up to pass on either side of the vessel, while she was on a course which would take her just above the dorsum of the ship.
The woman's voice, distorted and static-filled returned, "You don't happen to be attached to the Galactica, do you?" she asked.
Caught by surprise, Racetrack responded "Affirmative BT-12. Did the President's people relay our location to you?"
"That's a negative," with a slight lift in her voice she continued, "but I am glad to hear that President Adar survived."
Her stomach turned slightly at the ship Captain's response. She wondered how many people know they were here, and how long until the Cylons found them? She refocused her attention on flying as the Vipers broke to either side of the freighter. Activating her cameras, she pulled up slightly on the stick, her Raptor skimming a scant 10 meters over the ship's long dorsal surface. Bringing her plane over the conning tower, she continued past the ship, riding above the now dark main engines for a few hundred kilometers before regrouping with the waiting Vipers.
"Duck to Racetrack, starboard pass complete, no damage visible, ship markings match those in the registry."
"Red-Wing here, same for port side, everything is up to specs." He called out.
"Copy that guys, dorsal pass looked good as well." Checking her DRADIS one more time, she watched as the freighter continued to slowly drift towards the station ahead. Turning around in her seat, she addressed her E.S.O. "Well, Skulls, any last minute concerns?"
"No." He continued to study the data scrolling across his screen, "Scanners are showing that she is running a little heavy, but all other scans are within expectations."
Grunting in acknowledgement, she turned to the Marine sitting in the co-pilot seat next to her. "Well Lieutenant, your show now."
His black BDU's creaking as he turned, his lips curling in a smile, Terry Burrel, firmly clasped his gloved hands together. "Hoo-Rah," he said quietly. Quickly undoing his seat straps, the stocky man stood up and made his way to the center of the ship. "Marines!" his voice boomed in the small area, "Gear up!"
Chuckling slightly, Racetrack spun her craft around and began slowly approaching the commercial freighter. Scanning the schematics of the ship, she easily found her preferred airlock. "Raptor 307 to BT-12. Bring your vessel to a complete stop and prepare to receive an inspection team. Please have your ship's manifest ready and a complete list of all crew and passengers available for review."
Racetrack quickly confirmed the Vipers position behind the BT-12 as she watched the numerous reaction control thrusters' fire along the bow of the freighter, slowly bringing the massive ship to a stop.
"This is BT-12, we are reading all stop and are prepared to meet with your inspection team," Captain Davenport announced. Her tone slightly cautious, "Be advised we recovered survivors from the battle at Virgon, some require medical attention."
Concentrating on the symbols in her Heads-Up-Display, Racetrack carefully brought her Raptor above the Conning Tower of the now motionless ship. "Copy that BT-12, we are approaching Airlock C.T.-3." Bringing her craft to a stop, she flipped a switch above her head. The Raptor shuddered slightly in response. Looking at a screen in front of her, she confirmed for the flight recorder, "Ventral outer door open, extending docking tube." She flipped another switch and waited, a few seconds later the Raptor jerked slightly as it made contact with the larger ship below. Eyes still on the screen in front of her, she droned "Confirm mag-lock with external hatch." Reaching up again, she activated the third and final switch. A low hum could be heard and felt through the Raptor as the airlock automatically connected with the vessel below. After a few seconds, this sound went away, and a green light lit up on Racetrack's display. "Confirm hard seal, docking tube is pressurized."
Bill Thurston 12 – Airlock CT-3
Rebecca stood in front of Parah and Derek in the corridor just outside of the compartment which housed the airlock. Mike Campara stood off to the side, monitoring the controls for the airlock. A dull thump and the whirring of gears could be heard through the heavy hatch. After a few moments, a red light on the wall screen turned green. Turning his head to the Captain, "We have a hard seal with the Raptor's docking tube," he reported.
With nervous anticipation she responded, "Very well, open the outer latch, unlock inner door after confirming positive pressure."
The sounds of unlocking gears reverberated through the corridor, and were quickly followed by the whine of an electric motor. Moments later, the locking wheel at the center of the inner door screeched as it spun counter-clockwise. The inner hatch suddenly dropped open, swinging down into the compartment on a heavy hinge. Two thick black cables dropped out of the airlock, immediately followed by two heavily armored marines sliding down in a blur. Weapons drawn, they easily landed on their feet and moved aside for the next two marines following them. They each scanned the compartment quickly setting there gazes through the window in the hatch leading to the main compartment. Seemingly satisfied, the black clad marine nearest the hatch lifted his head towards the opening, reporting back to the Raptor using his chin mounted radio.
A set of black clad legs emerged from above, and within moments, a fifth marine began carefully climbing down the ladder which stretched from the deck to the rim of the airlock. Upon reaching the deck, the four subordinate marines fell in two lines behind him. Together, they confidently walked to the hatchway.
With a glance, Rebecca signaled to Mike to open the hatch into the airlock compartment. Without thinking, she came to attention as the door swung inward towards them. The platoon leader strode through the gate, quickly coming to attention and snapping a quick salute to the civilian Captain.
"Lt. Terry Burrel, Colonial Marine Corp, Battlestar Galactica. Permission to come aboard?"
Looking up at the warrior, it was hard not be awed by his size. He was a little over six feet tall, nearly as tall as Derek, but whereas the Captain was lean, this man was massive. "Permission granted," she answered nervously. She composed herself before continuing, "I am the C.O. Rebecca Davenport, and this is my Chief Mate, Parah Gammons." She shook his offered hand "It's good to see friendly faces."
He shook Parah's hand quickly and then looked at Derek, his expression indicating that he was trying to figure out the third man's role.
Still wearing a civilian work-suit Derek stepped forward, "Captain Derek Robinaux, Colonial Forces, attached to the Cruiser Odin." Surprise rippled across the marine's face as he took in the man addressing him. The marine platoon instantly came to attention, their right hands snapping to their foreheads in unison. "At ease." He waited for them to relax to parade rest then lightly replied, "Uniform is in the laundry." Shock apparent on their faces, Derek watched as the Platoon Leader shook his head briefly in disbelief.
With a broad grin stretching across his face, the Lieutenant pressed the com button near his throat, opening a channel to the Raptor attached above. "Gunny to Racetrack, contact with command crew successful, we are proceeding with inspection." Pausing as he handed Derek's I.D. card back to him, he continued, "Confirm CDF warriors on board." Turning to Rebecca and motioning with his free hand, he easily requested, "If you'll lead the way Captain."
Derek fell in line next to the Lieutenant as they made their way to the bridge. He followed Lt. Burrel through the hatch. The rest of the marines remained outside, filling the narrow corridor. Derek was only half paying attention as Rebecca handed the bear-like soldier a thick manila folder and a small computer disk. They only spent a couple moments in the bridge before heading back into the corridor. He listened guardedly as Rebecca explained their trials to the Lieutenant.
"We have the survivors set up in Cargo Hold Five, we're headed there now. We only have one nurse on board. Ms. Harris has been treating them as best she can. Fortunately, most of the survivors have only minor injuries," she finished.
Nodding his head in understanding, "You said you recovered a number of dead. Where are they?" he asked.
Turning her head to the Lieutenant, "They're in Hold Five as well," she answered.
Taking the opportunity to relax, Derek mindlessly followed the small group as they made their way towards the hold at the bottom of the ship. The marines spent less than ten minutes surveying the large space. In that time, the seasoned Lieutenant had assessed the types and severity of damage to the recovered craft, the number and condition of the refugees, and lastly the dead, carefully arranged in columns filling the aft quarter of the hold.
The inspection over, Derek walked with Rebecca and Parah as they escorted the marines back to the airlock. Waiting for them there, Marel and one of the Raptor pilots quickly finished their conversation. Turning towards them, the imposing black officer approached. Stopping in front of Rebecca, "Captain Davenport?" he asked, extending his hand to her.
Taking his hand, "Yes." Indicating the satchel tucked under his left arm. "Something for me?" she asked.
Handing her the packet he replied, "Yes ma'am. These navigation charts detail the course you need to follow to anchor at Ragnar Station."
Handing the packet to Marel, she looked back at the pilot, "Thank you."
With a serious air, he looked directly at the captain, "You will need to follow these instructions exactly. We will lead you in of course, but maintaining visual contact in the storm is difficult. We cast off in five mikes."
She handed the packet to Marel, annoyed at his implication. She fixed the young pilot with a hard glare, "This isn't the first time I've had to navigate a tight corridor, Lieutenant. In fact, I was piloting supply ships down this very passage while you were still trying to figure out how to get to second base in high school." Holding her scowl fast, she smiled inwardly as the officer's face recoiled at her outburst.
With a bit of hesitation in his voice, the scolded pilot replied cautiously "Very good. We will see you at the station then." Lt. McCall took a step back and motioned for the Marines to return to the Raptor. He watched the five soldiers quickly climb up the ladder and disappear through the hatch. Turning to Rebecca, he nodded quickly. Spinning back on his heel, he grabbed the rungs and raced back to the safety of his plane.
Struggling to contain herself, Rebecca guffawed loudly as the inner hatch closed behind the Raptor E.S.O. "Did you see the look on that asshole's face?" she exclaimed.
Chuckling with her briefly, Marel nervously shifted his gaze to the floor. "So, uh, getting to the station is gonna be a breeze, right, Skip?"
Rebecca's smile vanished at that. Her expression becoming stoic, she replied soberly, "No, Marel. Docking at this station is a fracking nightmare." Fearing his nerves were about to give out, she slapped him firmly on his butt. To reassure him she bragged, "Don't worry. I've docked here at least a dozen times, never had a problem, not once."
She didn't dare tell him the truth. In fact, she had only been to this station one time before. Her course had been slightly off from the beginning, and as the minor navigation mistakes compounded, she missed a turn. Blinded by radiation while being violently buffeted by the electromagnetic currents which boiled through the atmosphere, her ship was lost in the storm. Acting on instinct alone, she guessed at which direction to go. Terrified, she slammed the throttle fully open and by the grace of the gods, she shot back into the corridor. Everyone on the ship should have died that day. Her C.O. even told her so, as he poured the first of many ambrosia shots that they drank that night.