Chapter Eight: Deadly Maneuvers
Battlestar Stryker, Officers Wardroom:
Commander Jerome Cyprian entered the Flag CIC of the Stryker and looked around the room. With the ship began its final deployment they had shuttered the space as it was being used more for training exercises than frontline battlestar duties. Consequently, they used it for storage of spare parts and items removed by the two museum groups, leaving them behind.
"Come on Davidson, get the lead out of your ass!"
He heard the voice of Petty Officer George Cooke and chuckled despite himself. The word had been given to get the Flag CIC ready to become operational again. They faced the problem that it couldn't happen until they removed all the equipment and boxes. Once Cooke and his deck gang were done then the technicians would come in to work their magic.
"Petty Officer Cooke," he called out as he neared where the man stood.
"Commander Cyprian, what can I do for you, sir?" Cooke asked.
Cooke was a burly man from Aquaria who had the booming voice to match his imposing physique. Cyprian had little doubt that he could encourage those under him to move quickly through pure intimidation. He was grateful he had pushed his crew hard to accomplish this.
"Just wanted to see where things stood with the compartment," he said as he looked around.
"Word's probably gotten back to the civilians from the museums, they'll probably be here any second to complain."
Cooke grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Let'em complain, sir. We've got a war to fight, and I doubt the toasters care much about our storage space." He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a streak of grease.
Cyprian nodded approvingly. "True enough, Cooke. We need this space ready for action, and we need it yesterday. Any issues with the equipment?"
Cooke scratched his head, contemplating for a moment. "Not much, sir. Most of it's in decent shape, considering it's been sitting here gathering dust. A few glitches here and there, but the techs will sort them out. Shouldn't take more than a few hours."
"Good work, Petty Officer. Keep it up, and we'll have this place humming in no time."
As Cyprian made his way through the maze of crates and equipment, he thought about the challenges ahead. The Stryker was being deployed to the front lines, and the crew had to be ready for anything. The recent intel reports suggested increased Cylon activity in the sector, and everyone knew that the toasters wouldn't hesitate to strike.
He reached the communications station, where Lieutenant Karen Belfield was busy untangling a mess of cables. Belfield was a sharp officer with a knack for making sense of the most convoluted systems. Her fingers moved swiftly over the controls, and she looked up with a wry smile as Cyprian approached.
"Commander," she said, acknowledging his presence. "We're making progress, but some of these systems are ancient. It's a miracle they're still functioning."
Cyprian chuckled. "Well, let's hope that miracle holds. We're going to need every advantage we can get out there."
Just as he finished speaking, the door to the Flag CIC slid open, and a small group of civilians from the museum entered, led by a woman with a determined expression on her face. She marched up to Cyprian, her gaze unyielding.
"Commander Cyprian, I demand an explanation," she declared. "They assured us that our artifacts and displays would be treated with the utmost care, not repurposed for some wartime venture."
Cyprian took a deep breath, preparing for a confrontation. The delicate balance between military necessity and preserving the remnants of human culture was a constant struggle.
"Civilians, I understand your concerns," Cyprian began, maintaining a calm demeanor. "However, the Stryker is being deployed to the front lines, and we need every resource at our disposal to ensure the survival of the human race. This includes repurposing this space for operational use."
The woman, whose nameplate identified her as Dr. Kairi Stone, crossed her arms, clearly dissatisfied with the explanation. "Commander, these artifacts are irreplaceable pieces of our history. We entrusted them to the Fleet for safekeeping, not to be used as makeshift storage."
Cyprian nodded in acknowledgment. "Dr. Stone, I appreciate the cultural significance of these artifacts, but we are in a state of war. Our priority is to protect the remnants of humanity. The Stryker needs to be fully operational to stand a chance against the Cylons, and every inch of this battlestar counts."
A middle-aged man in the group, wearing the uniform of a museum curator, spoke up. "Commander, surely there's a compromise. Can't we find a way to preserve these artifacts while still allowing you to use this space for its intended purpose?"
Cyprian sighed, understanding the delicate nature of the situation. "I'll do my best to accommodate both our needs, but time is of the essence. We can discuss moving the artifacts to a more secure location on the ship, one that won't interfere with our operational requirements. In the meantime, I need your cooperation to clear this space immediately. Lives are at stake."
The curator nodded reluctantly, realizing the gravity of the situation. "Very well, Commander. We'll work with you to find a suitable solution, but please understand that these artifacts are not just objects. They are a testament to our resilience and history."
Cyprian nodded in agreement. "I respect that, and I assure you, we'll do our best to ensure their preservation. Now, if you could please coordinate with Petty Officer Cooke here, we'll get this space cleared as quickly as possible."
As the civilians reluctantly began to assist in moving the artifacts, Cyprian turned back to his crew. "Let's keep this momentum going. We don't have time for delays. Once this space is cleared, get the tech teams in here, and let's have the Flag CIC fully operational before the next jump."
With the civilians begrudgingly cooperating, the crew worked in tandem with the museum staff to relocate the artifacts to a more secure section of the ship. As they carefully moved the last exhibit, Dr. Stone approached Commander Cyprian with a stern expression.
"Commander, I hope you understand the gravity of what we've entrusted to you. These artifacts are not only a record of our past but a source of inspiration for our future. They must be treated with the utmost respect."
Cyprian met her gaze, recognizing the weight of their cultural responsibility. "Dr. Stone, I assure you that we will take every precaution to protect these treasures. They are a testament to the strength of the human spirit, and we will do our best to ensure their preservation."
With a nod, Dr. Stone led her team to the designated storage area. Meanwhile, the crew continued preparing the Flag CIC for active duty. Technicians swarmed the room, running diagnostics, calibrating systems, and ensuring that every console was ready for the impending mission.
As the work progressed, Lieutenant Melissa Belfield approached Commander Cyprian with a tablet in hand. "Commander, we're encountering a few glitches in the navigation system. It seems the coordinates for our next jump are not syncing correctly."
Cyprian frowned, knowing that precise jumps were crucial in avoiding Cylon detection. "What's causing the issue, Lieutenant?"
Belfield tapped on the tablet, displaying a complex array of numbers and codes. "It appears to be a problem with the astrogation interface. The coordinates are being input, but the system isn't registering them properly. We might need to recalibrate the entire navigation matrix."
Cyprian sighed, realizing the implications of a delayed jump. "How long will that take?"
Belfield hesitated before responding, "A few hours, at least, sir."
Cyprian ran a hand through his hair, contemplating their options. Time was of the essence, and any delay could jeopardize their mission. He made a quick decision.
"Get on it, Lieutenant. But expedite the process as much as possible. We can't afford to linger here. The Cylons won't wait for us."
As Belfield hurried back to the navigation station, Cyprian surveyed the bustling Flag CIC. The crew, driven by a sense of duty and urgency, worked tirelessly to ready the Stryker for the challenges that lay ahead.
Amasen, Commanding Officer's Quarters:
"Major Wallace, how does it feel to have command of the station?" Christine Collier asked.
Arthur Wallace, Major with the Ministry of Intelligence, looked at her with a smile that he assumed would have disarmed anyone who fell under its spell.
"Well, Christine, I wish I had the words to describe this oasis of hope for humanity," he said.
Major Wallace leaned back in his chair, the soft glow of the room's ambient lighting casting a warm hue on the elegant furnishings. The commanding officer's quarters in Amasen were a far cry from the stark, utilitarian spaces found on military vessels. Here, comfort and functionality coexisted, reflecting the importance of the station as a hub for both military and civilian efforts.
Christine Collier, a reporter and civilian liaison with the Ministry of Intelligence, took a seat across from Major Wallace. Her expression was composed, but there was a glint of curiosity in her eyes.
"It's impressive what you've accomplished with Amasen, Major. The collaboration between the military and civilian sectors is truly something to be proud of," Christine remarked.
Major Wallace nodded, his eyes momentarily drifting to the view of the fleet outside the window. "It's been a challenging journey, but essential. We're not just fighting the Cylons; we're fighting for our way of life. Amasen represents the unity that will see us through these dark times."
Christine leaned forward, her pen poised over a notepad. "The intelligence reports indicate increased Cylon activity in the border regions. How do you plan to address the growing threat?"
Major Wallace's smile faded, replaced by a more serious expression. "We're reinforcing our patrols and coordinating closely with the Battlestar Stryker. Intelligence suggests a potential Cylon base in the nearby asteroid field. Our joint efforts will be crucial in determining the extent of the threat."
Christine scribbled notes as she listened, her questions probing and insightful. Major Wallace answered each one with a mix of confidence and caution, aware of the delicate balance between providing information and safeguarding strategic details.
"As we expand our reach into uncharted territories, Major, how do you plan to maintain morale among the civilian population?" Christine inquired.
Major Wallace leaned forward, his gaze unwavering. "Morale is as much about information as it is about inspiration. We'll keep the civilians informed, ensure they understand the importance of our missions. And in moments of doubt, we'll remind them of the resilience of the human spirit, the same spirit that brought us to Amasen and keeps us moving forward."
As the interview continued, Major Wallace outlined his vision for Amasen, emphasizing the station's role as a beacon of hope in the darkness of space. The challenges were significant, but so was the determination to overcome them. The fate of humanity rested not only in the strength of their military forces but also in the unity and resolve of those who called Amasen home.
Battlestar Stryker, Officers Wardroom:
Colonel Alan Stryker entered the wardroom and found a place to have a seat. The room was surprisingly empty, but he appreciated the peace and quiet. He had thought about going over to Amasen to visit with his family, but he decided to stay onboard in case he would be needed.
"Still feels good to be back on a battlestar," he said to himself.
He heard a group of voices down the corridor and they appeared to be in the middle of an animated discussion. They were far enough to where he could not make out every word but they appeared to be discussing pyramid players.
"I'm telling you, Leon Delroy is the greatest modern player," Ensign Edmond Mariano said as he entered the room.
"You're only saying that because he went to the Twins," Lieutenant Ernest Thompson countered.
"Playing the Gemenon card, bold strategy," Stryker called out to the two lieutenants from the Tactical Division.
"Colonel Stryker, sir!" Thompson called out when he realized the XO was in the wardroom.
"Colonel, you're not a pyramid fan are you?" Mariano asked.
Stryker chuckled as he shook his head. "Not much of a pyramid fan, Ensign. You know my father thought pyramid was a complete waste of time but with me…my game is more about commanding battlestars than scoring goals. But it seems like you two have a heated discussion going on here."
Lieutenant Thompson grinned. "Sir, Mariano here thinks Leon Delroy is the greatest modern pyramid player, just because he played for the Twins."
Mariano nodded enthusiastically. "Colonel, you have to admit, his moves are legendary. The way he maneuvers on the field is pure art."
Stryker leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I may not know much about pyramid, but I do know strategy. Maybe I should sit in on one of your games sometime. See if I can pick up a few tips for commanding a battlestar."
The officers laughed, and Stryker continued, "But enough about pyramid. Any updates on our current situation? I haven't been aware of the latest updates for a while.
Lieutenant Thompson took a sip of his coffee before responding, "Not much, sir. We're maintaining our position, running routine drills. The crew is settling in well after the last mission. Morale is decent, considering the circumstances."
Stryker nodded. "Good to hear. Keep me posted on anything significant. And let's make sure those drills are as sharp as ever. You never know when the Cylons might decide to pay us a visit."
"Colonel, permission to speak freely, sir?" Mariano sought approval.
"Permission granted, Ensign," Stryker replied, sitting upright in his chair.
Before Mariano could articulate his thoughts, Lieutenant Thompson jumped in, "Why was your father never a pyramid fan?"
"Tradition, I guess. Pyramid wasn't a traditional Aquarian game, and Aquaria was the last colony to adopt the sport, even securing a professional pyramid team last. Traditional Aquarians played tackleball and ultimate—sports virtually nonexistent in the other eleven Colonies. Later, my father found the money pyramid players earned sickening, often stating they were overpaid while the servicemen and women of the Colonial military were underpaid. Remember, it took my father threatening to resign after the Armistice to secure a 32% pay raise for service members."
"Admiral Stryker sure did love the servicemen and women under his command," voiced Thompson.
"That is also Aquarian tradition. The saying goes, 'sacrifice yes, waste not.' Meaning you'll sacrifice the people under your command, but you won't waste their lives."
"Forgive me for not knowing, Colonel, but why is Stryker normally referred to as Admiral Stryker and officially referred to as Fleet Admiral Jonas Ingram Stryker of Aquaria?" Mariano inquired.
"Well, first answer, the 'of Aquaria' part is pre-Cylon War tradition that fell out of use after the unification of the Twelve Colonies. Just like Fleet Admiral George Nelson of Caprica. The 'of' part was to recognize their home colony. Second, it is because of respect for my father. You have to understand, during the Cylon War, and even among historians, my father was considered the greatest, or I should say, the most important person in Colonial history."
"Scuttlebutt says that Major Wallace over on the station has more favor with your family than you do, is that true?" Thompson ventured.
"Arthur is like a part of the family, always has been, but there was never any favoritism when it came to my parents," Stryker clarified.
"Then, may I ask why Stryker picked Major Wallace over you? I mean, you lived on Aquaria before the Cylon attack, sir," Thompson pressed, displaying boldness in his question.
Stryker chuckled, "If I had a cubit for every time I was asked about that, then I would have more cents than planets in the galaxy. But the reality is, despite me living on Aquaria and making it my home, I am Piconese by birth. But there is also my mother to consider."
"Your mother?" Mariano asked.
"Yeah, whatever they cooked up, putting Wallace in danger, and my mother would never have forgiven my father if something happened to me or any of my siblings due to military service. There's a reason I'm the only one among my siblings to join the military. Even though my mother did everything she could think of to talk me out of joining the Fleet. You should have seen the rage on her face when I got injured, and how pissed she was at my father, who suddenly had business on Aquaria to attend to, giving her space to cool off."
"Wait, I thought your mother thought of Arthur as a son?" Thompson asked.
"She does, but he's still not her child, despite how close they are. It goes back to Aquarian traditions. Arthur is from a part of Aquaria where his family has ruled since Aquaria was first settled, some 2,000 years ago. Despite never running for office, the people of that region...some 88% voted for Arthur into office, and another 10% voted for whoever Arthur endorsed."
"Is there not a legal case, regarding that?"
"Yeah, House Wallace vs Twelve Colonies of Kobol. In that legal case, two questions were asked. First, did the Colonial Federal government have the right to remove a candidate from the ballot, even a write-in candidate? Second, the age of the candidate, since at the time each colony could determine who could and could not be on the ballot, including age. This became an issue when eight-year-old Arthur Wallace was placed on the ballot and won with 96% of the vote for his region."
"So what happens?"
"The court ruled that no, the Colonial government could not remove any candidate from the ballot unless that same standard was applied to all candidates—age, for example. But the court also ruled that the Colonial Federal government was the one to set the standard for candidates and not the individual colonies. So, Arthur was off the ballot until he was 18, and then he was put back on the ballot by the people of Aquaria. Each time he wins, he declines the position."
"Does that make you jealous of the relationship your father has with Arthur?"
"I would be lying if I said no. It was worse when I was younger. But first, I came to realize that my father loved me and was protecting me in his own way. Second, I am not Arthur, nor am I my father. I don't have my father's tactical and strategic brilliance, but Arthur does. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go spend some time with my family, after all."
Battlestar Stryker, CAG's Office:
Major Irene 'Huntress' Artemisia, the Stryker's CAG, sat at her desk and looked over the reports in front of her. The battlestar's ragtag air group had even more of that image with the pilots from the Repulse and the Renown.
"At least that bolsters our ranks," she said under her breath.
She was grateful for the additional help, and the gods knew they needed every break they could get.
As Major Artemisia continued reviewing the reports, the door to her office slid open, and Lieutenant Rayen 'Crash' Zyanya walked in. He saluted crisply, and Artemisia returned the gesture.
"Major," Zyanya said, his voice steady, "we've got a situation brewing in the hangar. You might want to see this."
Artemisia frowned, concern creasing her forehead. "What's going on, Crash?"
Zyanya hesitated for a moment before responding, "It's the new pilots, Major. Seems like there's a bit of tension between them and our veteran crew. I thought you should know."
Artemisia sighed. The integration of the Repulse and Renown pilots into the Stryker's air group had been a challenge from the start. The dynamics between the two groups were strained, a clash of different training philosophies and operational procedures.
"Take me to the hangar, Zyanya," Artemisia ordered, rising from her desk.
As they walked through the dimly lit corridors of the Stryker, Artemisia couldn't help but feel the weight of responsibility on her shoulders. The survival of humanity rested on the effectiveness of their air group, and unity among the pilots was crucial.
When they arrived at the hangar, the atmosphere was palpably tense. Artemisia could see groups of pilots from the Repulse and the Renown standing apart from the original Stryker crew. The animosity was evident, and Artemisia knew she needed to address the issue before it escalated further.
She climbed up to the platform overlooking the hangar and called for attention. The noise in the hangar gradually subsided as all eyes turned to the CAG.
"At ease," Artemisia commanded, her voice cutting through the tension. "We're all in this together, and we've got a common enemy. We don't have the luxury of letting personal differences divide us. Our survival depends on unity and cooperation."
She scanned the faces of the pilots, meeting the eyes of each one. "I know it's difficult merging two distinct groups, but we don't have the luxury of time to sort out our differences. We need to focus on what unites us and that is our commitment to protecting the remnants of humanity."
Artemisia paused, letting her words sink in. The silence in the hangar was heavy.
"Dismissed," she finally said, and as the pilots dispersed, she motioned for Mercer to join her.
"We need to facilitate better integration, Crash. Schedule joint training sessions. Mix the squads during patrols. We can't afford division within our ranks," Artemisia said, her tone resolute.
Zyanya nodded in agreement. "I'll get on it right away, Major."
As Artemisia watched the hangar return to its usual bustling activity, she couldn't shake the feeling that the real battles weren't just with the Cylons. The internal struggles among the crew threatened to weaken them at a time when strength and unity were paramount. The survival of the human race depended on their ability to rise above their differences and stand as one.
Battlestar Stryker, Viper Squadron One Ready Room:
"So, we swoop and in and save the day, like a bunch of big damn heroes!" Ensign Nalani 'Hawk' Haukea said as she took a sip from her bottle and sat back against the chair in the ready room.
"Everyone knows you were going to check to see if any of those pilots were frakkable," Ensign Chelsea 'Two Shots' Ware teased.
"Come on Two Shots, worried they'd forget you after they saw me," Haukea retorted.
The two women shared a laugh, their camaraderie momentarily easing the tension that had lingered in the air. The Viper Squadron One Ready Room was filled with the chatter of pilots preparing for their next mission, and the banter between Haukea and Ware was a welcome distraction.
Captain Ryan 'Ray Gun' Eaton, the new squadron leader, entered the room, and the pilots quickly snapped to attention. He gave them a nod and motioned for them to relax.
"At ease, everyone. We've got a mission briefing in five. Gear up and be ready," Eaton announced, his voice carrying the weight of experience.
As the pilots dispersed to don their flight suits and helmets, Haukea turned to Ware with a mischievous grin. "You think the old man's got something big planned for us?"
Ware shrugged, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Always. But let's hope it's the kind of big that doesn't involve too much shooting. My trigger finger could use a break."
The two pilots finished gearing up and made their way to the briefing room. The atmosphere was more focused now, the banter giving way to a sense of anticipation. Major Artemisia stood at the front, going through the details of the upcoming mission.
"We've received intel about a potential Cylon base in the nearby asteroid field. Our Raptor reconnaissance indicates increased activity in the area. Viper Squadron One, you'll be leading the assault. The rest of the air group will provide support as needed," Artemisia explained, projecting a holographic map of the asteroid field.
Haukea exchanged a glance with Ware, a silent understanding passing between them. This mission wasn't going to be a routine patrol. The fate of the fleet might hinge on their success.
As the briefing concluded, the pilots filed out of the room, the weight of the impending mission settling on their shoulders. Haukea and Ware walked side by side, their steps in sync.
"You ready for this, Hawk?" Ware asked, using Haukea's call sign.
Haukea nodded, a determined glint in her eyes. "Always, Two Shots." Just another day of being big damn heroes, right?"
Ware chuckled, the familiar banter returning. "Just don't forget to watch our backs."
Amasen, Stryker Family Quarters:
Ensign Paul 'Torch' Stryker looked out of the window at the influx of Colonial Fleet ships that had taken formation around the station. He saw cruisers and faststars, but still the Stryker remained the only battlestar he saw. It was better than the view he had until recently, and he was grateful for that.
"Paul, are you there?"
"I'm in here, Grandma," he called out.
Elizabeth Stryker appeared in the doorway and entered the room. The matriarch of the Stryker family was in her nineties, but still commanded the room with her presence.
"Arthur is due within the next fifteen minutes, I want you here as well," she said.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"I want him to go to Picon to find Joseph," she said.
Paul had a feeling this might be something she would do. Joseph had been at the Fleet Academy on Picon. Arthur Wallace was as much a part of their family as anyone, and he could muster the resources to find his brother. He had held out hope that Joseph Stryker was somewhere on the planet, where his last name alone would put a target on his back.
Paul turned away from the window, his expression thoughtful. The influx of Colonial Fleet ships outside mirrored the influx of concerns within the Stryker family quarters. His grandmother, a formidable presence despite her age, had always been the anchor of their family.
"I'll be there, Grandma," Paul replied, a mix of determination and concern in his voice.
As he followed Elizabeth Stryker down the hallway to join the family gathering, thoughts of his missing brother, Joseph, weighed heavily on his mind. The last anyone heard, Joseph had been at the Fleet Academy on Picon, a fact that couldn't be ignored in the current climate of uncertainty.
They adorned the family room with framed photographs, capturing moments from generations past. Paul's grandfather on his mother side, a veteran of the Cylon War, smiled from one frame. Elizabeth led Paul to a large oak table, where his father, Arthur Wallace, sat, deep in thought.
"Paul," Arthur nodded, acknowledging his son's presence.
"Arthur, Grandma mentioned something about finding Joseph on Picon. What's the plan?" Paul asked, taking a seat at the table.
Arthur sighed, his expression troubled. "I've been in touch with some contacts. Picon is chaotic, especially with the recent Cylon attacks. But if there's a chance Joseph is there, I'll find him."
Elizabeth interjected, her voice unwavering. "He's family, Arthur. We can't just sit here wondering. We need to know."
Paul could sense the urgency in his grandmother's words. The uncertainty surrounding Joseph's whereabouts had cast a shadow over the Stryker family, and Elizabeth was determined to bring clarity.
"I'll head to Picon, Elizabeth. We'll find Joseph," Arthur affirmed, his jaw set with resolve.
Paul nodded, the gravity of the situation sinking in. The room fell into a focused silence, each member of the Stryker family grappling with their own thoughts and concerns. The impending mission to locate Joseph brought a mixture of hope and anxiety, a sentiment shared among them.
As the minutes passed, the family room became a crucible of emotions. Elizabeth, despite her age, radiated a quiet strength that resonated with generations of Strykers who had faced adversity. Paul glanced at the photographs adorning the walls, the stoic faces of family members who had weathered the storms of war and conflict.
"Paul," Arthur said, breaking the silence, "I need you to hold down the fort here. Keep an eye on things while I'm away. Your grandma and I have every faith in you."
Paul met his father's gaze, the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. "I've got it, Arthur. Focus on finding Joseph. We'll be here, holding down the fort."
Elizabeth, standing beside Arthur, placed a hand on his shoulder. "Arthur, bring him back. We've already lost too much."
The door opened, and a subtle tension filled the room as Arthur prepared to depart. The family gathered for a brief yet poignant moment, a silent understanding passing among them. In the face of uncertainty, the bond that tied the Stryker family together was unbreakable.
As Arthur stepped out into the corridor, Paul turned to his grandmother. "I'll do everything I can to support Arthur. I know he won't return until he brings Joseph back."
Elizabeth nodded, her eyes reflecting a mix of determination and vulnerability. "Family is everything, Paul. Never forget that."
Battlestar Stryker, CIC:
Lieutenant Ivan Hirsch stood at Command and Control and stared up at the DRADIS screen. As of now he was officer of the deck, and it amazed him how far he had come in the time since the Cylons had attacked. If not for such a twist of fate he would have lost his life on the new Stryker during the dual decommissioning and commissioning ceremony.
As if on cue, Petty Officer Grant Nevil's announced from Communications, "Lieutenant Hirsch, Raptors from recon team Delta-7 are requesting permission to land. They've got critical intel."
He nodded to the communications officer, "Grant them clearance and get me the details ASAP."
Stryker entered the CIC, returning from seeing his family and within minutes, the recon team entered the CIC as well, fatigue evident on their faces. The lead pilot, Captain Tressa 'Heatwave' Manning, saluted the Colonel. "Sir, we've got something big. We picked up unusual transmissions from a nearby asteroid field. It might be a Cylon outpost."
Stryker leaned forward, his interest piqued, "Cylon outpost, you say? What's the strength of their presence?"
Manning exchanged glances with her team before responding, "Can't be sure, sir. The transmissions were heavily encrypted, but they're definitely not standard Colonial signals. We didn't want to risk staying too long and getting detected."
Colonel Stryker nodded, his mind already shifting into strategic mode. "Understood, Captain Manning. We can't afford to ignore this lead. Lieutenant Hirsch, get our tech team on those transmissions immediately. I want a detailed analysis. If there's a Cylon outpost, we need to know everything about it."
Lieutenant Hirsch briskly acknowledged the order, barking commands to the tech team to prioritize the analysis. Meanwhile, Captain Manning continued, "Sir, the asteroid field seems to be masking their presence effectively. Our Raptors were lucky to pick up those transmissions. It could be a staging ground for a larger Cylon operation."
Stryker's expression tightened. "We can't let this opportunity slip through our fingers. Captain Manning, prepare your squadron for another recon mission. We need to confirm the presence of the Cylons and gather as much intel as possible without getting detected. We can't afford to tip our hand until we have a clear plan of action."
Manning saluted, "Yes, sir. We'll move out immediately."
As the recon team left the CIC to ready their Raptors, Colonel Stryker turned to Lieutenant Hirsch. "Inform the Admiral about our findings. Let him know we're preparing for another recon mission and that we might have a potential lead on a Cylon outpost."
Amasen, Commanding Officer's Quarters:
Collier was now gone, withWallace having return to his quarters, and nowwas left alone with his thoughts. He had to wonder just what his next move would be. He hated the feeling that ran through his mind. He was used to the idea that he would always be one step ahead of everyone else.
"Let's see what else you can tell me," he said as he picked up the journal.
He opened it and began to thumb through its pages in hopes of a revelation. Maybe there was something he could use to figure out his next move.
"Arthur, there's some people here to see you."
He turned his head from the journal and looked at Rebekah Stotland. The Colonial Fleet officer had become his liaison between the Stryker and Amasen, and that was only one of the reasons he had chosen her for the job. She had other assets that drew him to her as well.
"Friend or foe?" he asked.
"From the way they're talking, definitely friends."
Now he was curious, and he had to see just who it was that had come to Amasen.
"Show them in," he said.
Stotland stepped out of the way and Wallace grinned when he saw the three people who had entered the room. They were indeed friends of his. Tyrion 'Stonewall' Tobias, Mark 'Rampage' Henderson, and Nate 'Demolisher' Harrison were Marines who had been seconded to the Ministry of Intelligence at his request.
The trio of Marines saluted smartly as they entered Major Wallace's office. Wallace stood up, a genuine smile spreading across his face. He had known Tyrion, Mark, and Nate for years, and their camaraderie extended beyond their military service.
"Tyrion, Mark, Nate," Wallace greeted them, exchanging firm handshakes, hugs and claps on the shoulder. "What brings the three of you to Amasen? I need you knee-deep in intelligence work back on the Eclipse."
"Sergeant Winters sent us here. The Sergeant, Ironside, and Forklift, are monitoring the network, with War Horse standing guard, Sergeant Rock is on the bridge," answered Stonewall, since the Eclipse is a Colonial Intelligence, Scout, Recon and Spy Ship, that has covertly joined the survivors.
Tyrion, the sturdy and serious Stonewall, spoke first. "Arthur, we've got some intel we thought you'd want to see. It's about the Cylons, and it's not the kind of thing we should discuss over comms."
Wallace's curiosity deepened. He trusted each of them similar to Tank and Heavy, sohe motioned for them to take a seat, and once they were settled, Tyrion placed a secure data pad on the desk. The Marines exchanged glances before Rampage, the wiry and intense Mark Henderson, began explaining.
"We intercepted some coded transmissions while running routine comms sweeps. Seems like the Cylons are up to something big, Arthur," Rampage said, his eyes narrowing.
Wallace's interest heightened. "Big in what way?"
Nate, known as Demolisher for his expertise in explosives, leaned forward. "We can't decrypt the entire message, but there are mentions of a massive gathering of Cylon forces in a system near the border. It's not just Raiders and Basestars. There's something more significant at play."
Major Wallace's mind raced as he absorbed the information. A gathering of Cylon forces on a scale they hadn't seen since the Fall of the Colonies could spell disaster for the fleet.
"Do we have any idea what their objective is?" Wallace asked, a sense of urgency in his voice.
Tyrion hesitated before responding, "Not yet Arthur. But we thought you should know. We've been tracking their movements as best we can, but we might need more resources to get a clearer picture."
Wallace nodded, his mind already formulating a plan. "I'll coordinate with the Stryker's command. We need to be one step ahead of them. Great work, all of you. This information could make all the difference."
As the Marines stood to leave, Demolisher glanced back at Wallace. "We're in this together, Major. Whatever it takes to keep humanity one step ahead."
The Major watched them go, his mind now focused on the looming threat. The journal in his hand felt more significant than ever, a puzzle piece in the larger mystery of the Cylon's plans. It was time to put his intelligence and instincts to the test, to ensure that Amasen and the fleet stood united against the gathering storm on the horizon.
Wallace had intended to call it a night when he saw a figure appear in the doorway. He turned and found himself face to face with Rear Admiral Percival Sherbrook. He had read the reports from Commander Cyprien and the Stryker.
"Can I help you?" Wallace asked.
Sherbrook walked in and looked around the room as though he was there to appraise the value of the surroundings.
"Admiral Sherbrook, I wanted to meet the man who was running this station," he said.
"Major Arthur Wallace, Ministry of Intelligence," he said.
"Yes, Commander Cyprien told me about you.
Sherbrook extended a hand, and Wallace shook it firmly. The room was filled with a tension that hinted at the weight of responsibility both men carried.
"Your reputation precedes you, Major. We've got a lot on our plates, and from what I hear, you're the man to help us navigate these troubled waters," Sherbrook remarked.
Wallace nodded, acknowledging the unspoken challenges that lay ahead. "The Cylons are making their moves, Admiral. We intercepted some intel about a significant gathering of their forces near the border. Winters and his team are doing their best to decrypt the transmissions, but we need to act quickly."
Sherbrook's expression hardened. "A gathering of that scale could mean they're planning a major offensive. We can't afford to be surprised, again. What's your plan, Major?"
Wallace leaned against the desk, his gaze focused. "We need to consolidate our intelligence efforts. Winters' team and my contacts within the Ministry can work together to piece together the puzzle. We also need to coordinate with Commander Cyprien and the Stryker. The battle group's strength will be crucial in whatever comes our way."
Sherbrook nodded in agreement. "I've already been in touch with Cyprien. We agree. The fleet is our best chance, and we need to ensure everyone's operating with the same information."
Wallace picked up the secure data pad left by the Marines. "Winters' team intercepted coded transmissions that could shed more light on the Cylon's intentions. We're working on decoding them, but it's a complex process."
Sherbrook looked at the datapad, his eyes narrowing. "We'll throw everything we have at it. We can't afford to miss any details."
In the midst of their conversation, Rebekah Stotland entered the room, her presence a reminder of the ongoing coordination between the Stryker and Amasen. She listened silently, her eyes shifting between the Major and the Rear Admiral, absorbing the gravity of the situation.
Sherbrook addressed Stotland, "Lieutenant, make sure the communication lines are open between Amasen and the Stryker. We need to streamline the flow of information."
Stotland nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll ensure seamless coordination between the two commands. Major, if there's anything specific you need from the Stryker, let us know."
Wallace glanced at the journal on his desk, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Winters' team intercepted coded transmissions from the Cylons. We're working on decoding them, but we might need additional resources."
Stotland noted the request. "I'll relay that to the Stryker's intelligence division. We'll do everything we can to assist in the decryption process."
Sherbrook looked at Wallace. "Major, I suggest you get some rest. This situation is going to demand everything from us. We'll reconvene in the morning to assess the progress."
Wallace agreed, realizing the importance of being at his best for the challenges that lay ahead. As the meeting concluded, the weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders once again. He watched as Sherbrook and Stotland left the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
The journal on his desk seemed to beckon him, its pages holding secrets that might unravel the mysteries of the Cylon's plans. With a determined resolve, Major Wallace prepared to delve into the coded transmissions and strategize for the challenges that awaited him.
Battlestar Stryker, Commanding Officer's Quarters:
Cyprien sat at his desk and poured a drink from a nearby glass bottle. In his hand he held the newly updated list of ships that had become the Stryker battle group. The group consisted of the surviving heavy cruisers Macon, Cymric, Aransas City, Leipzig, and Scotia along with the light cruisers Novara, Shalalth, Ravenscrag, and Sulkava. Adding further support were the faststars Kinzer, Babur, Grozny, Ellinis, Etruria, Karanja, Perseo, Tabora, Jasiri, Sebo, Elswick, Camborne, Nashton, Chisana, Canelo, Muskoda, and Aydin.
"We have more of a chance to survive," he said as he took a drink of water.
The hatch to the room opened and Rear Admiral Percival Sherbrook entered the room. Cyprian judged by his uniform that he must have changed to a cleaner uniform when he had returned to the Macon. He stood up in an attempt to show more respect to the flag officer.
"Admiral Sherbrook, what can I do for you, sir?" he asked.
Sherbrook looked over at the list of the ships on Cyprien's desk, "Taking an interest in the new battle group?"
"The Stryker has been on its own since the Cylons attacked, it's nice to have some support along with this base."
Admiral Sherbrook nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed, Commander Cyprien. The addition of these ships significantly strengthens our position. We can't afford to face the Cylons alone, not with what Winters and his team have uncovered."
Cyprien gestured toward the list of ships. "I've been going through the specs and capabilities of each vessel. With this battle group, we've got a more diverse set of assets. It gives us options, especially if we're dealing with a significant Cylon force gathering near the border."
Sherbrook took a moment to look at the list, his expression grave. "Our primary concern is to gather as much intel as we can on the Cylon movements. Winters' team has been invaluable in that regard. If there's a coordinated Cylon offensive on the horizon, we need to know where and when."
Cyprien agreed, "Absolutely, sir. I've already initiated joint training exercises with the newly integrated pilots from the Repulse and the Renown. The integration is going smoother than expected, but we need to be operating at peak efficiency."
Sherbrook placed a hand on Cyprien's shoulder. "Your leadership has been commendable, Commander. The crew looks up to you, and we're counting on the Stryker to be the tip of the spear. If there's anyone who can lead us through this, it's you."
Cyprien nodded, appreciating the vote of confidence. "Thank you, sir. We're all in this together, and we'll do whatever it takes to ensure the survival of the fleet."
"As it should be," Sherbrook replied. "Keep me updated on any significant developments. I'll be coordinating with Major Wallace on Amasen to align our efforts. The intelligence Winters' team uncovered is concerning."
With that, Admiral Sherbrook left Cyprien's quarters, leaving the commander to his thoughts. The weight of responsibility pressed on him, but he knew that the combined strength of the Stryker battle group, along with the support of the other ships, was humanity's best chance for survival. He turned his attention back his desk where a novel sat. It was the type of book he would have read when he was trying to pass the time by when he was on a ship he was decommissioning, and he figured it would be something he would need on the Stryker.
"Maybe I need to start reading it slowly since I don't have too much to choose from," he mused as he picked it up.
The phone on his desk began to ring and he had to shake his head as he wondered what fire would be next for him to put out. He set the book down and picked up the receiver.
"This is Cyprien," he said.
"Commander Cyprien," the voice of Arthur Wallace said on the other side of the line, "I need a favor."
"If I decline to help are you going to find a way to override it?" he asked sarcastically.
"Yeah, absolutely!" Wallace chuckled before he continued, "Well, not in the least…unless I need to of course. I need to borrow a faststar and one of its Raptors for a mission to Picon."
Cyprian leaned back in his chair and thought it over. Thanks to the surviving ships of the Repulse and Renown battle groups he could probably afford to spare a ship, but there were more questions he wanted answered before he did so.
"Level with me here, what's the mission and why is it so frakkin' important?"
There was a pause and he wondered what Wallace was doing over there of Amasen. Perhaps he had taken a moment to reconsider the favor he was asking for, but he learned when it came to the Ministry of Intelligence officer it was probably not the case.
"I got a report from the Eclipse that there was intelligence data stored on the hard drives at Headquarters that relates to the Cylons, if I can get down there to Gray and retrieve that then it would give us an edge against the Cylons."
"Why not just download it and we can start analyzing it?" Cyprien responded.
"This data is so sensitive that it would never be put on the Ministry Intranet for us to access, it can only be accessed at headquarters in person by someone who know the system and have a valid access code along with high enough security clearance," Wallace said.
"Let me guess, you are the only person alive who know the system, have a valid access code, with high enough security clearance?" asks Cyprien, sarcastically.
"Do not blame me, blame the Cylons."
Cyprien thought repeatedly as he ran the idea through his mind, and then he realized that Wallace had a point. It would be nice to get the man out of his hair for just a little while had an appeal to it. If it got him some peace and then allowed him to return with valuable intelligence was a win altogether.
He nodded, his expression hardened. "Alright, Major. You can have the Etruria and a Raptor for the mission," he finally said. "But I want a full briefing on the intel gathered from headquarters and the layout of the situation beforehand. We can't afford any surprises, and I need to know what we're getting into."
"Thank you, Commander," Wallace replied with gratitude evident in his voice. "I'll have all the details sent over shortly. The Etruria will be vital in getting in and out quickly."
"Happy to be of assistance, Major, good hunting," he said.
"There is one other thing I need to mention to you, off the record," Wallace said.
'Isn't there always something you're leaving out of the conversation,' Cyprien thought wearily before he said, "I'm listening."
"Elizabeth Stryker asked me to go to Picon to rescue her grandson, Joseph, and she's not a woman you say the word 'No' to," Wallace said.
Cyprien sighed, realizing the gravity of the situation. Elizabeth Stryker, the influential matriarch and widow of one of the key figures in the Colonial Fleet's history, was not someone to be taken lightly. The request wasn't just a personal favor; it had political implications that could ripple through the fleet.
"Joseph Stryker, huh?" Cyprien mused. "Well, Major, if she is asking for help, we can't just turn her down. However, I need to know more. What's the situation on Picon, and why does Joseph need rescuing?"
"Joseph survived the destruction of the Fleet Academy. The Cylons targeted him specifically, and we suspect it is because of his famous surname and who his grandfather was. We need to rescue him before the Cylons find him."
"I wish you the best of luck with finding him, it's the least we can do for her," Cyprien said.
"That's for sure, I promise to bring your Raptor back in one piece."
Cyprien nodded, ending the call. He couldn't ignore the potential impact of this mission on the fleet, but the Colonial Fleet had always been about protecting its people.
Amasen, Commanding Officer's Quarters:
Wallace lay there in the bed, the sleeping form of Rebekkah Stotland next to him, and he wanted to savor the moment while he still could. Soon he would have to leave Amasen to make his way over to the Etruria, and after that his destination was Picon. He knew he had to save Joseph Stryker, and in this instance, he had to wonder what awaited him on the planet. Not only were there the Cylons to worry about but he had to wonder other dangers lay in wait.
"I'll do everything I can to come back," he whispered to her, feeling the warmth coming from her naked body.
As he quietly slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Rebekkah's peaceful slumber, he made his way to the small desk in the corner of the room. The dim light from the desk lamp illuminated scattered maps, reports, and photographs of Picon. Wallace's mind focused on the mission ahead, and how bringing Joseph Stryker home safely to his family all depended on him.
Wallace turned his attention back to Rebekkah, who was now stirring in the bed. He approached her, gently placing a kiss on her forehead. "I have to go, Rebekkah. Duty calls," he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of regret and determination.
Rebekkah, still groggy from sleep, nodded understandingly. "Be careful, Arthur. I will be waiting for your return," before kissing him again, he has to push those thoughts out of his head and get moving.
However, with a last glance, Rebekkah had fallen back a sleep with just the sheets covering her. Wallace thought with a sigh, 'Never enough time,' before he left his quarters and headed to the hangar.
Amasen, Commanding Officer's Office:
Wallace stood alone in his office, his gaze fixed on the flashing readout bearing big, bold red letters: 'Message Sent. Message Received. Confirmed.' Below the readout, a list of surviving battlestars unfolded, including the steadfast Galactica under Commander William Adama and the formidable battlestar Pegasus, commanded by Rear Admiral Helena Cain. The battlestar Hermes also stood resilient, along with the Ark Royal.
Wallace mentally noted to himself, 'The Hermes survived, and so did the Ark Royal. I'll inform Cyprien when the time is right.'
As his eyes scanned the document further, he discovered that the battlestars Libran and Gemeon had also weathered the storm. At that moment a sly grin crept across his face as he realized Christine Collier, Commander Tattnall's girlfriend, had made it through. One of his last assignments before the Cylons attacked had been restoring the decommissioned Gemenon to serve as a trap for the Tauron splinter group Erebea while the Libran did battle with their ships and bases inside Colonial space.
'She could prove useful. I should find a way to position her close to me, but how?' Wallace pondered.
Just then, another message flashed, prompting him to exclaim, "That is my sweet little angel face agent!"
He swiftly picked up the receiver and called the Eclipse, urgently requesting to speak with the Doctor or her assistant. Following a brief but crucial conversation with the Doctor, Arthur calmly hung up the wireless, his mind already plotting the next moves.
Faststar Etruria, Hangar
Colonel Connor Leeds looked over at Lieutenant Colonel Angeline Nichols, his XO, and wondered why they had been summoned to the hangar of day. The Etruria was a ship with a crew that had been tired past the point of exhaustion. The battle against the Cylons had been destined to end with their deaths and mentally he was prepared for a charge against the baseship that would have ended with a blaze of glory.
"You're looking a little too serious," Nichols told him.
He looked over at her with a quizzical look before he nodded his head, "Still trying to figure out how we're still here after all we went through."
"We have a tough little ship, she can take a beating," Nichols said.
The Etruria was one of the new ships of the Volterra class of faststars, with the idea that it would be large enough to travel longer ranges as well as have aviation capabilities albeit on a much smaller scale.
Colonel Leeds couldn't deny the resilience of the Etruria. The Volterra-class had proven to be a formidable addition to the Colonial Fleet, and the crew's determination had carried them through some harrowing battles. As he stood in the hangar, surrounded by the hum of activity, his thoughts lingered on the challenges they had faced and the uncertain future that lay ahead.
"You're right, Nichols. The Etruria has been a tough nut to crack," Leeds admitted, a wry smile playing on his lips. "But I can't shake this feeling. We're on borrowed time, and the Cylons aren't going to let up. There's always another threat around the corner."
Nichols nodded, her gaze focused on the Vipers being prepped for the next mission. "We've been dancing on the edge, that's for sure. But every day we're still flying is another day we have a chance to make a difference."
Leeds appreciated Nichols' pragmatic outlook. "True enough. So, any idea why they called us down here? I could use a bit of good news for a change."
Before Nichols could respond, a communications officer approached them, holding a data pad. "Colonel Leeds, Lieutenant Colonel Nichols, you're needed in the briefing room."
Leeds exchanged a glance with Nichols, a mix of curiosity and anticipation in their eyes. The mention of a mission indicated that there was still work to be done, a reality they had come to accept in the face of the ongoing conflict.
"Lead the way," Leeds said to the communications officer.
As they walked towards the briefing room, Leeds couldn't shake the sense that the upcoming mission held more significance than usual. The war against the Cylons had taken unexpected turns, and every operation carried the weight of the fleet's survival. A quite descended on them as they navigated the corridors. The faststars were sleek, maneuverable, and good for high-speed attacks unlike the heavier ships. He compared them to the Colonial Fleet version of a sports car.
When he finally entered the briefing room, a smaller room than those on a battlestar by necessity, he saw a man standing at the edge of the table with a map of Picon displayed on the screen.
"Colonel Leeds, I'm Major Arthur Wallace of the Ministry of Intelligence and you are my ride to Picon," he said.
Leeds raised an eyebrow at the statement but kept his demeanor stoic, "Why are we going to Picon, and under who's authority?"
"I've been given the mission of recovering intel from headquarters along with rescuing Joseph Stryker, and I need the Etruria to get me there."
Leeds studied Major Wallace with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. The intel they understood but the mention of Joseph Stryker raised additional questions. The Ministry of Intelligence was not an entity he typically interacted with, and the sudden nature of the mission left him uneasy.
"Rescuing Joseph Stryker? Why is he in need of rescue, and why the urgency?" Leeds inquired, his eyes narrowing.
Wallace sighed, a hint of frustration in his expression. "He's part of the Stryker family, and the name alone makes him a target for the Cylons. Gods know they've never forgiven his grandfather for his part in turning the tide of the Cylon War. I've been tasked with going to Picon to rescue him before the Cylons find him. This is a rescue mission, simple as that."
Leeds exchanged a glance with Nichols, a silent communication passing between them. The mission was risky, and he felt like this was more of a PR stunt. The thing was, it seemed to be the kind of thing the Colonial Fleet and the civilians needed right now. A shot in the arm to help boost morale and show that it was not as hopeless as it appeared.
Wallace nodded appreciatively. "Agreed, Colonel Leeds. Time is of the essence. Here are the details."
As Wallace outlined the mission specifics, the gravity of the situation became evident. The Etruria would have to navigate through dangerous Cylon-controlled space, executing a precise extraction on Picon. The success of the mission relied not only on the ship's capabilities but also on the skill and determination of its crew.
Leeds leaned back, absorbing the information, and then turned to Nichols. "Prepare the crew for immediate departure. This is going to be a high-stakes operation, and we can't afford any mistakes."
Nichols acknowledged the order with a sharp salute, her mind already racing through the necessary preparations.
"We'll be ready to leave within the hour," Leeds said.
"Excellent, and I'll need the dossiers on your pilots. I want to know who's going to be crewing the Raptor," Wallace said.
He walked over to a nearby console and entered his password to bring up the list of crew members. Once the Aviation Department was on the screen he motioned for Wallace to come over.
"These are our two pilots, take all the time you need and let me know when you're ready," Leeds said before he turned to follow Nichols out of the room.
As they left the briefing room, Leeds couldn't shake the feeling that this mission held greater implications than they were being told. The involvement of the Ministry of Intelligence hinted at a deeper layer of intrigue, and the shadows of uncertainty loomed over their already perilous journey.
The hangar came alive with frenetic activity as the crew of the Etruria prepared for their next mission. The hum of engines, the clatter of tools, and the urgent chatter of personnel filled the air. Leeds took one last look at his ship, the tough little Etruria that had defied the odds so many times before, and he steeled himself for the challenges that lay ahead.
Faststar Etruria, Hangar
Lieutenant Zona 'Quake' Welter sat on the couch in the small quarters provided to her and her ECO on the Etruria. Seated at the desk across the room was her ECO, Lieutenant Lelah 'Firecracker' McGrath, who attempted to do paperwork and not be distracted by the movie that played on their television.
"Am I interrupting you ladies," Wallace said as he entered the room.
"Depends on who's asking," Welter said.
"Ignore her, she's hangry right now," McGrath teased which earned her a scathing look from Welter.
"Major Arthur Wallace, Ministry of Intelligence," he said as he walked over to took a seat, "You two are my ticket to Picon within the hour."
Welter and McGrath exchanged puzzled glances before turning their attention to Major Wallace. The mention of Picon and the Ministry of Intelligence added an unexpected layer to their routine.
"Picon?" Welter repeated, her brow furrowing. "Last I checked, we were in the middle of the frakkin' war zone. What's the rush?"
Wallace leaned forward, a sense of urgency in his voice. "Joseph Stryker, part of the Stryker family. We need to get him out before the Cylons catch wind of his location. It's a high stakes rescue mission, and you two are my best shot at making it happen."
Welter and McGrath exchanged another glance, this time more serious. The mission had the air of secrecy and importance that left them both uneasy. However, the nature of their duty as Colonial Fleet pilots meant they were accustomed to facing the unknown.
"Alright, spill the details, Major. What's the plan, and what do you need from us?" Welter asked, her no-nonsense attitude taking charge.
Wallace nodded appreciatively. "We have intel that Stryker is being held by a resistance group on Picon. We're going in fast and quiet, extracting him and getting the hell out. I need you two to pilot the Raptor for the mission."
McGrath looked up from her paperwork, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Fast and quiet is our specialty, Major. You're in good hands."
Wallace handed them a data pad with the mission specifics and the coordinates of the extraction point. Welter quickly scanned the information, her mind already calculating the logistics of the operation.
"We'll get the job done, Major. Just make sure you have all the necessary intel ready for us," Welter asserted, standing up from the couch.
"Time is of the essence, Lieutenant. We're leaving within the hour. Prepare yourselves and report to the hangar," Wallace said, rising from his seat.
As the Major left the quarters, Welter and McGrath exchanged a more serious look. The sudden nature of the mission and the involvement of the Ministry of Intelligence left them with a nagging feeling of uncertainty. However, their training and experience kicked in, and they focused on the task at hand.
"Alright, Firecracker, looks like we've got ourselves a rescue mission," Welter said, a determined glint in her eyes.
McGrath grinned, "Fast and quiet, just the way we like it. Let's make sure we bring Stryker home in one piece."
With that, the two pilots began preparing for the mission ahead. The Etruria's hangar buzzed with heightened activity as the crew readied the ship for the urgent departure. They made their way to the hangar deck, the urgency of the mission reflected in the briskness of their steps. The hangar was a hive of activity, deck crew members rushing around, securing equipment, and preparing for the imminent launch.
"Zona, do you see what I see?" McGrath asked.
"This has to be somebody's idea of a joke," she replied.
Their Raptor remained stowed in its spot in the hangar where it was being serviced by an aviation crew. A black Raptor with red stenciling that identified it as belonging to the Ministry of Intelligence stood ready on the lift ready to be taken out into space for takeoff. Major Wallace awaited them by the entrance, a serious expression on his face.
"Good to see you two ready," he said, acknowledging their arrival. "Time is critical. Once we're on Picon, follow my lead, and remember, silence is paramount."
Welter and McGrath nodded in unison; their focus unwavering. The crew swiftly performed the last checks, and the Raptor's engines hummed to life. The door of the hangar slowly opened, revealing the vast emptiness of space beyond.
As the Etruria glided into position for launch, Major Wallace took a seat behind Welter and McGrath, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the instrument panels. The mission to rescue Joseph Stryker had begun. However, as Wallace was left with his thoughts, he could not shake the feeling that this mission might be a bridge too far. Inevitably, his mind drifted to the various women he has loved over the years…