Responses to Earlier Comments:

Chronus, I appreciate your candor. As I shared in messaging, Cru's struggle won't be floating in a lake or drinking himself silly. It'll work to a head and it will be a snap.

Right, Blaze - and it doesn't take much of a brain to recognize an opportunity that can be exploited.

***All comments are welcome. I'll respond where appropriate***

Disclaimer: Please note: I own no part or share in the Battlestar Galactica realm, either commercial or otherwise. This story is submitted for entertainment purposes only.

Reminder: I did not spend time making up non-earth names for BSG things - Wold Pack, Dining Hall, modeled, etc. They are in there as is. I wanted to avoid introducing new terms, explaining them, and potentially causing confusion if/when they are used later without their explanations.

Chapter 28

Scar's Wolf Pack

"A lot can happen in six seconds and it took me two hours to document it in my report."

~Cru's Journal if he had time to keep one.

Galactica

VIP Dining Hall

Day 226

Bill Adama, Saul Tigh, and Lee Adama stood as Cru entered the room. President Roslin remained seated as did Ellen Tigh. Roslin smiled cordially and Ellen less so.

Galactica had a small VIP dining hall set apart from the main forward crew hall. It was once grand and was an apt setting for visiting dignitaries of military or civilian circumstance. As of late, it had been used for storage while Galactica's service was winding down. Now, emptied of the clutter, fitted, and restored to working order, it served as a small meeting and dining venue when the Admiral entertained - which was almost never.

A once rich and now faded tablecloth of gold, black, and red covered an aged and enduring oaken table. Ten worn leather-cushioned chairs remained in fair order. Place settings for seven, some chipped and some cracked, displayed the BSG 75 seal of Galactica.

"Major Cru, Mrs. Hawkins, welcome," said Admiral Adama.

Cru stepped through the entryway. Evvie who was close to him on his right, had her hand curled lightly under Cru's raised arm, at the elbow.

Cru wore his Marine Corps bridge service uniform. It was dark blue, almost black in color, with dark red trim. On his collar was the gold and red insignia of a Marine Major. On the left side of his chest was the Marine's version of The Wing pin. It had two small stars that indicated two tours of marine combat service. He also had his Human Asset Recovery and Forward Operations Re-Supply, or "HARFOR" pin, which was the traditional Falcon and Lightning bolt insignia. Both pins were of similar size and were positioned side by side. Nothing else adorned Cru's uniform. Marines wore identifying patches on their combat uniforms but not on their bridge service attire.

Evvie's dress was navy blue, full in length, simple in its fashion, but of an elegant cut. Around her neck and draping low was a three-stranded necklace of delicate pearls complete with matching earrings. Her dark golden-red hair was unadorned and flowed freely over her shoulders and back.

Cru was resplendent in his finery and Lady Evelyn was most captivating.

Bill, Saul, and Lee stood, yes, but not because of Cru. They stood because of the woman next to him.

~~~~~/~~~~~

VIP Dining Hall

38 Minutes Later

"I need to correct you, Madam President," said Evvie. "We're holding one hundred and eight thousand tons of the new iron ore, fifty-two thousand gallons of B-Grade tylium fuel, and eighty-four thousand tons of the tylium powder Major Cru left Caprica with."

Roslin looked from Evvie over to Cru and back to Evvie. It was Cru's ship, but Evvie was running it.

Evvie saw the hesitation. "Ma'am, the numbers are good. They're from this morning."

Roslin shook her head. "That is not what has been reported to me, Mrs. Hawkins."

"Ma'am, perhaps your numbers are dated," said Evvie. "I know Hitei Kan is offloading fuel as fast as they process it. They have no excess - no finished inventory. My information says they're running two overlapped sixteen-hour shifts, a four-hour refit, and four hours to sleep - that is their maximum capacity - and it is non-sustainable. Majahual and Monarch are the same with the small amount of processing they can do."

Roslin did not speak for a long pause. She ground her teeth as she pondered heavy thoughts. Most ships were running with less than twelve days of fuel in their tanks.

"Enough of this talk," said Ellen Tigh. "This is a dinner, not a funeral."

"Ellen…" said Colonel Tigh.

"No, I mean it," said Ellen. "This is work for others. That's their job. If their numbers are wrong, then they need to be fired and sent over to Highty Camm or whatever that ship is."

"Hitei Kan," said Cru.

"Whatever," said Ellen. "If they can't manage the work they've been assigned, perhaps they can work a shovel."

"Ellen…," said Saul again.

"I'm sorry, but a dirt farmer giving fuel inventories…," Ellen turned to Cru and Evvie. "I'm sorry Evelyn, but you are a dirt farmer, quite literally - no offense." Ellen turned to the others. "How accurate can she be?"

Evvie's eyes clicked subtly from the President's to the Admiral's and over to Ellen's.

"None taken," said Evvie, but a mischievous grin graced the corners of her lips.

"Mrs. Tigh, on a far more important matter…" said Evvie.

"Oh…?" said Ellen.

In Cru's mind, he thought, "Uh oh…" Evvie's tone was one she typically reserved for biting sarcasm.

"I love your dress," said Evvie. "I have not had an opportunity to say so."

"This thing?" said Ellen with a wary smile.

The subject change was suspicious and Ellen knew a compliment following her 'Dirt Farmer' comment could only be a setup for an in-kind response - or perhaps the naive little tart was attempting to channel away to a safer conversation, one where her fragile dignity might remain intact. Ellen didn't think Evvie had the critical skills and society wherewithal to pull off a good retort, so it was another juicy opportunity to keep the upstart 'Dirt Farmer' in her place.

Ellen made a dismissing gesture with her hand. "I only wear it when I've no great expectations of the company."

"Well, I'd love to have it," said Evvie, "I've made several acquisitions of my own, lately - the one I am wearing, in fact."

Ellen gave a smirk. "Well, best continue trying, dear. Our current situation is really no excuse for trodding out old bygone fashions. There are certain expectations, and all."

"Ellen, stop…" said Saul one last time, but he did not notice what Roslin, Bill, and Lee saw coming. Ellen had fallen unwittingly into a trap.

"Of course, I'd need to take yours in at the hips - a lot," said Evvie, "and I'd need to do something with the limited bustline, if you take my meaning." She gave a less-than-sincere smile. "I'm sure you understand, that even the cleverest of garments can look like a gunny sack when the fit is no longer as…spry…as it should be."

Cru looked down to hide his smile. Lee's eyes sprung wide and he was left momentarily speechless. Roslin looked away and coughed into her hand. Bill Adama gave a light smile at Evvie and redoubled his curiosity about the woman sitting next to his Marine Major.

"L'quinnen et di'egla su ni du'lol d'esha'm," added Evvie.

Ellen gave a blank stare as she contemplated what had just happened. "What…?"

"I'm sorry," said Evvie. "I heard you were Piconish. It means 'Age and gravity are no friends to women'."

"Check, please!" said Cru as he made a waving gesture to a non-existent waitress or waiter. It was something done at a dining venue when keen on leaving quickly, which Cru was.

~~~~~/~~~~~

Galactica

Hallway leading away from the VIP Dining Hall

Exactly seven minutes later

"We still have fourteen boxes of dried prunes," said Evvie. "Remind me to send her one."

"I will not," said Cru with a laugh. "I can deal with Cylons. I choose not to take part in a confrontation with Ellen Tigh."

Evvie smiled and elbowed Cru in the arm. "Chicken."

"Cluck-Cluck"

~~~~~/~~~~~

Asteroid Field

Sector 255

The raptor, nicknamed 'The Beast', sat quietly at the junction of Sector 255 and 226. To the left was the massive asteroid "Little Big Man'' which was somewhat cubic in shape and had lengths of roughly three hundred feet per side. To the right was the vast expanse of asteroids, and somewhere in it, Cylons gathered to launch hit-and-run attacks on the colonials.

"Major?" asked Dragoon. Her voice broke the silence like a bell in the night.

Cru didn't respond.

"Major, Starbuck and Kat checked in."

"I heard them," said Cru without turning.

"You didn't give them clearance."

"Did you?"

"I did, sir."

"Alright then. We're good."

There was a long pause of silence.

"Sir?" Dragoon's voice had a tone of annoyance.

"Lieutenant?"

"Everything okay, sir? We're overwatch on PBY255. It's a bad place to be distracted…sir."

"Stick to your electronics, Lieutenant."

"Yes sir," Dragoon grumbled her discontent.

Scar was out there. The deadly Cylon was a shadow hiding within shadows. Cylons were copies and copies, and more copies, but this one learned and this one evolved and this one had earned the title of "Ace" on the blood of Galactica and Pegasus pilots.

"Lieutenant, there's always a pattern with machines," said Cru. "We just haven't found it yet. Think about that. Knowing the pattern gives us an advantage."

"Sir?" Dragoon was right to not understand where the comment came from.

"The Cylons," said Cru, "there is nothing random about them, even Scar."

"With all due respect, sir, we've studied the videos ad nauseam. There is nothing ordered or patterned about this one, except that he is more patient than we are. He attacks just when we think we are safe - just when we let down our guard - just when we turn for home."

"That sounds like a pattern to me."

"That's no more a pattern than breathing."

"Which is a pattern - the lack of which is not breathing, which is problematic."

"You know what I mean, sir. I meant that breathing has nothing to do with who we are and what we are. It doesn't drive anything about our character. It is what we do. It was a poor analogy for me to use, but you still know what I mean - Sir."

Cru gave a light smile without looking back.

Dragoon was often vocal towards Cru while in the raptor, and he didn't shut it down. She tended to speak her mind and then toss in a "Sir" every now and again to stay "right" with military edicts. She was Cru's Electronics Countermeasures Officer, or "ECO". The bane of all ECOs, was the requisite trust they had to give the pilots who they were supporting. The pilots controlled their raptors and thereby controlled the lives of everyone in them, including ECOs like Dragoon. Dragoon outwardly considered Cru to be reckless and one to take unnecessary chances. But if pressed, she might admit the man had some skills - maybe.

"Lieutenant, it's a mess out here. The heavy asteroid presence forces us onto common, more open, thoroughfares. There are many paths - too many. The cylons take their time working their way in by other routes. They trip our 'trail-cams' and we go chasing off in time to find nothing. They make a single scrambled blip on a DRADIS and they're gone before another is made. And then one time, when we're watching our screens instead of looking up, Scar jumps out and takes another pilot down." Cru took a breath and let it out slowly as he considered the hard facts. "But in the end, we will get him - or her."

"And just how do we do that, sir? If you know something - I am all ears."

"Luck or good fortune will not take this one - or maybe it will, I don't know - but I expect it will be because we anticipated the next move."

~~~~~/~~~~~~

Galactica

"O" Club"

88 hours earlier

Cru stood at the door of the Flight Officers' Club, or "O" Club. There were other Officers' Clubs elsewhere in the nearly mile-long Galactica, but this one had been the de facto home to the pilots, when not on duty, since the ship's maiden voyage. There was a wall full of hanging pictures, some of them yellowed with age and some of them faded beyond recognition. There were a small number of tables with plenty of mismatched chairs, all in various states of disrepair. The room had a sort of grime to it, as if a century of cleaning couldn't get the dirt, and the soot, and the muck out of the corners or from between panel seams or out of cracks and crevices that marred every tabletop. There was a single deck of worn cards on the table in front of Starbuck. Bottles of cheap booze, ranging from empty to no more than half full, adorned every table.

Cru listened to Starbuck and Kat as they bickered over who was going to kill the Cylon nicknamed Scar and whose lips might or might not touch the rim of the "Galactica Top Gun'' drinking stein currently held in Starbuck's hands.

Cru was splitting his time between commanding the Marines of both battlestars, standing watch on the Galactica bridge, and flying raptor overwatch. Every three or four days he got twenty-four hours back on Bree's Twin. Cru was thinking of this as he idly watched and listened to the pilots "blowing off steam" which was Code for drinking a lot and forgetting their heavy responsibilities for a while.

Apollo noticed Cru standing there. Cru was a major and outranked everyone there. Still, the O Club was never brought to attention for anyone but his father, the Admiral.

"Maybe you should slow down," Apollo said quickly, trying to avoid a scene in front of the Major. But instead, Starbuck relieved him of the bottle in his hand. Apollo gave a look back to Cru. He had the face of a parent whose destructive toddler had just destroyed someone's expensive stereo.

Starbuck did not slow down. She shouted "Coming in hot!" and proceeded to crash down onto a table before slamming into the wall next to it.

Starbuck was what older salts like Cru used to call a DAPUTAL, pronounced "Dap-u-tall", which stood for "Drunk Again Per Usual - Try Again Later". A pilot or anyone else who was self-destructing either by heavy drink, gambling, fatigue and stress, or even unrequited love, was often best to avoid. When Apollo looked back for Cru, he was gone.

~~~~~/~~~~~

Asteroid Field

Sector 255

The Here and the Now

"Galactica - Starbuck, I'm hit! I'm hit! I'm hit!"

All hell broke loose in a short Galactica moment.

"Starbuck, Starbuck, what's your position?" shouted Kat.

Voices boomed over the radio. Scar was upon them and he "had the wind" of Starbuck, which was an old naval term meaning he was behind her and controlled the action. Starbuck and Kat were separated by more than twelve seconds. Thrace was on her own and her viper was wounded.

"Galactica - this is Freefall," called Cru over the comm. "Give me permission to engage."

Cru waited. Seconds passed like hours.

"Galactica, give me the 'go'!" shouted Cru. "CAG? Somebody?"

'They're writing her off…" breathed Dragoon. "She's frakked."

"Galactica - Starbuck!" called Starbuck. "My traker is venting. I'm capting 4-by-1…"

"Frak!…hold on, Thrace," growled Cru under his breath. He tapped the console next to him. "She's lost her hard burn - that's what that means."

Cru's fingers played over the controls that would shoot his raptor forward like a shot. He needed orders to pursue - always, even at the rank of Major. Orders were the tight discipline that preserved life and mission in the chaos of battle. Still, there was such thing as a "Command Decision" or, sometimes called "Going Rogue", which Cru had been known for, years past, during his active service.

"Hard burn?" said Dragoon. "She can't use it in here, even if she had it. She'd crater in earnest." Dragoon referred to the heavy press of asteroids and the inability to quickly move through them.

"No, she could if she had it," said Cru. "She's that good."

"Wait! Galactica says Go!" shouted Dragoon. "Go! Go! Go!"

"The Beast" lunged forward primed for battle. Cru piloted the Juggernaut Raptor with the big guns and the missiles. He spun up the Gatling miniguns, all four of them. Their loud mechanical whir was a song of war. Cru gave them a short burst to check operations. They were hot. They were ready.

"Major, their last check-in was at 2-5-9," called Dragoon.

"Roger that," called Cru in reply. "Starbuck, Starbuck, this is Freefall," Cru's voice boomed over the mic. "Tread water if you can. We're bringing the heat."

Cru piloted The Beast at speed, whipping through the asteroid field. The raptor could not maneuver like the vipers could, so they were forced to run down the open areas where there were fewer obstacles and far better opportunities for being attacked.

"Eyes wide, Lieutenant. This is ambush country," called Cru.

And right on queue…

"I have contact - four marks!" shouted Dragoon. She looked up from her screens and past Cru, out the forward window. "Frak! Raiders dead ahead!" she screamed. "Look out! Look out!"

"I see them, Lieutenant!" Cru shouted over Dragoon. "Kindly manage your cool!"

The limited visibility allowed the raiders in on them, at near point-blank range, in the snap of two fingers. Inside Cru's chest, his heart jumped into overdrive while his adrenal gland opened up the flood valve.

Scar, unknown to them, was dead only seconds before when Starbuck set the much-vaunted Cylon up in front of Kat, who provided his long-overdue expiry. There were other Cylon raiders in Scar's little wolfpack, and they fled when their alpha male exploded in a ball of flames and twisted metal. Now, they were using the same throughway to retreat down as Cru and Dragoon were charging up. Cru strafed to the left with all guns blazing and three missiles loosed. All four Cylons opened formation. One erupted in flames as it crossed into Cru's heavy hail of lead. It spun and plowed straight into a large asteroid. The other three fanned out within the narrow confines and fired for effect at Cru, Dragoon, and The Beast.

The Beast rang out as more than one of the Cylons scored hits.

The missiles exploded. The Beast's 20mm cannons, with their explosive rounds, detonated on impact and rent astroid and raider alike. Multiple explosions flash-blinded. The beast was rocked by concussive blasts. Clouds of heavy destruction cracked against The Beast's windows and flanks. Cru backed away as best he could. He knew he was up against "Little Big Man", the massive asteroid that served as a marker twixt sectors 255 and 256. He swept from left to right with opulent firepower and gods-fearing demise. The silhouette of a raider passed six feet in front of them and was shredded. It was a solid dark shape in the cacophony of eruption and blinding light and then it was pieces - many of them.

The whole event ended in just under six seconds.

Cru let up on the triggers and listened as he swung out and away from the behemoth, millions-year-old asteroid behind them. He wet his dry lips as his eyes pierced into the settling conflagration. His fingers touched the controls like a dancer on piano keys wanting to stomp. He watched and he waited. Fight or flight was a coin toss.

"Lieutenant…damage report, if you please," said Cru with a quiet voice while focused on everything and anything out before them.

The Cylons, if any survived, might have fled or may be circling back. Every movement, out in the chaos, pulled Cru's eyes to it like a siren's call. Every movement was a threat assessment.

"They got us…a lot" said Dragoon. She was shaken and her voice quivered. "I think we're alright. All criticals are still up. We're leaking something or…or we lost a sensor array. Secondary hydraulics maybe..."

"Okay…okay good," said Cru with a level voice. He was shaken too. "I need to get us out of here. Is any of your tech working?"

"No sir. You're 'eyes only' for now." Dragoon's voice was slow and sober as she contemplated the deaths they very nearly met. "I'm working on it."

"Good."

Cru spun down the Gatling mini guns. "Understood," he added. "Thank you."

Cru and Dragoon sat in near silence as Cru coaxed The Beast slowly through and away from the sudden contact and the lightning-fast battle that ensued.

"Our back is to Little Big Man's bright side so we must be looking towards 2-5-6 and 5-2-9 beyond, yes?

"2-5-9," corrected Dragoon, "sir…"

"Right...," said Cru, "That one." Cru's eyes watched like a hawk. His speaking voice was an afterthought.

Cru took several even breaths as he fought the adrenal rush screaming through his bloodstream. He worked The Beast forward, watching across all angles and watching for landmarks to determine his path in the absence of electronic guidance. "Anything yet, lieutenant?"

"Still working on it, sir," said Dragoon. "But, I know Starbuck and Kat are up ahead somewhere - or they were. They were running flight plan Bravo-Two-Bravo. They could have gone anywhere in the melee."

Minutes past while Dragoon got her equipment up and running. Cru inched forward, swinging this way and that, watching for the Cylons or their wreckage. Or both.

"Radio's good, sir," said Dragoon at long last. "I'm calling us in."

"Please do," said Cru.

"Galactica, Galactica, this is 3-3-8, reporting in."

Cru's DRADIS lit up as it came back online. His console lit up as well. He ran a scan from his seat while Dragoon called in their location.

"Starbuck and Kat are almost in," said Dragoon with a jump in her voice. "Sir, Scar is dead. Kat got him."

"Nice!" said Cru as he pounded his fist on the console. "Frakking good news!"

"It is, sir," said Dragoon in response. "That toaster finally bit it - good 'effing riddance."

"Alright, let's pull it back to whatever that sector was, we were in."

Dragoon gave a light smile. "We were in 2-5-5."

"Yeah, that one."

"Wait, sir, take a look low, two points to starboard," said Dragoon. "I'm reading residual heat. I bet it's where they got Scar."

Dragoon stepped up to Cru and pointed past him. "Do you see that jagged one? It's the one with the outcropping."

"I do," said Cru. He moved The Beast closer. Even from a distance, he could see the asteroid had a section where it had been super-heated. He moved The Beast closer still. There, spinning slowly a short distance from impact, was a twisted piece of metal about the size of a cabinet door. It was part of a raider's lower front grill. Across it, at an angle, was the long divot that made up a certain Cylon's namesake. It was a piece of Scar.

~~~~~/~~~~~

This ends Chapter 28

Author notes while writing:

I don't know that Ellen is fully in-character when she goes after Evvie in front of the others, but it was fun to write.

I called Ellen "Piconish" because Piconese sounds like the dog, "Pekingese".

Galactica is a mile long and there are more officers than just the pilots and some of the bridge crew. It occurred to me that there are likely several officers' clubs aboard ship but maybe just one that the pilots claimed as their own.