Chapter 14 – Into the Wind

Battlestar Galactica – Port Flight Pod Turret 5

John, or 'Pancake', as his new C.O. called him, climbed nervously into the sunken leather seat from where he would control the anti-aircraft gun. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his pressure suit as a technician helped to strap him in. Reaching forward he took the small oxygen cylinder from the man assisting him. He paused to look it over carefully, noting that the gauge on top showed that the tank was full before stowing it in the slot behind him on the left side of his chair. The air tank didn't provide any relief. He couldn't imagine surviving if his turret were shot up, and if he did, the thought of dangling outside of the ship, tethered to the hull by a thin lanyard, was not comforting.

His gun was not one of the massive anti-ship cannons that lobbed fiery charges of compressed annihilation at the enemy warships above. Nor was it one of the oversized flak guns which could wipe a score of enemy fighters from the sky with one scattered shot. When an enemy fighter or missile slipped through and there was nothing between its wrath and the ship, Pancake's gun was the sentinel which watched over. His weapon was a close range gun, fast and nimble; it could track the fastest fighter and put rounds on the smallest target.

Pancake's gun was specifically tasked with protecting the vital port flight pod from the enemy. Mounted by thick pylons, the flight pods hung exposed below and to the sides of the secondary hull, this had made them a favorite target for Cylon attackers during the first war. They were the most vulnerable section of the sturdy Battlestars and the most dangerous to work on as well.

Home to the ship's air wing, the flight pods were responsible for launching and collecting space-craft both approaching and departing at dizzying speeds. Equally important, they also served as the life lines for the massive warship, stockpiling the highly flammable fuel and ordinance needed for flight operations as well as conveying all the needed materials and spent waste between the supply depots outside and the hungry machines which ran the ship; be they mechanical or biological. The defense of the port pod was made even more crucial by the fact that the Galactica had just this one, as the conversion of the starboard pod into a museum had been recently completed.

John had been surprised at the ease of which he had been able to grasp the simulators; he had been even more surprised when he had been assigned to this particular gun. This gun required not only a master able to discern foe from friend and decoy in the blink of an eye, but also the reflexes and coordination to guide the rounds so only that specific target would feel the fury from the electro-magnetic rails which he sat between. His scores on the screening test had been exceptionally high. Questioning the results, his new C.O. had put him through the simulator an additional five times, all with similar results. Before the fall, only the best gunners with months, if not years of training would be entrusted with this last line of defense. But now, with humanity on the fringe and the Galactica without trained gunners, John tested as the best option available.

With an abrupt lurch, his chair began to climb the narrow tube to the firing position located on the outside of the hull. Sweating profusely, he took a steadying breath, and adjusted his grip on the firing yolk while trying to ignore the grating call to "Action Stations". His trek to the surface took just moments, and before he was ready his seat came to a sudden stop in front of a thick metal hatch. The door remained closed for a second before the iris rapidly spun open. The seat pushed forward before coming to a jerky stop. Catching his breath, he looked through the clear armored canopy in front of him. The churning green clouds and charges of lightning crossing across the horizon were not at all re-assuring. More than ever, he wanted to crawl back to the blissfully ignorant safety of the kitchens, deep in the bowels of the ship below.

"Pancake, this is Bingo," his C.O.'s voice crackled through his headset. "It won't be long now, you ready for this?" he asked in a supportive tone.

"Yes, sir. As ready as I'm gonna be, I guess," he answered nervously.

"We're in our holes now, so call me Bingo," his C.O. responded.

"Yes, sir, I mean, Bingo, sorry," he stammered.

"Pancake, look over at the turret to your right for a second." he called out strongly.

John spun his gun to the right, centering on a similar bubble canopy projecting out of the flight pod hull. He adjusted the zoom on the H.U.D. and brought his C.O.'s face into focus, he looked surprisingly relaxed. "I see you," he called out.

"Good. John, this is just like the simulators and you're gonna do fine," he stated. "Between the two of us, I guarantee not a single fracking thing is going to get by, and before you know it we'll be having drinks at the mess when this is all over. Alright," he finished brashly.

"Yes sir," John answered back with a confidence that he didn't quite feel.

Freighter Bill Thurston 12 – Bridge

Seated in the center chair, Rebecca's back was braced rigidly at attention as she scanned the forward DRADIS screen in front of her. The BT-12 was the third in line behind the Galactica, and would be one of the first ships to face the Cylons. Her ship would also be one of the first to jump, she reminded herself. She needed to calm down she thought, as she caught herself absently tightening her seat restraints again. She looked around the bridge noting the palpable tension shared by the crew. Marel looked the worst, his face was gray, his jaw was closed tight, and if she looked closely enough, she figured that she would see the muscles in his neck clenched in apprehension. "Marel, if you grip that console any tighter you're going to leave divots," she called out, trying to lighten the mood.

"Sorry, Skipper," he replied quietly.

"Shit," she breathed out. "Listen up, everyone." She waited for the bridge crew to turn to her. She took a moment to gather herself, quickly looking at each crew member individually. "Look, we gotta do this. We have to push through this atmo and the fracking Cylons who are waiting above for us. We have no choice, so we are going to get it done. And no amount of worrying, or second-guessing, or wishing it was otherwise is going to change that. So let's all loosen up, myself included. Think happy thoughts, and let's get the hell out of here as fast as we fracking can. Okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," the crew responded discordantly.

The bridge crew seemed to relax after her pep talk and they mostly ignored the constant shaking the ship experienced as they pushed through the corridor. There had been one deep and violent shudder, which no doubt caused many in the ship to panic, but overall the trip to the rally point went by without incident.

"We are at the rally point, set thrusters to station keeping." Marel voice called out nervously.

The helmsman's fingers flashed across his console as he set the ship's engines to hold the massive freighter in place. "Ship is reading all stop, Ma'am," he finally reported to Rebecca.

"Thank you, John." She looked over at Marel, he at least seemed to be holding it together, "How are we on the coms, Mr. Banner?"

Marel's eyes darted to the communication portion of his station, "All boards green, we have a firm connection with Galactica's laser transmitter."

"Good." She studied the DRADIS screen in front of her. Closing her eyes briefly, she said a silent prayer as she watched the lone Battlestar, hopelessly outgunned, push towards the Cylon Basestars waiting for them. "John, be ready to push out at flank speed as soon as we get the word from the Galactica."

"Aye, Ma'am. Engineering reports full power ready as needed," the helmsman responded soberly.

"Marel, status of the FTL?" she demanded.

Marel looked down to check his console, his fingers dancing over the computer in front of him. "Faster-Than-Light Drive board is green, terminal jump point is entered and verified in the navigation computer, waiting for primary jump point coordinates from Galactica," he reported.

"Thank you, Marel." Frustrated by the inactivity, she turned to her first mate, "Parah, how are our passengers holding up?"

He shrugged his shoulders, "No word from Hold-5. The compartment is reading air tight and in good condition. I'm sure I would have heard if there was a problem."

Her lips pulled into a frustrated smile at his response, "Why don't you call down there and find out for sure." Rebecca watched him lean back in his chair, casually picking up the phone a moment later. All she could do now was sit and wait for the coordinates from the Galactica. She was not good at waiting.

Battlestar Galactica - Port Flight Pod Turret 5

The constant shaking had finally stopped allowing John to relax slightly for the first time since the Galactica began the arduous trek through the planet's turbulent atmosphere. The view from his turret was truly inspiring, the swirling clouds and strobe like charges of lightning were behind them and now he had an unobstructed view of the heavens surrounding him. His eyes wide open; he slowly tried to take in the vastness of the cosmos before him. Losing himself in the moment, he quietly extolled, "My gods, it's full of stars!"

His headset sputtered to life immediately, shaking him from his reverie, "Pancake, get your head in the game, man," Bingo called out impatiently.

"Yes, sir, I'm here," he hurriedly responded. "It's just, well; I've never seen the stars like this before, sir."

"Felt the same way you do, first time I looked out the bubble," he offered in support. "Course, I wasn't looking down the barrels of two Cylon Basestars, neither," he added cautiously.

John turned his head from left to right and back again, scanning the skies for their deadly opponents. He panicked momentarily, before suddenly remembering to check the DRADIS scanner in front of him. Clear as a bell, two red icons flashed steadily on the screen. Holding the high ground, the two Basestars waited patiently, daring the Battlestar trapped between them and the planet below to try and break out.

Undaunted, the Galactica continued to push out from the planet. A moment later, John's headset beeped in alarm. Looking at the DRADIS display, a delicate red cloud began to stream away from the enemy warships. Too numerous to count, his computer immediately identified them as Cylon Raiders. John stared at the DRADIS screen a moment longer, nervously swallowing a small bit of bile.

"Get ready." Bingo called out to the gunners under his command.

A different voice sounded through the headset, it was harsh and angry, John recognized it as Colonel Tigh's, "All batteries, commence firing."

A moment later the ship began to vibrate, John's entire body was shaking in time with the incessant drone of the guns, and his body jerked as the heavy cannons began rhythmically thumping at the enemy above. All at once, the sky above him erupted in a spectacular fireworks display. John sat in his chair motionless, his eyes were fixed on the pyrotechnics in front of him. Shaking his head, he looked down at the DRADIS screen and watched as the swarm of Raiders continued to wind their way towards the Galactica. Like a school of fish, they twisted and coiled in a complicated dance, attempting to confound the Galactica's powerful DRADIS array as they approached their quarry.

Cylon Raider D3174T76H

Stretched like a serpent, the swarm of Cylon Raiders wound a twisting and convoluted path towards the Colonial warship emerging from the planet below. Positioned near the latter third of the finger, Raider D3174T76H followed impossibly close to the Raider in front of it. The Raider's three wing-men flew just behind and to the side, matching it's every move. The fighter tracked the forward most strike groups with powerful sensors, impatiently waiting for the battle to begin. Hiding in the upper atmosphere an irregular human fleet waited for the aging Battlestar to position itself so that it could screen the fleeing civilian ships. It would not matter, in a few moments the lead strike force would activate the computer virus hidden in the Colonial warships, rendering them defenseless against the coming assault.

A short data burst signaled D3174T76H that the computer virus had been transmitted to the enemy below. Simultaneously, its chronometer began to countdown to the virus's activation. In response, the Raider tightened its sensor focus on the Colonial pestilence below, relishing the fact that its enemies would be powerless in less than 30 seconds. It would have smiled if possible as the clock reached zero. Suddenly, the sky in front of the rushing fighters exploded in brilliant fireworks. The Colonial Battlestar had not lost power as expected; instead, it was standing tall and was hurling countless rounds of anti-aircraft fire at the attacking Cylons. Raider D3174T76H watched with alarm as the first few waves of its brothers were completely annihilated by the Battlestar's powerful anti-aircraft guns.

Battlestar Galactica - Port Flight Pod Turret 5

Finally, they were within reach of the Galactica's guns. There was no pause, they didn't waver, if anything, they seemed even more determined. The Galactica's cannons cut thru them without remorse, wiping away 15 or 20 of them per shot. It was as if the Raiders had flown into a wall, their hulls suddenly exploding en masse into brilliant plumes of confetti. For a moment, the wave of Raiders seemed to falter, their head-long charge stalled. But they were undeterred; they continued to throw themselves bodily into the volleys of fire shot out by the stalwart Battlestar. Singly at first, then in pairs and in threes, the determined Raiders began to slip through gaps in the curtain of flack shielding the Galactica.

A new signal appeared on John's DRADIS screen, twenty four bright white triangles raced away from the Galactica in an uneven formation. A minute later his DRADIS sounded again as the second squadron of Vipers shot out of the Galactica, chasing after their brothers, rushing to meet the enemy ahead.

Viper 6057

Derek shifted his shoulders, adjusting himself slightly within the straps that held him fast to the seat of his fighter. Below and to his left, his wing-man Ace trailed him in a covering position. He glanced at his DRADIS screen, noting that his squadron had closed the gap slightly behind Captain Adama's unit. Behind him, the remaining six Vipers had just sallied forth from the Galactica's launch tubes, their engines screaming at full burn as they raced to link up with the two main groups.

"Galactica Tactical, incoming seventy-two, repeat 7-2 Cylon fighters CBDR at one-two-zero mark four-eight," the Tac. Officer, Lt. Gaeta, called out in a rush.

A light tone sounded softly in Green-Bean's headset, calling his attention to the DRADIS screen in front of him. Captain Adama's squadron, the Vigilantes, would be making contact with the enemy momentarily.

Viper 7242

Leading the charge against the surviving Raiders was the Galactica's recently appointed CAG, Captain Lee Adama, call-sign Apollo. He tightened his straps across his chest as he readied himself for the coming onslaught. Toggling his microphone, he called out to his pilots, "Broken formation, Razzle-Dazzle, don't let 'em use their targeting computers! And for frack's sake, stay out of Galactica's firing solution!"

Derek watched as the Vipers Apollo led shifted their formation in response to their leader's directions. It was a good plan; the strategy relied on pilots working as pairs independently from other members of the team, each pair guarding a specific sector of space.

With a hiss of static, Derek's headset called out again, and the silky voice of the ship's com officer calmly passed on the Commander's final orders, "Galactica to Air-Wing, Vipers engage fighters only. Leave the Basestars to us."

He checked his DRADIS again, Apollo's Vipers were practically on top of the incoming Raiders, his pilots splitting off in pairs as they sought to outmaneuver and engage the enemy. Derek forced himself to ignore the melee in front of him as his squad approached the combat zone. Concentrating on guiding his ship into the proper slot, he waited as the rest of his squadron adjusted their attitude to match his Viper.

"Green-Bean - Primus Squadron, all Vipers break in 3, 2, 1, Mark!"

He wrenched hard on his stick, his Viper curling up and away from his previous course. The pilots of Primus squadron matched his maneuver, the effect being quite beautiful, as two by two, all of the Vipers curled out and to the left, simultaneously spinning apart from their previous course. Green-Bean's DRADIS was pinging madly; his turn had brought him pin-wheeling directly into a flight of Raiders above. Depressing his trigger he watched with equal parts fear and excitement as four Raiders exploded in front of him. Then before he could blink, he flashed through the middle of the formation as the enemy fighters passed by, scant meters away. The Cylon formation was utterly smashed and he watched with satisfaction as his wing-man chased down a lone Raider from above.

"This is Ace, I have good tone, Fox-1!" he called out.

Derek watched as a missile shot from underneath his wing-man's plane, quickly closing the distance to the Raider below. He smiled slightly as the missile found its target and then consumed it in an explosive flare.

As the blaze died out Ace's voice called out triumphantly, "Splash one!"

Derek was about to congratulate his wing-man when a blip on the DRADIS caught his attention. "Ace, 3 bandits coming from our eight o'clock low, hard to port, 3, 2, 1, Mark!"

Bracing himself, he shoved the stick hard as he turned the Viper towards the oncoming enemy fighters, grunting as he reached the apex of the turn. He inhaled deeply as he leveled out, his trigger finger already sending rounds ahead. "Take the one on the right, I have the left one!" he called to his wing-man. Adjusting his course slightly, he set his Viper into a roll as he charged the oncoming Raider head-on, his finger never leaving the trigger. Seconds later his bullets rang true and the enemy fighter exploded in a blaze in front of him. He was already pulling up on his stick, his plane spinning on its axis as he sailed below the blast zone. His targeting computer immediately locked on the remaining Raider. His turn complete, he pressed his thruster plate to the floor, his Viper's backwards slide quickly slowing as his three main engines pushed his plane opposite its previous heading. As he overcame the Viper's inertia Green-Bean felt his plane lurch forward as if he were being shot from a cannon. In front of him he watched the solitary Raider desperately attempt to maneuver out of his kill zone. Derek smiled as he flipped open the safety on his stick, "This is Green-Bean, I have tone, Fox-1," he called out calmly. He watched as the missile shot straight away from below, his finger poised to let a second missile fly if needed. At the last moment the Raider jinked hard to starboard, spinning and climbing away from the warhead. The missile adjusted to its target, turning into and slicing thru the wing before exploding, devouring its prey in a fleeting conflagration. "Green-Bean, Splash 2 Raiders," he reported with a predatory grin.

Cylon Raider D3174T76H

With what could only be considered concern, the Raider watched as the forward units of the strike force threw themselves bodily into the wall of flack, disintegrating impotently just beyond the reach of their weapons. Approaching the artillery line, Raider D3174T76H chose a different fate. Using its RCS thrusters it pitched its nose 45 degrees up while spinning laterally 90 degrees to the right. Engaging the main engines, the fighter shot like a top out of the formation, its three wing-men following closely after it. Spinning around again, the four attackers approached the Colonial defenders from a different angle. With their engines at full power, the attacking craft made for the edge of the flack field, catapulting themselves in a wild roll as they passed through the barrier. It had been a narrow thing, but the Raider slipped through the unexpectedly thick flack screen. A quick check revealed that its wing-men did not make it.

Returning to a stable course, the fighter immediately analyzed the battle taking place. The attacker monitored a Colonial Viper doggedly chase down one of its brothers; seconds later the Raider exploded in a brilliant flash. A hot anger that the Raider had never felt before began to burn as it changed course to pursue the murdering human. D3174T76H closed the gap quickly between it and the loathsome human. It took but a second to line the Viper for a kill, savoring its imminent victory, the fighter paused a moment before opening up on the enemy with his guns. To the Raider's surprise the Viper rolled out of its sites at the last moment.

Viper 7242

"Apollo! You've picked one up!" blasted through his com-system as he was completing his third barrel-roll.

"You think?!" he yelled back sarcastically, as he pushed his plane through a complicated dive, easily avoiding his pursuer's fire. His maneuver had opened a small gap between him and the Cylon Raider, checking his DRADIS, he smiled viscously before activating his com's in reply. "Don't worry, Red-Bird. I got this guy right where I want him," he stated coolly. He pressed his stick down and to the left, then back to the right, before pulling his plane into a hard vertical loop.

Cylon Raider D3174T76H

The fighter stayed tight to the human's tail, maddeningly filling the sky all around the enemy Viper with a steady stream of deadly bullets. Much to the Raider's frustration however, none of the shots fired connected with the nimble craft. Suddenly, the Viper pulled into a tight looping arc in front of the attacker. The sensation of victory surged through the Raider as it eagerly pulled into an even tighter loop, already relishing the kill it was about to make.

Without warning the underside of the Raider exploded in excruciating pain as a hail of bullets ripped across its surface. Confused and angry, D3174T76H found the wicked Viper below it a moment later. The initial pain from the attack had subsided. The Raider tried to turn to engage the enemy, but was unable as the control systems were damaged. D3174T76H watched as the Viper turned to attack, moments later, as its right wing was sheared off the Raider was consumed by a new, far more intense pain. A nanosecond before its death the Raider sent an automated transmission detailing its operational history to the Cylon home.

Viper 7242

Apollo couldn't help but smile as sailed through the destroyed Raider's debris. "This is Apollo, splash one Raider." he called out easily.

Bill Thurston 12- Bridge

Rebecca was sitting on the edge of her chair, impatiently waiting for the coordinates from the Galactica. She cringed as the scanners reported another scorching hit to the Galactica's thick skin. Her eyes were glued to the DRADIS in the front of the compartment. The Galactica's flack cannons had been surprisingly effective, removing nearly 75% of the enemy's fighters in the first few minutes of the battle. Unfortunately, the situation had become significantly grimmer since the opening volley. Reacting to the loss of the Cylon air-wing the Basestars had dispatched additional Raiders to replace the scores of fighters destroyed by the Battlestar's guns. Additionally, ship based missiles launched from the massive warships were now reaching their targets.

"Laser Transmission from Galactica!" Marel called out suddenly. "Captain, I am receiving Primary Jump Coordinates."

Finally able to take action, Rebecca leaned forward in her chair, invigoration spreading throughout her. "Marel, get those coordinates input," she snapped to the navigator. "Mr. Evans, make sure our heading does not intercept any ships in the fleet. At my signal, engines to full, I want flank speed as quickly as possible."

The helmsman looked at her with determination on his face, "Yes, ma'am," he answered.

Rebecca grabbed the phone mounted to her chair; she forcefully depressed the button for ship wide coms. "Attention all hands. We will be pushing out to the jump coordinates momentarily. Be sure all loose gear is firmly stowed away, and brace yourselves for impacts and turbulence. I will see you all on the other side," she brusquely announced. Rebecca roughly slapped the phone back into the base, her eyes having never left the forward DRADIS screen.

"All decks, all stations report ready, Skipper." Parah stated calmly, any sign of fear had been carefully hidden from view.

Rebecca watched as the two ships in front of them began moving forward. "John, display our course projection," she ordered the helmsman.

Her ship, highlighted as a yellow triangle, began to blink, a moment later, a solid matching line extended from its tip towards space above. Satisfied with the plotted course, Rebecca leaned forward in anticipation, "Very good. Mr. Evans, engines at full, bring us to the jump point."

"Yes, ma'am. Bringing engines to full power, 35 seconds to the jump point," the helmsman declared resolutely.

Sitting back, Rebecca felt the engines roar to life behind her as she tightened her lap belt. She could feel her body pressing further into her seat as the bulky freighter gained momentum. She had never pushed her ship this hard and she could feel the ship vibrating under the exertion. With a little concern, she cycled her computer to the engineering menu, quickly glancing at the status indicators. To her relief, all of the boards were green and the monitor showed no anomalous readings.

The shaking got worse as the ship picked up speed, in her mind she could hear the ship groaning from the effort. Concentrating on the DRADIS screen, Rebecca watched in horror as the Galactica continued to take hit after punishing hit. She focused her attention on the long line of civilian ships behind her, all now moving forward, each ship on a separate vector to prevent a collision on the other side of the jump. We need to go faster, her mind screamed, concerned that the Galactica wouldn't survive the onslaught.

Rebecca cried out in alarm as the ship suddenly jerked up and to port. She was violently thrown against the lap belt in her seat and was now hanging over the armrest, her hands clutching at her side in shock. She quickly pushed herself back to an upright position before looking around the bridge. "Report!" she bellowed. She turned towards her first mate's station, immediately noticing the shattered remains of his coffee mug on the deck.

Parah answered hurriedly, his calm exterior from earlier now replaced with unease, "Cylon missile exploded off our ventral rear quarter. All systems nominal, no damage," he paused a moment, still gathering himself, "At least not to the ship, anyway," he reported, a sheepish smile on his face.

"Mr. Evans?"

"Eight seconds!" he reported, without waiting for her to finish the question.

"Shave that if you can, please," she responded with a forced calm. She watched as he concentrated at his console, his fingers were flying across the interface.

"Already at maximum," he reported dubiously.

Silently pleading, Rebecca's eyes were fixed on the DRADIS screen as they approached the jump point, maddeningly just in front of them. The shaking was getting worse by the second and Rebecca began to wonder if they would reach the coordinates before her ship shook apart.

Finally, Marel's nervous voice shouted in anticipation, "Jumping, 3, 2, 1, Mark!"

Rebecca felt the world collapse, her body painfully compressing from all sides as she and her ship were violently squeezed through the fabric of space and time. Suddenly released from the pressure of the jump, Rebecca opened her eyes, gasping in relief. She sat completely still as she gathered herself from the rough transit. Fully composed, she opened her eyes and slowly scanned the bridge. The DRADIS screen flashed to life a moment later, smiling, she sighed in relief as she saw the quickly growing fleet of ships, all peaceably heading on parallel courses to each other. "Report?" she asked easily. She looked over at Marel, his face still flush with fear and sweat.

It was Parah who responded. She turned to her first mate, noting that the calm expression from earlier had returned to his face. "Jump complete, we are at the specified coordinates. All boards are green, engineering reports no damage to the ship, and sick bay reports a few minor injuries only. DRADIS shows seven ships and counting have jumped with us."

"Well done, everyone," she replied. Fully relaxed for the first time in two days, Rebecca let her shoulders drop. She casually picked up her phone, once again toggling the ship-wide com relay. "Attention all hands, we made it. Thank you and good work. Captain out."