An ongoing "Battlestar Galactica" fan-fiction by Adam Page.
Battlestar Bellerophon, BSG 25
F12 – Fall of the Twelve. Dates are given F12 + days.
F12 -1
Commander Halstrom wearily slumped down on the couch in his quarters aboard the battlestar Bellerophon. His ship had just docked with the Cyprian shipyard on the fringes of the system for a long overhaul of systems. Tomorrow the sublight engines and FTL drive would be tested, then the battlestar would be committed to full dry dock, and he would be sitting on his arse for the next few years. That decompression incident had been the final straw in the troubled ship's short history.
He was proud of his ship, dammit. So what if the entire damn Colonial Fleet looked down on Bellerophon as the pariah of the fleet, he was secure in his conviction that the Bel was the greatest frakking ship ever commissioned into the service of the Twelve Colonies. Despite its...teething problems.
There was a knock on the door. Halstrom glanced at it, then back at the stack of papers on his desk. “Go ahead.”
The door swung open and the XO, Colonel Anton Granger, entered the spacious living quarters. He was a tall, intimidating man of forty-five years with piercing blue eyes, and his thick brown hair was only just starting to grey.
“You’re still awake?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“Ship never sleeps.”
“I envy it.”
“Well, these next few months are going to be exciting.”
A look of distaste crossed the XO’s face.
“Doesn’t seem right. The Bel didn’t deserve this. She’s a Mercury class battlestar, for frak’s sake! Not like that old bucket Galactica, that damn thing’s fifty years old, it’s about frakking time she was decommissioned, but the Bel?”
“Difference is, the Galactica isn’t suffering crippling malfunctions all the time. And the Bel’s not being decommissioned. The old girl’ll be operational soon enough, when the kinks have been ironed out.”
Now the XO looked disgusted. “Instead, we have to bear the Pegasus receiving all the adulation for being a perfect example of the Fleet, with that damn upstart Cain in command –“
The Commander looked up sharply. “Cain deserves her posting, she’s a rising star. I was in the officer training academy with her. We were friends.”
The XO raised his eyebrows.
“More than friends,” acknowledged the Commander. “Ancient history.”
“Yeah, well...”
“You’re bitter because the Pegasus is hogging all the glory. Our time’ll come, Anton, mark my words. My time’ll come, your time’ll come, the Bel’s time’ll come. Ambrosia?” Halstrom proffered glasses seemingly conjured up out of nowhere, along with a bottle of Aerelon’s finest.
“No, thank you. I’d better be calling it a day. Busy day tomorrow, test firing engines and all. Gods.” The XO kept muttering to himself as he walked out the door. Halstrom could hear him grumbling all the way down the corridor, and smiled to himself.
F12
“Roger that, Bellerophon, you’re all clear. Safe flight.”
Bellerophon disengaged from the shipyard, umbilicals and jetties retracting from its hull. The shipyard’s navigational computer guided the massive battlestar out of its cradle and into open space.
“Well, that’s a good start,” murmured the XO. The Commander looked at him over the tactical table. “Well, we didn’t blow up, did we? The weapons didn’t start firing at random? The jumpdrive didn’t decide to jump us into the sun –“
“I get the picture,” muttered Halstrom. He picked up the communications handset. “This is Bellerophon Actual, thank you, Cypria. See you when we get back.”
The battlestar manoeuvred away from the shipyard, heading into deep space. Without the fancy new navigational software being introduced to the fleet – no one had bothered outfitting Bellerophon with it, a waste of time for a ship about to be dry-docked – the battlestar’s course had to be manually set.
“Sublight engines are online and working,” reported the navigation officer. “No hitches so far.”
“That implies, Mr Nyder, that there will be hitches in the near future,” said the Commander, swinging around to fix the navigation officer with a penetrative stare. “Is that what you wanted to infer?”
“N-no sir-“
“Glad to hear it.” The Commander turned around to face his XO.
“Nothing on DRADIS,” reported the XO, looking at the DRADIS console. “No civilian or military traffic out here, we’re all clear.”
“Who can blame them,” muttered the Commander. He faced the crew. “Since there’s no hurry...we received the retirement speech Commander Adama gave on the Galactica, and I think we should all hear it. Put the audio on speaker, please.”
“Yes sir.”
“Why do you want to hear what that old man’s got to say?” murmured the XO. “Another old friend?”
“We’ve met before. I respect him. The Galactica’s a ship worthy of anyone’s respect. And, of course, misery loves company – his career’s over.”
Granger looked at his CO, and said in a low voice, “We have not been shit listed.”
The commander did not answer.
The voice of William Adama rattled out of the speakers in the CIC.
“The Cylon War is long over, yet we must not forget the reasons why so many sacrificed so much in the cause of freedom. The cost of wearing the uniform can be high... but sometimes it's too high.
“You know, when we fought the Cylons, we did it to save ourselves from extinction. But we never answered the question, why? Why are we as a people worth saving? We still commit murder because of greed, spite, jealousy. And we still visit all of our sins upon our children. We refuse to accept the responsibility for anything that we've done. Like we did with the Cylons. We decided to play God, create life. When that life turned against us, we comforted ourselves in the knowledge that it really wasn't our fault, not really. You cannot play God then wash your hands of the things that you've created. Sooner or later, the day comes when you can't hide from the things that you've done anymore.”
Granger glanced over at Halstrom. “Profound. I bet that went down well.”
Halstrom was silent.
“Well, the old man’s seen combat, at least. Then again, we haven’t seen the toasters in a long time – ”
The Commander held up a finger. “A long time is not equal to ever. They’ll be back. Maybe tomorrow, maybe another forty years. But they will be back. And we cannot let that escape us or the entire human race is damned. We’ve grown complacent – we know the Cylons are adept at infiltrating any sort of computer network, and yet damn near every battlestar in the fleet has one.”
“Hmm.”
“How long until we reach the designated co-ordinates?”
“Couple of hours. We’ll perform a jump to Sagitarron, check all the systems are functioning, jump back here, then dock back at Cypria and rot for a few months.”
Halstrom nodded. “The CIC is yours, Colonel. I should take a break, been looking at too much gods-damned paperwork.”
“Sir.”
“Call me if I’m needed.”
*
The phone was buzzing. Halstrom blearily looked up from the book he was reading, any chance of sleep having eluded him, and grasped for the handset.
“Halstrom.”
“Commander Halstrom...sir...uh...”
The colonel sounded shaken. Halstrom had not heard him so unsteady for years.
“What is it, Anton?”
“Fleet wide message from...Picon Fleet Headquarters...message reads...Cylon attack underway. ” The last three words were enunciated very precisely and clearly. “Message ends.”
There was a brief pause.
“I’ll be right there.”
The CIC was deathly silent when Halstrom entered. A visibly shaking Colonel Granger handed him a message. The Commander briefly scanned the paper, then slowly lowered it.
“This is authenticated?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well.”
There was a moment’s silence. He turned to the CAG, Captain Hathaway.
“What’s the status of our Viper squadrons?”
“Offline, sir. We’ll need to fuel and arm them. That’s not the main problem, though - the CNP and the associated avionics have been removed, too, they’ll have to be flown with full manual control.”
“Damn. Main batteries and defence guns, Mr Fulcrum?”
The gunnery officer consulted his console. “Currently offline, we can bring them up to full combat readiness in about half an hour. ”
“Do that, then. We’ll continue our jump to Sagitarron, see what we can do.”
The navigation officer cleared his throat.
“Sir, without the CNP, calculation is going to take a while –”
“So get to it, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir.”
He turned to the XO. “Condition One throughout the ship.”
“Yes sir.” The Colonel picked up the intercom and steadied himself. “Set Condition One throughout the ship. This is not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill. Stand by for enemy contact.”
*
Some time later, Bellerophon jumped into orbit around Sagitarron into a complete chaos.
"DRADIS contact! Three battlestars and...and four basestars. A lot of civilian ships. Orders, sir?”
The Commander considered. Four battlestars against four baseships. “Identify and establish communications with the other battlestars. We’ll take the fight to the enemy.”
“Uh...sir...Colonial ships are not responding. They appear to be...drifting. Like they’re powerless...”
“Nuclear detonation!”
One of the basestars sent multiple nuclear missiles at one battlestar, identified as the Jupiter, a Venus class. Instead of throwing up defensive fire, the Jupiter just floated through space serenely, as though nothing was happening. The missiles hit and detonated. Jupiter survived the first salvo, her armour absorbing the damage, but then each basestar sent a salvo to pummel Jupiter, again and again. She simply kept taking it until finally a gargantuan detonation signalled her end.
“Dear gods, why didn’t she defend? It’s as if the Cylons just switched her off!” The colonel looked aghast.
Those four words echoed around Halstrom’s mind. Just switched her off... “Systems status!” he barked.
“Fully operational, sir.”
“Check the firewalls! Make sure the networks are absolutely watertight! Do not let anything, repeat anything enter the ship’s network, not a single byte! Dear gods, I hope I’m wrong...” Halstrom studied the DRADIS, chewing his lip. Another helpless battlestar, the Mjolnir, died.
The XO looked at him. “You think they shut down our ships that way? By infiltrating secure military networks?”
“Yes, I do,” snapped Halstrom. “I would appreciate an alternative explanation, believe me I would. If it is indeed the case, the Cylons have been planning for this – imagine, one hundred and twenty battlestars, all rendered completely helpless. How many personnel on a battlestar alone? Not to mention all other military vessels? Quite apart from anything else, our colonies are completely undefended!”
The bridge officers shared uneasy glances.
“Sir! The basestars...frak, Sagitarron's being nuked! They're turning...towards us! Cylon Raiders, inbound! Two hundred plus!”
Halstrom turned to the CAG. “Vipers?”
“Nearly online, sir! Five minutes!”
“Get to your ship, Captain. Launch the moment you’re able.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Main batteries, firing solution on the basestar. Fire when ready.”
Bellerophon thundered in towards one of the enemy basestars like the wrath of an ancient god. It became quite clear that whoever or whatever was operating the basestar was not expecting Bellerophon to be able to actually fight back, choosing to close with its target. Its mistake.
Bellerophon’s forward batteries spoke, although the only sound vibrated through the ship’s bow. The heavy anti-ship projectiles silently roared through the stasis of space to impact on the central hub of the basestar’s arms, dealing heavy damage. Crippled, the basestar was sent drifting through space, and it tried to disengage and pull back, severely wounded.
“Basestar is disengaging. He's frakking running, commander!”
The whoop of victory was cut short by a call from one of the other bridge officers.
“Incoming ordnance!”
Bellerophon’s relentless advance had left it open to the baseship’s complement of Raiders. Missiles slammed into the battlestar at close range as the battlestar ploughed through the cloud of enemy fighters, shaking the ship down to the core. Personnel were thrown about by the force of the blows.
“Launch Vipers!”
Bellerophon’s Vipers caused an immediate reaction in the attacking Cylon Raiders. As the Vipers joined the fight, Bellerophon detected a transmission aimed at the Vipers that resembled a wireless computer command.
Which had no apparent effect whatsoever.
“Weapons free!”
A vicious dogfight surrounded the battlestar as the Raiders and Vipers engaged. The Viper pilots' battle chatter mingled with the voices in CIC. The Raiders were clearly disconcerted – caught by surprise by the Viper counterattack, they were cut to pieces.
The last remaining battlestar succumbed to the inevitable, disappearing in a silent flash in the void. The ship’s disappearance on DRADIS cut the commander to his soul. He never caught the name.
Missiles began shooting out of the arms on the remaining basestars.
“Sir! Cylon ships are launching missiles! They’re aimed at a small fleet of civilian ships close by us!”
“Priority intercept! Target the AAA batteries on those missiles, those civilians don’t stand a chance of surviving direct hits!”
Bellerophon manoeuvred its way between the basestars and the small fleet of civilian ships closest to her, sending up a curtain of defensive fire to absorb the incoming attacks. The Vipers turned to engage the Raider squadrons disengaging from their baseships. Bellerophon’s defense batteries began targeting and knocking out the missiles streaking towards the makeshift fleet. Some slipped through the net, and civilian ships burst like wet paper bags, disintegrating into clouds of metal. The Vipers held a thin blue line on the DRADIS, barely holding the Cylons back.
The combat was ferocious. The pilots of Bellerophon’s Vipers were stretched to the absolute limit. For every Raider knocked down, ten more took its place.
“We’re not knocking them out fast enough!” growled Halstrom. “Bring us about and engage the basestars with the forward batteries and bow guns!”
Bellerophon swung round so that it was presenting its heavily armoured head towards the basestars. The batteries mounted on the flanks fired bursts of flak ammunition to supplement the point-defence guns, doing their best to destroy the missiles streaking past on either side.
“Switch to suppression mode and target those motherfrakking baseships!” roared Colonel Granger.
The forward batteries opened fire, projectiles flying toward the baseships. The heavy shells launched out of the cannons mounted in the bow dealt serious damage to one basestar, forcing it to back off from the fight.
“That should buy us some time, but we can’t win this fight. Broadcast to the civilian ships to make an immediate emergency jump. We need to save as many as we can.”
“Aye, sir.”
The commander glanced at the navigation officer. “Got a plotted jump ready?”
“Yes, sir. It’ll take us to an empty part of the system, there’s nothing there of any importance. It’s the best I could come up with quickly.”
“That’s fine, Lieutenant.” Halstrom spun back to the comms officer. “Are we through to the civilians?”
“Yes, sir. Blanket signal."
"Very well, send the following." The comms officer nodded.
“Bellerophon to civilian ships: We will attempt to cover your escape. We will transmit co-ordinates over a secure channel and you will jump. We will join you shortly and we will salvage whatever we can from this mess. Transmit over a secure Colonial channel.”
The civilian ships began spooling their FTL drives as Bellerophon took hit after hit. The battlestar was a tough old beast, but it could not hold out forever, not against the brutal simultaneous pounding of three baseships and their Raiders at once, and no one knew this better than the commander.
“Vipers are on bingo ammo! They're down to throwing rocks!”
“More ordnance inbound! Targeted on us!”
“Bring us around so that we’re perpendicular to the enemy. The PDS systems will keep the enemy off us long enough for –”
“Oh, frak! Sir! Radiological alarm! One baseship has launched three nukes, along with twenty other missiles! Twenty seconds to impact!”
“Target everything on those missiles!” Halstrom ordered. “Vipers, defence guns, whatever, just take them out!”
The three deadly missiles shot towards the escaping fleet of ships, mixed with a swathe of normal missiles, making them difficult to target. A Viper destroyed one, the defence guns took another. The remaining nuke was heading directly for Bellerophon.
“Brace brace brace!”
The nuke detonated on Bellerophon’s portside hull, a blindingly bright white flash in the void. Deep in the CIC, glass shattered and people were flung around like ragdolls. Halstrom toppled over backwards, banging the back of his head hard.
“Damage report!” gasped Granger. Halstrom clawed his way back upright, gripping the tactical table hard.
“We’re...we’re mostly okay! Armour took the worst of it!”
The civilian ships in close proximity to Bellerophon weren’t so lucky. A luxury cruise liner and two freight ships burst, killing all onboard. The remaining ships still alive finished spooling up and jumped away from the battle as Bellerophon desperately held off the hordes of Cylons.
“Last civilian ship is away!”
“Bring our pilots back. Combat landings.”
“Bellerophon to all Vipers, come on home, repeat, come on home.”
The Vipers began crashing down into the Bellerophon’s landing bays, all finesse abandoned in an effort to get out of the lethal maelstrom of ordnance being hurled through space at the warship. One Viper was killed as it entered the bay, slamming off a bulkhead and colliding with a stationary Raptor, totalling both ships.
“All Vipers aboard!”
The commander took one last look at data readings displaying the boiling turmoil of nuclear detonations spreading across the doomed planet beneath him. They were off the scale.
“Jump.”
The Bellerophon disappeared.
*
And reappeared into a chaotic mess of ships.
Panicked comms chatter drowned out any attempt at communication. The XO looked hopelessly at his CO.
Even now, with the human race about to end, the frakking civilians would not shut up. The commander rolled his eyes.
“I want a headcount. The number of ships, at least.”
“DRADIS shows twenty-two civilian ships, sir.”
“Twenty-two?”
“Aye, sir. Those were the only ones that responded to your jump order.”
“Approximate number of people on board?”
“About...15,000, sir, I’d guess.”
“Gods.”
The navigation officer cleared his throat.
“Sir, I’ve been analysing the transmission that the Raiders sent at our Vipers. It looked like it was a command designed to exploit a backdoor in Colonial programming. This is only a supposition, but I think it was the CNP that was the intended target – from there, the Cylons could spread throughout the networks and take complete control of the systems. The only reason we didn’t shut down like the others is that we didn’t have it installed.”
Halstrom stared at the officer, aghast. He was about to speak up when the DRADIS chimed.
“DRADIS contact!”
An unknown contact flashed up on DRADIS, on an intercept course.
“Set Condition one throughout the ship!” roared Halstrom. “Launch the alert Vipers!”
“We don’t have any co-ordinates set for a jump, sir.”
“I know. Battle stations. Arm main batteries. We’ll try and knock out the bastard before he closes -”
A second contact showed up.
“Dammit.”
“They’re launching!”
A multitude of small specks suddenly surrounded the larger contacts and started speeding toward the fleet.
The communications officer suddenly gripped his console, staring hard at the screen.
“Wait...I’m...I’m picking up...Colonial transponders...”
“Well just don’t accept Colonial ID, confirm it!” The XO scuttled across the CIC.
“The codes are confirmed, they’re authentic. They’re ours. My gods, someone else got away. We’re being hailed, sir.”
“On speakers.”
An shaky male voice came through to the CIC.
“Attention, attention, Colonial vessels. Identify yourselves immediately.”
“This is the battlestar Bellerophon. Identify!”
“This is battlestar Valkyrie, and we have battlestar Oberon with us. Commander Halstrom...is that you?”
“That is affirmative. Whom am I addressing?
“Major Cale. Neither of us have our COs aboard – Oberon doesn’t have her XO, either, I assumed command of both ships. Our CO’s were attending a meeting at Fleet Headquarters when the Cylons arrived. As superior officer...I took the decision to run. Two battlestars engaged the Cylon attackers...only to be shut down and destroyed before they fired a shot! I ordered us to jump before the Cylons could get in range. We had no choice. We found you through blind luck.” The major’s voice cracked.
“That saved your skins. We’ve worked out how the Cylons have been able to so easily shut us down and destroy us, they’ve used a backdoor in the CNP programming to infiltrate the networked computers – they’re compromised. We don’t have much time, so disconnect your networks and purge your computers immediately. I’m assuming command of your ships as of now, we have to get away from this solar system as soon as possible.”
A silence fell. Bridge officers looked at Halstrom in horror.
“We’re abandoning the Colonies...?”
“We have no choice,” the commander said quietly. “Our only option is to save as many people as we can and run. It’s clear that the Cylons are trying to wipe us out of existence, and we need to flee with whatever’s left so we can start again elsewhere. Nothing else matters now.”
He raised the comms handset. “Major Cale, I'm promoting you to colonel, and you’re acting CO of Valkyrie for now. Pick an XO, and shuttle one of your most capable officers over to Oberon to assume command, along with a suitable XO.”
Halstrom lowered the handset and looked directly at the navigation officer. “We need a destination. Plot an appropriate system within jump range so we can regroup and take a reprieve.”
“Sir.”
The XO looked at Halstrom. “You got a plan?”
“The civilian ships will jump first. In the event of enemy contact, our battlestars will provide covering fire until the last ship is away, and then Bellerophon will cover Oberon and Valkyrie. We’re the most heavily armed and armoured ship, we’ll be the rearguard.”
“You’re anticipating enemy contact?”
“There’s a strong probability. They’re likely to detect us if they haven’t already and probably try to hit us with everything they’ve got. They really are going for all-or-nothing.”
*
The civilian ships began their second jump. One by one, their signatures began to disappear from DRADIS. Bellerophon, Valkyrie and Oberon were spread in a defensive formation, Bellerophon in the centre, Valkyrie and Oberon on the port and starboard flanks. Valkyrie was a smaller battlestar, designed to support larger battlestars with her missile batteries, while Oberon was an older design of battlestar, less advanced than the other two, but still a formidable fighting ship. Each battlestar had put up a combat air patrol, giving good coverage to the fleet.
“Quiet so far,” Colonel Granger remarked.
Halstrom looked at him pensively. “Yeah. So far.”
“Last civilian ship has jumped,” reported the navigation officer.
“Signal Valkyrie and Oberon to begin jump prep.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Sir!”
An officer entered CIC clutching a message slip.
The XO threw a questioning glance at Halstrom, who returned it. He took the message from the officer.
“ ‘Attention...I am assuming command of the Colonial Fleet...’ Hmmm. It’s from Commander Adama aboard the Galactica. She survived. How did that defenceless old bucket make her way out of that mess?” Halstrom read on. “He wants what’s left of the Fleet to regroup at Ragnar Anchorage for a counterattack...”
“With what?” the XO asked harshly. “The whole fleet’s nothing but scrap metal.”
“I’m not risking a jump to Ragnar for some suicidal attempt at vengeance, don’t worry. Especially since this message will have taken its time getting here, it’s a few hours old now. However, we need all the help we can get. So here’s what we’ll do. Valkyrie and Oberon will still jump out and meet the rest of the civilians, keep an eye on ‘em. Bellerophon will remain here for the time being – we’ll have a Raptor jump to the Anchorage, try and get in contact with Adama, talk him round. If he won’t see reason we’ll damn well leave him there. Prep a Raptor for a recon mission, see what we can find.”
*
Valkyrie and Oberon jumped out, leaving Bellerophon alone in space. A lone Raptor glided out of the starboard pod and executed a jump to Ragnar. Bellerophon had been waiting in its position for two hours when the little craft jumped back in.
“Sir, Lieutenant Carlos reports they found four baseships and hundreds of Raiders at Ragnar. No sign of Galactica or any other Colonial vessels. They powered down and kept the Cylons under observation for a while, but DRADIS didn’t pick up anything else. However, an unidentified Cylon ship jumped in after about half an hour, of which our Raptor took these pictures...” The officer handed Halstrom a set of photographs of an unusually shaped ship.
“Damn. I guess that’s the end of Adama,” observed the XO.
“Very well. Let’s get back to the fleet. And try to ID this mysterious ship.”
Bellerophon jumped out.
F12 + 3
Commander Halstrom wearily reviewed the headcount data again. 22,103 souls, including the crews of the three battlestars. They might be all that was left of the twenty billion that died three days ago. He doubted anyone else got away, especially military vessels.
Twenty billion. The enormity of the number was pressing down on Halstrom. He knew it was only a matter of time before other people in the fleet began cracking under that terrible pressure. Already one officer had drawn his sidearm and fired it through the roof of his mouth during his rack-time. Since then, Halstrom had decreed that the sidearms of all military personnel should be deposited in the armouries before going off duty.
Meanwhile the pictures taken by the Raptor sent to Ragnar Anchorage prior to their escape from the colonies were being reviewed by military analysts. No conclusions had yet been drawn. The ship under examination was a strange one. It had a ribbed structure similar to a cathedral and no visible armour or defenses. Most puzzling of all – zoomed in pictures showed row upon row of containers on the ship, although the resolution wasn’t good enough to identify what was being contained, or why. A human being could reasonably fit into one, which triggered speculation that maybe it was a prison ship of some kind, or even a scientific experimental ship. The Cylons had not shown any interest in taking prisoners of any sort.
His handset buzzed.
“Halstrom.”
“We have a slight situation down in CIC, you might like to join us.”
“Thank you, Anton, I might just do that. I’ll be right there.”
The XO looked up as the commander entered CIC. “Ah, good. We have a slight problem with the civilian ships.”
“What kind of problem?”
The XO glanced over at the comms officer. “There have been reports of, ah, riots on some civilian ships.”
“Oh, gods. Just what we need. What’s the problem?”
“Well, their homes have been nuked, their friends and families are mostly dead, they’re stranded in deep space with a race of psychotic genocidal machines chasing after them with intent to wipe them out, they have no government to speak of, and to top things off there’s a food shortage. Other than that, everything’s dandy.”
“Wonderful. Frak. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about. Alright. I’m afraid heavy measures are required here, otherwise we risk losing this fleet to anarchy and chaos. I’m declaring martial law as of now. Indefinitely. I want twelve Raptors full of Marines on standby to quell any would-be uprisings. The food problem’s the one I’m most concerned with – how’s the situation?”
“Oberon’s and Valkyrie’s Raptors are out scouting nearby systems for food sources. Water isn’t a problem, our recycling facilities are more than adequate. We have three agricultural ships with us – unfortunately, they were all fresh off the production line and heading to Sagitarron for food supplies. We think that if we can find a viable food source and adapt the agricultural ships accordingly we should have a sustainable food supply.”
“Alright. So all we need is for one of those Raptors to turn up trumps. What’s the probability of that?”
The XO gestured at the navigation officer.
“Uh, unfortunately quite low. Systems possessing habitable planets are rare, and ones with a viable supply of food, such as algae, are going to be rarer still. It’s going to be touch-and-go if we don’t manage to find a viable source soon.”
The commander sighed. The Cylons he could deal with. They were a physical enemy that could be fought. Hunger was a very different kind of enemy.
“Anton. A word.”
The two officers retreated to a corner of CIC.
“If those Raptors don’t find anything this is going to get highly unpleasant. We’re going to have to...prioritise food allocation. By force.”
The colonel was silent.
"I think the best way to do this is to relocate all the food we already have to the battlestars. We can then dole it out fairly under a rationing system. That should buy us some time.”
“The civilians won’t see it that way,” Granger replied grimly.
“I know. Tell the Marines that they are authorised to use lethal force if deemed absolutely necessary. This fleet’s a powder keg waiting to go off and we have to move fast to save it.”
*
F12+5
One of Bellerophon’s Raptors jumped back in from its recon mission.
“Another negative, sir. Lieutenant Ryder reports system contained nothing but rocks.”
“Damn. How many more Raptors yet to report back?”
“Three, sir. Lieutenant Paolos, Lieutenant Harker and Lieutenant Trice haven’t reported back yet. Oberon's and Valkyrie’s Raptors are being refuelled.”
“Very well. I’d better inform the old man.”
Colonel Anton Granger, executive officer on the Colonial Fleet battlestar Bellerophon, BSG 25, ran a hand through his hair in frustration. One more negative to add to the growing list. He sighed.
The food situation was becoming grim. The operation to recover the food from the civilian fleet had been hairy at times, with two teams forced to deploy weeping gas against angry civilians, but there were no fatalities, just several cases of broken bones. The rationing out of the dwindling food supplies had bought them a little time but it was looking like not enough. Vipers had been forced to disable the engines of three ships whose captains had not been able to contain the situation.
He saluted the Marines standing guard outside of the commander’s quarters and knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
As the XO entered he noticed the gaunt, hooded quality Leonid Halstrom’s face had taken. Dark circles ringed his eyes.
“Drink, Anton?”
“Thanks.”
The XO sat down opposite Halstrom.
“What’s the latest news?”
“Another negative. Three to report back.”
“Damn. We’re running out of time. How much longer is the food going to last?”
“Two days, tops. We’ve got to find food soon. Otherwise...” The XO let it hang.
“Yeah. Who’s still out there?”
“Paolos, Harker and Trice.”
“We’ll just have to wait and see, then. They’re all competent, dependable pilots.”
“Well, that won’t matter a damn if there’s nothing out there. You going back to CIC?”
“Yeah, I’d better. Crew’ll think I’ve just been taking naps since we left.”
The XO snorted.
“Take a rest, Anton, you’ve been in there for hours. XO’s are human, too, don’t think I don’t know that.” The commander smiled. “You’ve been doing a hell of a job hiding that from the crew, though.”
“If the crew doesn’t hate the XO, he’s not doing his job properly. Gotta make you look saintly, too.”
“Yeah, well, it’s one thing to ride on the crew. It’s quite another to break them. Dismissed, colonel.”
“Aye aye, sir.” The XO saluted.
*
“What have we got out there, Dagger?” ECO John Galvin called over his shoulder.
Lieutenant Trice consulted the DRADIS console in front of her. “Nothing yet. I’m going to move us further in-system.”
The little Raptor spooled up its jumpdrive and performed an intra-system jump further into the star system they were analysing, appearing again approximately 160 million kilometres from the system’s red star.
“Right. Let’s see what this baby can pick up. Setting DRADIS to extreme range, applying filters.”
The DRADIS made its quiet pulsing noises as data filtered back into the Raptor.
“Okay, I’ve got one planet and ...ohmygods.”
“What is it?”
“Oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere!”
Galvin whooped.
A radiant smile crossed Trice’s face. “Let’s take a closer look!”
The planet hung in space like a green jewel, red sunlight glinting off its light side. The surface in fact consisted entirely of ocean – the entire planet was swathed in blue-green aquatic plant life, clearly identifiable as algae. DRADIS was also showing four small moons – one of which held substantial deposits of tylium.
“Jackpot!” Trice leapt out of her seat and hugged an equally jubilant Galvin. “Oh lords of Kobol, thank you for providing your humble servants with such a bountiful-“
DRADIS chimed.
“Oh shit!”
“I’m showing three – no, four, DRADIS contacts moving in fast – spool up the FTL drive! Now now now!”
The FTL spun up agonisingly slowly. “Come on, you motherfrakker!” Trice screamed.
“Raiders! Launching missiles! For frak’s sake WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!”
Trice hit the FTL sequence and squeezed her eyes shut.
Twenty missiles sliced through the space occupied by the Raptor milliseconds before.
*
“Raptor Four-Zero Bellerophon, you are cleared for approach. Speed one seven five, starboard bay, hands-on approach, checker's green, call the ball.”
“R..Roger, Bellerophon, I, uh, I have the ball, copy.”
The landing signal officer frowned. Trice sounded shaken-up as hell.
The Raptor flew in towards the top deck of the starboard bay, thrusters firing to kill its inertia, settling down on one of the landing pads.
As the Raptor was brought into the hangar deck, Trice’s hands were shaking uncontrollably. She’d barely brought the bird in to land.
The hatch opened and the concerned faces of the deck crew peered in. Trice stumbled towards the opening and collapsed into the arms of the deck crew.
“Hey hey hey! Easy! Easy! Get her to sickbay, now!”
A shaken John Galvin was helped down onto the hanger deck under the watchful gaze of Chief Petty Officer Beckett.
“Sir? Are you alright, sir?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine. See to Trice.” Galvin waved them off. “I need to talk to the commander or the XO immediately.”
*
“And then you were attacked by Cylon Raiders?”
“That is correct, sir.”
Halstrom considered Galvin’s report. The situation, despite being quite so dramatically ironic and desperate, proved that the fates had a twisted sense of humour. Here was their possible salvation, a bountiful source of food and fuel...and the Cylons were sitting on top of it. What was more is that if they didn’t know anyone escaped the Colonies before, they certainly did now.
“Thank you, Lieutenant. I cannot stress how important this information is to our situation. How is Lieutenant Trice?”
“I, uh, was going to visit her after speaking with you, sir. Is that alright?”
“Yes, Lieutenant. Dismissed."
Galvin saluted and exited CIC.
Anton Granger glanced over at the commander.
“What do you think, Leonid?” he asked quietly.
“I think that it’s time we began planning an op. I want Colonel Cale and Colonel Houston and their respective CAGs in the Situation Room immediately. Get Captain Hathaway up here as well. The Cylons know we’re in the vicinity, we don’t have much time.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll get right on it.” The XO picked up the communication handset. “Captain Hathaway, report to CIC immediately, Captain Hathaway, report to the CIC.” Granger turned to the communications officer. “Get Colonels Cale and Houston to report to Bellerophon immediately,” he barked.
“Yes, sir.” The comms officer picked up his handset.
“The CIC’s yours, Colonel Granger,” Halstrom said. “I want to go and see Lieutenant Trice down in sickbay.”
“Sir.”
*
Lieutenant Paula Trice was sitting on the edge of one of the beds in sickbay. She raised her left hand toward her face. It was still shaking uncontrollably. John had briefly visited with a few comforting words, then resumed his duties.
The curtain covering the bay was drawn back to be replaced with the solemn face of the ship’s chief medical officer, Major Simon Boudreau, a tall man in his early forties with dark skin. Commander Halstrom stood at his side.
“Lieutenant.”
“Sir,” she grunted.
“The information you brought back may be instrumental in saving this fleet and the human race. I thought you ought to know that.”
“You would have come looking for us anyway, sir.”
Halstrom’s expression didn’t change, although there was a twinkle in his eye. “Aye, that we would, Lieutenant. As it is, I’m glad you came back in one piece. The Doc tells me you’re suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.”
“That is correct,” Boudreau affirmed in his calm voice. “I have recommended to the commander that you are taken off flight status.”
“What – sir –”
“He’s right, Trice. You’re in no state to fly – you barely managed to land your bird. You weren’t even capable of submitting a report. Rest up, Lieutenant. I need every pilot I can get.” The commander saluted, and walked out of sickbay. He could feel Trice’s eyes on his back as he walked out the door.
“I’m discharging you, Lieutenant. Go and get some rec time. If you feel like you need to talk, I’m always here,” Boudreau said gently.
“Yes, sir.”
Trice marched out of sickbay, trying to ignore the trembling in her legs.
*
“Gentlemen.”
Halstrom walked into the situation room. The officers around the tactical table saluted.
“Colonel Houston, a pleasure. I’ve reviewed your file.”
“Sir.”
“To business, gentlemen. One of my Raptors discovered a system rich in natural resources – resources that we need. In short, a planet of edible algae and a moon with rich tylium deposits. Unfortunately, the Cylons are sitting right on top of it, and worse, they know we’re out here. We can only speculate as to the size of the enemy in the system – we may be up against a light scouting force or a major Cylon staging area.
“Whatever, we need to assault whatever force the Cylons have in the system and take the planet and its moon. Time is very short now, we need to acquire that food as soon as possible. The fuel is a welcome bonus.
“So gentlemen, I am open to suggestions. We need to create a battleplan.”
The officers exchanged glances.
“We need to have a vague idea at least of what forces the enemy has in the region,” Colonel Cale began. “Fortunately, Valkyrie has three stealthstars aboard. I recommend we send in two, one to recon the planet and one to recon the moon.”
“What is the likelihood of the Cylons detecting a stealthstar?” Anton Granger asked sharply.
Cale exchanged a glance with Colonel Houston.
“I presume, sir, you’ll have heard rumours of the Armistice Line incident a year ago?”
“We both have,” Halstrom replied. “Colonel Granger here was present in the Valkyrie CIC at the time. He told me about it shortly afterwards. I know that the stealthstar used was detected by the Cylons and destroyed with a ship-to-ship missile launched from the Valkyrie. So I’m a little dubious about using them.”
“The stealthstar in question was in fact a first-generation stealth ship,” Cale said uncomfortably. “Some of the kinks hadn’t been ironed out by the time it was requisitioned, but the Admiralty was adamant. The ones we now have on Valkyrie are much improved.”
“Are you willing to bet the lives of the pilots that will fly them on that?” the commander asked quietly.
Cale flinched, then stiffened. “Yes, sir, I am.”
“Very well,” the commander simply replied. “Once we have reviewed the situation when the stealthstars return, we will act accordingly. Less than two days, gentlemen. That’s how long we’ve got. Anton, I’m leaving you in command of the Bel for now, I’ll be accompanying Colonel Cale back to Valkyrie.”
“Sir.”
“Dismissed, gentlemen.” The commander saluted.
*
Valkyrie’s CIC was similar to Bellerophon’s. Since the first phase of the operation was to be carried out by Valkyrie, Halstrom, as overall commander of the fleet, had transferred his flag to the smaller battlestar.
“The idea,” explained Cale, “was that the stealthstar would eventually supersede the Raptor as a scouting unit. The Raptor’s a superb piece of military hardware, but as I’m sure you’re aware it’s the oldest vehicle design still being used by the Fleet, dating back to the first Cylon war. With this in mind the stealthstar would become the primary scouting unit while the Raptor would retain its role with regards to targeting information and would become a heavy weapons platform in an anti-capital ship role to complement the Viper as a primarily anti-fighter unit.”
“So the stealthstars Valkyrie is equipped with will make a better scout ship than Raptors?” Halstrom asked.
“Basically, yes, sir. We can acquire intelligence on enemy forces more covertly."
Halstrom nodded. “Alright, then, skids up in ten minutes. You’ve briefed your pilots?”
“Yes, sir. Intelligence op, observe the enemy, gather data, get out of there at the first sign of trouble.”
“Okay, Colonel, it’s your op from here on out. We’re counting on you and your pilots.”
“Sir.”
*
Lt. Hadrian “Foxbat” Polance settled down into the cockpit of the stealthstar. After running a quick systems check, he flashed a thumbs-up at the launch supervisor.
“Instruments green, fuel pressure nominal, everything checks out.”
“Roger that, Foxbat. Maglock secure. You are cleared to launch. Initiating launch sequence.”
The supervisor hit the launch button.
The launch tube’s magnetic catapult hurled the stealthstar forward. The walls of the tube streaked by on either side of the cockpit and suddenly Polance was floating through space.
“Valkyrie, Foxbat, stealthstar is away.”
“Good hunting, Foxbat.”
Once Polance was a suitable distance from Valkyrie he fired the reverse thrusters, reducing the stealthstar’s velocity to a slow drift. He spotted the dagger-shape of Major “Bottleneck” Kowalsky’s stealthstar.
“Glad you made it to the party, Lieutenant,” Kowalsky’s deadpan voice droned. “Our Cylon friends didn’t bother to RSVP, so we’d better bring the party to them.”
“Aye aye, sir. Jump co-ordinates set. FTL spooled up and ready.”
“Jump on my mark. Three...two...one...mark.”
The stealthstars vanished from Valkyrie’s DRADIS.
*
Polance’s stealthstar jumped in to the system. A moment later, Kowalsky’s joined it, alone in the void.
“How’s your DRADIS, Foxbat?”
“Clear, Bottleneck. Yours?”
“Affirmative. Let’s check this place out. You check out the moon, I’ll recon the planet.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Polance wished he was as confident as his voice would suggest. The stealthstar wouldn’t be picked up by whatever the hell the Cylon equivalent of DRADIS was, or so he’d been told.
The moon had little atmosphere to speak of. Dry and airless, its only interesting feature the abundant tylium deposits.
Polance drew closer to the moon. After many hours of sublight travel he came within visual range. Closer, closer...
DRADIS chimed. One, two basestars. Three. Four.Five.
Plus a large installation in orbit.
A refuelling operation?
Raiders were everywhere. Swarming about the basestars like bees to a hive. Polance realised that he couldn’t get much closer. Unidentified ships – probably refuelling tankers, freighters and the like – were flitting between the moon and the station, and the station and the basestars. The basestars are far too big to directly refuel, Polance thought. I wonder what this fleet is doing out here. In any case, there was clearly a large Cylon base in the region. A staging area, used against the Twelve Colonies? It was a relatively close system to the Colonies.
Polance realised this was about as much information as he was going to get. Time to rendezvous with the Major and get the frak out.
He flipped the stealthstar around and headed back to the rendezvous point.
*
“Hello, Foxbat. Nice to see you again. Find much?”
Polance sighed in relief. He was glad that the major was okay.
“Yes, sir. One motherfrakker of a Cylon base. Looked like a refuelling operation. Yourself?”
“Not as much activity on the planet. I observed a couple of flights down onto the surface. Came back a few hours later, docked with a basestar in orbit.”
“That makes a total of six. There were five above the moon.”
“Really? I wonder why Trice didn’t pick up all this activity.”
“Trice was operating at extreme range. The station and the basestars would have been too small to be picked up on a long-range scan. And they were immediately jumped by Raiders – probably a long range patrol. Just unlucky on that count, I guess.”
“That’s pretty frakking unlucky. In any case, let’s head back home. Commander Halstrom needs to know about this.”
*
F12 + 6
Both stealthstars jumped back in together and began heading for Valkyrie's flight pods, executing hands-on landings. On Halstrom’s orders, all traffic landing on battlestars were banned from automated approaches.
Halstrom eyed the reports. They made for grim reading. Outnumbered two to one in terms of capital ships, and the number of Raiders didn’t even bear thinking about; estimates were as high as several hundred Raiders. They were pitifully outnumbered.
And yet this was a battle that had to be fought. The food crisis was nearly out of control. Some civilian ships resembled war-zones. Two civilian ships armed with ship-to-ship missiles had demanded food be shipped immediately, until Raptor-borne Marines seized control of both. There were several fatalities as people attacked the Marines with anything to hand.
Which led to another problem. If all the battlestars were committed then there would be no-one to watch the fleet.
Halstrom sighed, rubbing his eyes. He hadn’t slept for days.
“I want a Raptor to take me back to Bellerophon immediately. Cale, you and your CAG are coming with me. Raise Colonel Houston and tell him to report to Bellerophon with his CAG. We need to plan this op.”
“Sir.”
*
Two Raptors left Valkyrie and Oberon, heading for the big Mercury class battlestar. Once back aboard, Halstrom greeted his XO, and led Colonels Cale and Houston to the situation room.
“Gentlemen. You’ll have read the reports brought back by Major Kowalsky and Lieutenant Polance.”
Grim nods.
“Then you’ll know what we’re up against. Six basestars, plus Raiders. We have three battlestars, plus Vipers. We’re outnumbered and outgunned. But we don’t have an option here, gentlemen. We must have that planet. The Cylons are the secondary enemy: time is the first.”
Silence.
“I would like to say I have a plan. But I don’t. The truth of the matter is we have to fight the enemy, and we have to beat him, and we have to do it now. And I believe we can do it. We survived the greatest catastrophe in history. We will not die here. The human race will not simply lie dying, tearing itself apart in its death throes. The Cylons committed an unspeakable evil. They are machines. Ruthless, implacable, cold, calculating. But they do not understand us. They do not understand humans. Why, they must ask themselves. What is the point in art and music and culture? Why don’t they just roll over and die? They’re beaten, they must know that. Why do they keep fighting?”
The commander smiled grimly. “Well, gentlemen, I propose we give them our answer. A philosopher once said, ‘When faced with untenable choices you should consider your imperative.’ Look around you. Our imperative is right here: in our bulkheads, in our planes, in our guns and in ourselves. War is our imperative, and if right now victory seems like an impossibility, then there is something else to reach for: revenge. Our answer will be one of vengeance. The hounds of war sense blood in the air. War is our imperative. War is our purpose. They have taken from us everything. No more. If the human race is to end, let this be our swansong. Death or glory, gentlemen. War is our imperative, and so we will fight.”
The commander took satisfaction in the looks of hard determination in each officer’s face. He trusted them to do their duty, and they did likewise.
“To business. Bellerophon is our heavy hitter. Our bow guns can do serious damage to a basestar, and the sheer amount of firepower we can throw at any toasters is our biggest asset. I propose we use Bellerophon as our spear, Oberon as our shield and Valkyrie as our bow. Valkyrie isn’t designed to take a huge amount of punishment, so we need to keep her protected. Her missile batteries will be ideal in keeping the Raiders occupied in defending their basestars – from what we can tell, they don’t have close-in defenses.
“My suggestion is that we split our Viper complement up. Half to defend the ships, half to escort strike forces of Raptors with missile pods. That’ll distract the Cylons and divide their attention.”
“That’ll cost us,” Captain Hathaway said quietly. The other CAGs nodded.
“I acknowledge that. It’s necessary. They could well be the deciding factor of this battle, our edge over the Cylons.
“Any questions, gentlemen?”
Colonel Cale glanced at Colonel Houston.
“What about the civilians? We can’t leave them here...”
“No, we can’t. Nor can we leave a battlestar to babysit them. We’ll have to bring them with us.”
“Oh, gods.”
“All or nothing, gentlemen. If we lose this battle they’ll die anyway. We just need to make sure we’re between them and the Cylons. We’ll dump them outside of the combat zone before we engage.”
A resigned look crossed Cale’s face.
“Anything else?”
After a pause, the officers shook their heads.
“Skids up in two hours. Get back to your ships. And good luck, all of you. “
The officers saluted, and departed for their Raptors.
*
Bellerophon, Oberon and Valkyrie advanced toward the Cylon-held moon. Commander Halstrom had decided that the bulk of the Cylon forces would be concentrated there and if they could be beaten at the moon the day would be won. Viper and Raptor crews were standing by. Two strike forces had been designated, with each battlestar contributing a third of their complement of Vipers and Raptors. The Vipers, it was hoped, would be able to keep enemy Raiders off the Raptors’ backs while they discharged their payloads.
The air in the Bellerophon CIC could have been cut with a knife. Commander Halstrom gripped the tactical table, his fingers digging in like claws. Colonel Granger had a terse look on his face.
DRADIS was showing nothing. So far.
“I hate the waiting.”
“People say it’s the worse part. Until the shooting starts. Then I’d have the waiting.”
The commander grunted.
“DRADIS contact. Three, four...five basestars. Launching Raiders!”
“Action stations!” bellowed the commander. “Launch Vipers! All of them! Strike forces are to form up and await instructions.”
“Five hundred Raiders plus. No sign of the sixth basestar, sir!”
“All ahead full! Weapons, as soon as we get in range, nail the bastards!”
“Aye aye, sir!”
Bellerophon stormed towards the waiting basestars, with Oberon above its port flight pod, the smaller and less durable Valkyrie trailing close behind. Vipers and Raptors streamed out of all three ships, a third assembling into the two strike forces while the rest held a defensive formation. In effect, the group was a lethal bubble of firepower.
Ensign Belknap shot out of a launch tube on Bellerophon’s starboard flight pod in his Mark VII Viper, hurtling into space. He could see the bulk of the Oberon thundering alongside the Bellerophon. It was a sight awesome to behold, and one he would keep to his dying day. A day, Belknap fervently hoped, that was not today.
Raiders detached from their aeries, lazily coiling around the basestars, forming into a vast horde, resembling nothing so much as a great flock of bats leaving their caves at night. An unpleasant comparison, thought Belknap. Volleys of missiles streaked out of the basestars’ arms, and the Raiders were quick to follow, jumping after the missiles like dogs to thrown sticks.
“This is the CAG. Good luck everyone. Don’t let them use their targeting computers, and for gods’ sake, stay out of the battlestars’ firing solutions!”
Bellerophon and Oberon threw out great clouds of flak that rippled and burst across space. Belknap watched space in front of Oberon ignite and broil, missiles bursting in the lethal maelstrom of flak. Oberon started to alter its course away from Bellerophon, swinging out to cover the port flank as Bellerophon veered to starboard, each ship broadening its defensive firepower. Valkyrie stayed close to Oberon, firing its missile batteries against the basestars on that flank, forcing the Raiders to divert attention to the missiles. Bellerophon, meanwhile, accelerated toward the farthest basestar. The basestars were arrayed in a loose convex semicircular formation which would cut apart anything caught in the middle in a lethal crossfire of missile barrages.
The strike forces had divided with the battlestars, following underneath the main thrust of their attacks. The Raptors were armed to the teeth with heavy duty missile pods and cannons. Vipers arrayed themselves in defensive patterns to prepare for the swarms of Raiders about to mob them. The sheer number of enemy contacts showing on Belknap’s DRADIS beggared belief. He murmured a prayer to the Lords of Kobol and checked his gun safety for the hundredth time. The large bulk of the Bellerophon hung over them like a giant guardian angel, and Belknap found its looming hull reassuring.
Bellerophon’s guns began firing, one after the other, sending slug after high velocity slug toward the basestar. The Raptor strike force detached, and manoeuvred toward the basestar next in the formation.
This is it, thought Belknap.
A cloud of Raiders swarmed to intercept them, streaking in like bats out of hell, cannons winking blue tracer. The Vipers opened fire, turning the rapidly declining space towards the two groups into a lethal crossfire, a microcosm of the war of the gods around them, as the battlestars slugged it out with the basestars.
Belknap thumbed his trigger, punching a thruster to kick him out of the path of a line of shells stitching their way towards him. His own fire punched through the Raider firing at him, spilling mechanical bits and...blood?
A Viper collided with a Raider head on, their combined velocities mashing the two ships together in a catastrophic explosion. Debris spattered off of Belknap’s canopy, reminding him of heavy rain.
They were almost through. They needed to ensure the Raptors launched their payload and then they’d scram.
And...!
The basestar hung in space, looking absurdly spindly and fragile for a combat warship. The surviving Raptors launched their payload, missiles leaping out of their tubes, bright white contrails marking their journey.
The force of the combined explosions from so many missiles wrenched two arms off to be flung across space. The basestar began to list to one side, fires igniting in the ruined “stump”. A puff of atmosphere spurted out.
Belknap screamed in release, letting a long burst of fire play across space. The strike force leaped away from the ruined Cylon baseship, leaving the debris of their lost comrades behind them to float serenely through space, now oblivious to the unfolding battle.
Belknap craned his neck, looking through his canopy at the Big B. Bellerophon was really punishing her basestar, volley after volley of shots from her bow guns slamming into the basestar at close range. More fields of flak burst around her as Raiders and Vipers waltzed around each other in a dance of death, thrusting, firing, thrusting. What was left of the dead basestar’s Raiders was now closing fast.
“This is the CAG to Strike One: we need to take out those frakking toasters. On me!”
Hathaway’s Viper streaked ahead, the rest of the strike force hard on his heels. The Raider group entered the fight with Bellerophon’s beleaguered Vipers hard pressed to keep them off the battlestar. There was a blinding flash as the basestar finally succumbed to the merciless barrage being laid on by Bellerophon; as the giant battlestar tried to manoeuvre away, the Raider s rained missiles down on it, blowing sections of armour plate away. There were far too many targets for the point-defence guns to handle.
The chaos was unbelievable. Space was covered in flak bursts, Raiders, Vipers, and debris. Belknap didn’t even bother looking at his DRADIS anymore.
The strike force remnants entered the fray desperately, guns spraying. Bellerophon loomed in front of them, veiled behind explosions. Belknap gunned for a Raider pouncing on a hapless Raptor and turned it into a brief fireball in the void. Raider after Raider burst apart, ignited, disintegrated. Belknap wondered vaguely what controlled the Raiders.
After what felt like both a few minutes and an eternity, the remaining Raiders leapt away from the Bellerophon. Two made suicide runs, bursting apart as the point-defense guns found them.
“Bellerophon to all Vipers: combat landings. Rearm, refuel and get back out there.”
“Alright, combat landings, people! On the deck! Go go go!” shouted the CAG.
The collection of Vipers and Raptors bounced into the Bellerophon’s flight pods. Once all ships were aboard, Bellerophon began manoeuvring toward the remaining basestars. Once back in the hangar decks deck crew immediately began refuelling and rearming the Vipers.
Oberon and Valkyrie’s fight was going badly. The two battlestars had managed to neutralise one basestar, but nearly the entire of Strike Two had been lost. What little damage had been inflicted was minimal. The third basestar was closing on Oberon, pounding it with kinetic missile barrages. Halstrom knew he had to act fast to save them.
Bellerophon accelerated towards the battle, the big battlestar’s engines glowing ionic blue. Oberon was putting up one hell of a fight, but she couldn’t survive much longer, and Valkyrie wouldn’t survive an extended engagement on her own.
The fight was awesome to behold. Clutches of missiles slammed across space, intercepted by groups of fighters and clouds of flak, while Oberon’s kinetic guns lit up the void as it pounded at the two basestars. Missile after missile slid from Valkyrie’s batteries, winding around Oberon to arc toward the Cylon ships.
“Just hold on,” Halstrom whispered, amid the chaos and sparking consoles in CIC. “A few more minutes.”
Bellerophon’s guns opened up, sending projectiles to impact on the nearest basestar. The batteries on that side of the basestar sent a salvo of missiles in return.
“Ordnance!”
Three missiles got through Bellerophon’s defences to impact on the bow armour. Undeterred, Bellerophon kept up the fire.
“What’s the status of our Vipers?”
“Refuelled and ready to go!”
“Launch Vipers!”
The communication officer began relaying launch instructions to the Vipers.
Bellerophon’s Vipers shot out of their launch tubes to meet a squadron of Raiders which had abruptly changed course to intercept Bellerophon head-on. A vicious dogfight ensued as each group tried to eliminate the other. Meanwhile, the battlestar kept up its charge, guns blazing as it joined the fray.
Caught in a noose between the three battlestars, the basestars vainly tried to fight their way out. Bellerophon crippled one, which seemed to lose power suddenly, its hull heavily fractured. Missiles from the Valkyrie finally punctured the hull of the other, piercing the basestar’s reactor, or whatever it was, touching off a chain reaction that enveloped the basestar in explosions, finally disintegrating.
The remaining Raiders tried to flee, spooling up their FTL, but most were pounced on by vengeful Vipers and destroyed. Only a small handful managed to escape.
And then...and then, the three battlestars were alone, amid the shattered corpses of dead ships.
*
There was no mood of celebration in the Bellerophon CIC, only a sombre melancholy. Voices were low and conversations muted.
“What’s the butcher’s bill?” commander Halstrom asked of his XO, face grim and tired.
“All told, including those too badly damaged to repair, we lost eighty-three Vipers and nineteen Raptors. Most of those were in the strike forces. We’re conducting SAR operations as we speak for any surviving pilots that might have ejected.”
Granger thumbed down the report. “On the battlestars we lost a combined total of about seven hundred people. Oberon needs extensive repair, but Valkyrie is more-or-less in one piece. Bellerophon took a pounding, but we’re mostly okay.”
Halstrom closed his eyes.
“Take a rest, Leonid. I can handle all this stuff. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
“No. I’ve got to see this through and make sure the algae harvesting proceeds immediately. What’s the status of the civilians?”
“Lieutenant Ghuri reports that he’s mostly been able to keep order, but the sooner we deliver on that food, the better.”
Halstrom nodded. “We’d better check out the planet...”
“No need, Colonel Cale ordered a Raptor to monitor it as soon as the battle ended. No Cylon activity.”
“So that’s one basestar unaccounted for,” mused Halstrom.
“Yes, but after what we did to its comrades, it’d have to be pretty stupid to hang around.”
Halstrom smiled, the first in a long time. “Valkyrie’s in good shape. Let’s get Cale to jump into orbit around the planet, make sure everything’s fine for the civilian food operations. There’s one basestar that we seem to have crippled that’s fairly intact – high time we tried to get some intelligence.”
The XO raised his eyebrows.
“Let’s square away the food crisis first. Once that’s dealt with, we’ll assemble a few teams to board the basestar.”
*
F12 + 7
The food operation was well underway. Under Valkyrie’s watchful gaze, the three agricultural ships with the fleet loaded themselves with algae stripped from the surface of the planet by industrial freighters hastily converted into ad-hoc harvesters. The ships were larger versions of botanical cruisers, about a third again as long and with a thicker hull that supported more biodomes.
The starvation crisis was finally coming to an end. Processed algae was distributed among the fleet by the military to prevent stampedes. The stuff wasn’t exactly fine cuisine but it was nutritious, and the prospect of fleet-wide riots gradually receded.
Meanwhile, repair operations were being carried out on Oberon. The older battlestar had suffered the worst of the fighting, her hull peppered with scorch marks and holes where the Cylons had brutally pounded on her, and Oberon was sheathed in civilian maintenance craft. Bellerophon stood by like a guardian angel over her wounded sibling, her Raptors overseeing and assisting with the repair work. The Mercury-class monster had also suffered heavy damage, but her class had been designed with this kind of fighting in mind, and her wounds were less grave.
“So this basestar,” mused Halstrom. “It’s mostly intact?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be on the gunnery officer’s back for poor marksmanship.”
Halstrom chuckled. “Got boarding teams ready?”
“All volunteers. There was no shortage, believe me. I want to lead one.”
A pause.
“I’m not going to be able to talk you out of that one, am I?” asked Halstrom.
“No, sir. You’ll have to throw me in the brig.”
“Very well,” sighed Halstrom in weary resignation. “Be sure to keep an NCO in front of you at all times. And don’t get yourself killed. I need you too much, and I’ll have you court-martialled for being absent without leave if you have the temerity to let some frakking toaster kill you.”
“Understood, sir.” The XO saluted.
“Suit up. I want you probing that baseship in thirty minutes.”
*
The wounded basestar was mostly intact, although it had certainly seen better days. The hull was shattered by the force of Bellerophon’s bow batteries but was just holding together.
The three Raptors cautiously approached the main hub, magnetically clamping themselves to the surface. Boarding charges blew a breach, and the three eight-man teams carefully entered into the ship.
Anton Granger followed a fire-team of seven marines into the interior. The marines quickly organised into a diamond formation, weapons drawn. The bulky space-suits made manoeuvring difficult, but at least whatever the Cylons used to generate gravity was still working.
The corridor dimly pulsed with lighting scurrying along the walls and ceilings. Despite the mechanical aesthetic, there was a distinct impression that the basestar was alive, somehow.
The point-man held a motion-tracker, which so far was showing nothing moving. They moved into a large central chamber.
Which contained the first surprise.
Bodies.
They were scattered all over the room. It looked like they had suffered from decompression.
But why bodies?
A terrible thought struck Granger. Is this what Cylons look like now? What happened to the toaster variety? The marines were making no comment, but Granger could sense their uneasiness.
The room appeared to be some sort of control room, although there was no recognisable consoles or panels or anything of the sort that Granger would expect in a battlestar CIC.
“Keep moving,” he instructed the marines. “Bellerophon, this is Colonel Granger. It looks like the basestar has suffered massive decompression. No contact. Will report more as appropriate.”
He decided to leave the bodies bombshell to his personal report. He was certainly glad he’d come now, this kind of thing would have been too much for some grunt to handle.
“Sir!”
The NCO beckoned at him.
“We’ve found a pressure-locked door. Likely an internal airlock in case this sort of thing happened.”
“That means there’s probably something important on the other side. We could certainly use some intel. If any of these...things...are still alive, we should take a couple of prisoners. Can we get it open?”
“Specialist Freeman!” The sergeant gestured at one of his men.
The marine knelt in front of what looked like a control panel of some sort. He experimentally laid his hand on it. It flared brightly for a moment.
The door slid open smoothly.
The colonel stared. Then he chuckled.
“Guess they didn’t really count on being boarded.”
The sergeant looked a bit embarrassed. The squad and Granger crammed into the airlock, which slid shut behind them. There was a hiss of re-pressurization. The oxygen meters on the suits slid from red to green.
And then the door opened.
This room was immediately different. It looked like there was no damage at all, it was in immaculate condition. The four marines quickly covered the chamber.
There was some sort of pool, or bath, or something in the centre. And in it was a woman.
Granger started. Then he drew his sidearm and approached the woman in the pool. She was drawn and emaciated, as if starved. She seemed integrated into the basestar itself.
“Are you...alive?” he asked.
The woman’s eyes, previously shut, snapped open, exposing clear blue eyes with dilated pupils. Then she started jabbering.
“Systems check heat exchange no don’t hurt the child we see a stream running through a field FTL offline weapons deactivated hull breach see see the agony alone yet surrounded tylium fuel levels critical thank you scattered there are others destined not to meet. End of line. Drink, drink and be merry. They have harmed their own. End of line.”
“What the frak?” muttered Granger. He cocked his sidearm, switching off the safety. He leaned in closer.
Suddenly the woman’s arm shot out of the tank, grabbing Granger’s arm with a vicelike grip. He dropped his gun and cried out.
The marines instantly wheeled around, guns pointing at the woman in the tank.
“No...don’t shoot,” panted Granger. The woman was staring into his eyes intently.
“All this has happened before and will happen again. All this has happened before and will happen again. All this has happened before and will happen again. End of line.”
The grip relaxed. The woman sank back into the tank, eyes closing.
“Sir?” the sergeant asked. “Are you okay, sir?”
“I’m fine,” Granger insisted. “I’m okay.”
“Sir, the motion tracker is picking up movement,” warned the marine with the tracker. “50 metres., multiple contacts.”
“Sir, I suggest we leave,” said the sergeant. “Now.”
“I’m inclined to agree. All teams, fall back to the Raptors. Go!”
“...emy contact...roger that, sir...over...amming the frequencies...say agai-?”
“Disengage and fall back!” roared Granger.
“...Yes sir. Disengaging –”
The marines and Granger crammed into the airlock, which began to close. The door opposite them across the woman’s chamber burst open, and a silvery robotic figure with an terrifyingly red oscillating eye stepped forward. Its wrist snapped into a gun barrel of some kind.
The airlock door secured itself. Granger heard several heavy impacts on the door’s exterior.
It depressurised and the men tumbled out into the airless control chamber. The marines began moving as fast as they could away from the airlock and back the way they came.
“Granger, Raptor Two-Four!” yelled Granger. “Prepare for immediate evac! Repeat! Immediate evac!”
The squad piled into the Raptor waiting for them, which immediately blasted off from the basestar. The two other Raptors secured to the hull detached themselves and followed up. Granger realised he was hyperventilating. He closed his eyes and tried to get a grip on himself. The Raptors accelerated towards the waiting Bellerophon.
“No casualties, sir!” the pilot called back, having communicated with the other Raptors.
“Thank frak for that,” sighed Granger.
It landed in the starboard hangar bay and brought down onto the deck. The marines helped the colonel out of the Raptor.
“Anton!”
The colonel smiled weakly. “Calm yourself, Leonid. I’m fine.”
Commander Halstrom looked anxiously at his friend. “Can you walk?”
“Yes, yes. I’m not made of glass. It’s okay,” he said to the marines propping him up. He shakily stood and saluted the commander.
“So what happened?”
“Let me tell you in private,” the colonel replied grimly. “Marines, you are not to repeat what you saw to anyone, you understand? If word gets out I’ll know where it came from and I’ll have you all airlocked.”
“Sir,” grunted the marines.
Halstrom smiled. “Yeah, you’re fine.” His expression grew serious. “What’s this you need to tell me?”
“Firstly, blow that Cylon bucket to smithereens, please. Best we get rid of it now, there’s nothing more we can glean from it. It’s a danger to us.”
Halstrom studied Granger for a second. He decided to trust his friend’s judgement. “Consider it done. Let’s discuss this in my quarters.”
“I’ll need a stiff drink, first.”
*
“So, you found bodies on the baseship?”
“Yeah. I don’t like this, Leonid. I think the Cylons look like us now.”
“Frak. The problems just get worse and worse, don’t they? Now they could be aboard this ship and we wouldn’t even know!”
“Yeah. Listen, Leonid...we can’t let this get out, not to the crew, and certainly not to the civilians. There would be a witch-hunt.”
“Even so,” said Halstrom thoughtfully. “We should begin quiet investigations. What do you remember of the bodies on the ship? Were they similar, different?”
“I don’t know. They’d suffered decompression, and I didn’t take a really close look. It looked like there were males and females. But in any case, that wasn’t the worst of it.”
Anton Granger took another pull at the ambrosia swirling around his glass. Both men were sat in Halstrom’s quarters, talking in low voices.
“We entered this pressure-locked chamber. Looked like it was designed to survive decompression of neighbouring compartments. There was this...pool, or bath, or whatever in the centre, and a woman in it...she was physically wired in to the basestar. Leonid...I think it was the ship’s central computer, or some sort of twisted analogue. She started babbling about nonsensical whimsical crap, mixed in with what sounded like damage reports. It was very, very strange. But then, she grabbed my hand...she grabbed my hand, and told me that ‘All this has happened before, and will happen again.”
Leonid Halstrom sat back. “Sounds like some sort of prophecy to me.”
“I know. The Cylons are a race of machines, what need have they of religion? Leonid, perhaps this is a religious crusade, this monstrous bloodbath.”
Halstrom looked thoughtful. “What else did she say?”
“Mostly technobabble and nonsense. Something about not hurting a child, and others destined not to meet. Oh, and “harming their own”, or something. It just sounded like deranged babbling.”
“Maybe there’s meaning to it. I never was a puzzle solver, though. Anything else?”
“No, that’s when we got jumped by Cylons. Real Cylons, the toaster variety. They’re still around, but they looked much more advanced than the old models we fought forty years ago. Frak me, they were terrifying.”
“I see. Can’t really risk them reactivating any of the weapons on that thing. I think I’ll take your advice and destroy it ASAP.”
“Thanks, Leonid. I don’t mind admitting that episode disturbed the hell out of me.”
*
F12+8
Aboard a very different ship, others were reviewing the data of the battle.
“This is not a development that we expected,” said an older, grey-haired man.
A tall blonde woman made a dismissive gesture. “There were one hundred and twenty battlestars in the Colonial Fleet. Our initial estimates, while wildly exceeded, did take into account the probability that we would not take them all in one swoop.”
“Our directives must be reassessed,” put in a shorter, red haired man. “As far as we know, there is a small number of surviving battlestars, with or without peripheral ships. Each “group” seems to be ignorant of the other. I suggest we keep them that way. We must give the impression to each group of humans that we are hunting them down exclusively, that there are no other survivors.”
“It looks like Pegasus, at least, will not be a problem much longer,” added a brunette woman in a drawling voice. “Its lunatic of a commander appears to be intent on suicidal assaults on our forces.”
“This Cain has displayed some psychotic tendencies,” noted the red-haired man. “It appears she cannibalised for parts and left for dead a small fleet of human survivors. Surely a more prudent course of action would have been to save them for the future of their race.”
“Who can tell how humans will act?” asked the older man, shrugging his shoulders.
“We should decide on our own course of action,” the brunette woman said. “I propose we follow Five’s suggestion, and eliminate the human race once and for all. Are we all in agreement?”
Nods.
“Adama’s group is the largest, and Galactica the least formidable survivor. We should press the attack on him first. Pegasus seems to also be heading in that overall direction, and if it finds them, our task may be complicated.”
“Or simplified,” suggested the older man. “Cain may deal with Adama herself, weakening herself and compromising that fleet. Cain is a military megalomaniac.”
“Our fallen comrades are resurrecting as we speak. We are lucky that the resurrection ship had just left the system just after the last basestar was destroyed,” said the red haired man smoothly.
“It is the will of God,” said the tall blonde woman.
The older man scoffed. “And this ‘God’ of ours was really looking out for Cylon-kind, wasn’t he?”
“God is not mocked,” said a slim woman with dark hair. “You would do well to remember that, One.”
The older man rolled his eyes. “Let’s just get to the point, shall we. I propose an immediate strike on Bellerophon. They’re weakened and unready for a fresh assault.”
“With what, One?” asked the blonde woman. “I don’t know if you realise this, but our forces are not ready for a renewed strike. One basestar is not enough to take on three battlestars, particularly without a Resurrection ship.”
“The support of your ‘God’ would be with us, I’m sure.”
“Oh, stop your mockery,” snapped the blonde woman. “We should designate a fleet to harass and wear down Halstrom. Against three battlestars, our losses could be substantial. Reduce those odds and things will become a little easier. They’ll have expended a lot of munitions, too. We should regroup at Caprica, but I strongly advise we control this information, for secrecy purposes.”
All other models nodded their assent.
“It’s done, then. We jump to Caprica. To the victor: the spoils.”
*
Scorpion Shipyards, sometime prior to the Second Cylon War, aboard Battlestar Pegasus
“So, Admiral.” Leonid chuckled. “Congratulations, Helena. You must have been promoted over half the commanders in the fleet.”
Helena Cain smiled a wintry smile. “Thanks, Leonid. I’m sorry. I know how much you wanted this promotion yourself.”
A wistful look crossed Leonid Halstrom’s face. “You deserve it. I may have wanted it, but you fought damn hard for it.”
Cain smiled sharply. “Like a razor.”
Leonid raised his glass of ambrosia in salute.
“A toast. To Pegasus and Bellerophon.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
The two commanders – the commander and the admiral – clinked glasses. “I guess this is the last time we’ll see each other for a while. It was good to talk to you again.”
“You too, Admiral. I wish you luck for the future. Pegasus is a fine ship.” Leonid grinned. “Almost worthy of being Bellerophon’s sister ship.”
Cain snorted. “Most commanders may think that they have the greatest ship and the best crew in the Colonial Fleet. But I know that I do.”
“Take care, Admiral. I look forward to seeing you again.” Leonid stood up and saluted his old friend. Cain reciprocated in the purest military precision.
“Goodbye, Leonid. I wish you every success.”
F12+8
Admiral Cain leaned on the tactical table in the Pegasus CIC, thinking about her old friend Leonid Halstrom. Probably dead now. Almost certainly. Her face betrayed nothing of what was going on in her head. Remorse over what had to be done with the civilians they’d found, wrapped in steely bands of iron resolve. She was going to make the Cylons pay. Ultimately those civilians wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for the Cylons. If it wasn’t for the Cylons, humanity wouldn’t now be functionally extinct. If it weren’t for the Cylons, so many of the faces of friends and comrades flashing through her mind would still be alive. Rage flared up inside her skull and she clamped down on it, hard.
“Sir?”
Kendra Shaw approached the admiral, holding a report that she slid over to Cain.
“This is an inventory of all the personnel and supplies we acquired from the civilians, sir.”
The admiral glanced up. “Thank you, Lieutenant. How is our prisoner?”
“Lieutenant Thorne is busy with his interrogation. He brought in some Marine personnel to...help him out.”
Cain was pleased by the neutrality of her tone. No undercurrent of disgust or revulsion at what was now happening in the brig. Yes, this one was a razor, all right.
“Are the civilian draftees co-operating?”
“Mostly, sir. There was some dissent, but I think that’s been dealt with, now. The civilians with aviation backgrounds are being trained into new Viper pilots. The Viper production facilities have produced a few new birds to replace some of our losses.”
“Good. Thank you, Lieutenant. If there is nothing more to report, you are dismissed.”
“Sir.” Shaw saluted, and marched out of CIC. Cain’s eyes followed her. If there was any regret there, it was suppressed by Cain’s iron mask.
*
F12+16
Mournful piano music was playing in Halstrom’s quarters as Granger entered. The commander was sitting at his desk, reports sheathing the surface, a half-full glass of ambrosia sitting on the table.
“Ah, Anton. Sit down.”
“Interesting choice of music,” observed Granger.
“I like it,” shrugged Halstrom. “Guy named Thrace. Great musician. Has a daughter in the Fleet, I think.” Halstrom scowled. “Had. Anyway, what’s the situation out there?”
“Repairs on Oberon are nearly done. They're a bit makeshift, but she’s nearly battleworthy again. Algae harvesting and fuel operations are basically complete. We have more than enough fuel for a few years now. The agro ships can supply us with food indefinitely, although we’re gonna get sick of algae pretty soon. We need to find a good source of ore to manufacture more ammunition for our birds. We can also start creating new Vipers and Raptors with sufficient resources.”
“I’d rather have food that we get sick of than none at all. Okay, so we’ll need to start scouting systems with asteroid belts for ore. We’ll get Raptors on that mission right away. We should also go through the civilian fleet for anybody with an aviation background, so we can start replacing pilots.”
Colonel Granger grinned. “Fresh nuggets.”
“Speaking of civilians...” Halstrom lowered his voice. “Have we had any more trouble with them?”
“It isn’t nearly as bad as when they began eating paper. However, some noises have been made about ‘legitimate authority’. Some people are not too happy about martial law, they’re demanding a civilian government.”
“Frak me. That’s all we need. Talk about ingratitude...” Halstrom closed his eyes briefly. “No. Martial law stays. This will tear the fleet apart if we let it. If this gets too troublesome, we’ll throw the ringleaders in the brig.”
There was the slightest hesitation.
“Yes, sir,” replied the XO.
Halstrom knew his old friend too well not to pick up the hesitation. “Anton, we’re the leaders of this fleet. It could be all that’s left of humanity right now. And I am not going to jeopardise the future of humanity because of some whiny frakking lawyer complaining about civil rights. No.”
There was a silence.
“I’m not going to go crazy, Anton. I’m not a frakking psycho. I’m not going to start arbitrary executions because some people don’t like the military. However, I will not compromise the security of this fleet, not under any circumstances.”
“The needs of the many...” muttered Granger under his breath. “No, Leonid, I understand. Really, I do. But there’s that old adage of power corrupting, and let’s face it, we have the power of life and death over these people right now.”
“I know. I know,” Halstrom sighed. He suddenly felt as if the entire universe was pressing in on him. He felt the terrible burden of his survival weigh down on him like an anchor. “Gods, I’m tired.”
Granger poured some ambrosia into a glass and pressed it towards him. “We’re going to miss this stuff sooner rather than later, I’m afraid.”
Halstrom nodded, taking a sip. “’Least, until one of the more industrious crewmembers gets a still running.”
The XO snorted. “Why not drink engine lubricant, it’s probably healthier than anything a knuckledragger could brew.”
Halstrom chuckled. “You’re probably right.” He raised his glass. “To Bellerophon.”
The XO nodded. “To survival.”
“Amen to that.”
They clinked glasses.
“We do, however, have a more material problem, though – munitions for the battlestars.”
“Ah,” sighed Halstrom.
“Valkyrie is down to 25% reserves, and missiles don’t grow on trees. Not that there are any trees left. She wasn’t really designed with sustained expenditure against a superior force in mind, unlike the Bel and the Oberon. She was designed to be continuously resupplied with seeker warheads, unlike the primary emphasis on KEWs on ship-of-the-line battlestars. She can use dumb ammo – her batteries are dual-purpose, they can be used as guns or launchers – but she won’t be as much of a tactical asset anymore. The ammunition for the KEWs on Oberon and Bellerophon are also running low, although not quite as critical – we have enough for another couple of engagements. Two, maybe three. Provided we find good raw material we can replenish stocks continually, but we need a major resupply first, really.”
Halstrom listened quietly. He wished all the resources that they’d lost were merely material.
“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about this. I have an idea...but you’re not going to like it.”
“Yeah? Tell me anyway.”
Halstrom told him. He didn’t like it.
*
“Ragnar Anchorage? You are kidding me!”
“I told you that you wouldn’t like it.”
“Yeah, that’s because it’s completely frakking crazy. Ragnar was swarming with Cylons the last time we saw it!”
“And they have no reason to be there still! They don’t need the place. They probably wouldn’t even bother destroying it. What would be the point?”
“But, Leonid, they’ll probably be monitoring it,” Granger pointed out. “Or if not, they might have booby-trapped it! It’s a stupid and crazy idea! I can’t believe you’re even considering this! You’re out of your frakking mind!”
“Colonel Granger!” snapped Halstrom. “Control yourself! You are the executive officer of this ship! Act like it, or I’ll find an XO that can!”
Granger looked thunderous, but stayed silent.
“Consider the options. One: We need munitions badly. They are essential to the survival of this fleet. Two: Ragnar is one of only three munitions depots available in Colonial space. Three: Ragnar is the closest of these. Four: Ragnar is shielded by radiation, giving us some cover from the Cylons – the other two rely on Fleet protection and are located in open space, which is about as much use as a turd in a footbath. Five: I want to find out what happened to Galactica. There might even be survivors, an impossibility though that might seem. Are those reasons clear enough to you, or shall we wait until we’re throwing stones at the Cylons?”
Granger said nothing.
“I’m not completely stupid. We’re going to be cautious about this, not charge in. Tomorrow, you are to inform Colonel Cale that two of his stealthstars are to be prepped and ready to fly, then shipped over to Bellerophon so that I can brief the pilots. You’re dismissed, Colonel.”
“Sir.”
Granger walked out.
*
F12+17
The two stealthstars blinked back into existence.
“Stealthstar zero-one and Stealthstar zero-two, this is the battlestar Bellerophon. You are cleared for approach. Speed one seven five, port bay, hands-on approach. Checker's green. Call the ball.”
“Roger, Bellerophon, this is Stealthstar zero-one, I have the ball, over.”
“Bellerophon, this is Stealthstar zero-two. I’ve got the ball, over.”
Both stealthstars entered the topside port flight-pod of the Mercury-class battlestar and came to rest, magnetically secured to the deck floor.
Both birds were taken down to the hangar bay. Deck crew scrambled onto both, unlatching the canopy and helping the pilots out.
Commander Halstrom and Colonels Granger and Cale were waiting for them.
“Report.”
“The Anchorage was abandoned, sir. No Cylon activity.”
“Did you find any wreckage?”
“We detected plenty of scattered debris from dead Raiders, and the Colonial transponders of a few dead Vipers too, sir. They’ve been floating round in orbit for a week now.”
Halstrom frowned. “Nothing that would approximate the mass of a battlestar?”
“No, sir.”
“Interesting.”
“Sir, the Vipers we found... We took a close look at one of the more intact ones. There were no Cylons anywhere near the planet. They were museum pieces, sir. Mk II’s.”
“Galactica was being turned into a museum,” mused Halstrom. “So Adama must have re-activated the Mk II’s brought aboard...which of course would be immune from Cylon infiltration.” He looked at the pilot sharply. “How many dead Vipers?”
“Sir, I couldn’t say precisely...”
“So guess,” suggested Halstrom.
“I’d say...hmm. Six or seven?” said the pilot, looking at his comrade, who nodded. “Sounds about right, sir. The flight computer will have an accurate record, but it’s a reasonable estimate.”
“Raiders?”
“At least a hundred.”
Cale whistled softly.
“He put up a hell of a fight with those antiques.”
“The Mark II was a good ship,” said Halstrom. “Saved all our arses in the first Cylon War. Can’t really say the same about the Mark VII in this situation, can we?”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
“So...maybe the Galactica escaped. Speaking of museum-pieces, she’s one herself. Adama’s fighting with a 50-year old bucket. No Viper replacement capability, limited resources...won’t have a fleet like we do, either.”
“Actually,” broke in the other pilot, “we also found the remains of a ship that might have been a passenger liner.”
“Okay.” Halstrom looked thoughtful. “Some civilian ships must have somehow got Adama’s message for Colonial units to rendezvous at Ragnar and thought they would have sanctuary...but how? That was on a military frequency, and the facility’s location is classified...In any case, let’s say this is what happened. Galactica would have destroyed its munitions before its decommissioning, so she filled up at Ragnar. Civvies get his message and jump to Ragnar. Cylons somehow know that Galactica’s at Ragnar and blockade the place. Galactica realises that no-one’s coming, so tries to break out of Ragnar with the civilians in tow. Whether to wage guerrilla war or just to run...the same choice we face at the moment.”
The others were silent.
“Galactica survived with about...what, 40 Mk II’s? And you say about six destroyed? Thirty-odd old planes in one big old war bucket. All they got.
“In that case, I think we should find Adama and his fleet after our munitions stop. Four battlestars is a force to be reckoned with, even if one is getting a bit long in the tooth. And if there are other survivors...one old, lone battlestar, against the entire Cylon fleet. They won’t last long.” Halstrom sighed. “We have a moral obligation to try and aid them in whatever way we can.”
“So say we all,” murmured Granger.
“Time to plan another op.”
*
The officers in command of the battlestars were gathered around the tactical map in the situation room.
“...so if we enter through here, the radiation should keep the Cylons from discovering us. We load up with munitions, one battlestar at a time. Two remain with the fleet as its protection. I suggest we send Valkyrie first, then Oberon, then Bellerophon.”
“Why?” asked Cale.
“Because Valkyrie is the smallest and most difficult to detect of the battlestars and Bellerophon is the largest and easiest to detect of the battlestars. Additionally, Bellerophon stands the greatest chance of fighting her way out if we’re compromised and the opposite is true for Valkyrie.”
Cale couldn’t argue with that.
“If one battlestar is detected, one of its Raptors is to jump here and inform whichever battlestars are here that said battlestar is compromised. We then send the larger battlestar of those we have here – this will be either Oberon or Bellerophon – to relieve the compromised battlestar.”
“Still quite risky,” observed Houston. “What if the Raptors are intercepted before they can jump?”
“Every ten minutes we send a stealthstar to the Anchorage to check up. Any other questions, gentlemen?”
The officers looked at each other, and there was a long silence. Then there was a negative murmur.
“Dismissed, gentlemen. Skids up in forty-eight hours.”
*
The battlestar Valkyrie cautiously advanced through the upper atmosphere of Ragnar towards the Colonial munitions depot. So far, all was proceeding as planned. Colonel Cale stood in the CIC, tersely watching the DRADIS, which was getting more distorted the further they advanced into the gas-giant’s atmosphere.
“Raptors report all clear,” one of the officers reported. “Looks like we haven’t been detected.”
“Good,” muttered Cale.
“CAP reports entering visual range of the station.”
The giant, counter-rotating munitions depot dwarfed the battlestar as it approached.
“Docking’s gonna be a pain in the arse,” murmured the XO, Major Keeting.
“We have it easy. Gods only know how the Bellerophon’s going to cope.”
Valkyrie manoeuvred itself into position with its thrusters, attempting to compensate for the turbulent upper atmosphere of Ragnar. It eventually affixed itself to the station.
“Secure!”
“Pressure equalising.”
“I want these munitions loaded within two-and-a-half hours,” Cale told Keeting. “See to it. I’m putting you in charge of the operation.”
“Yes, sir.”
*
Three hours and forty-seven minutes later, Valkyrie had finally finished replenishing her munitions reserves from Ragnar Anchorage’s vast stockpile.
Colonel Michael Cale was relieved that there had been no significant problems despite his overdrawn schedule. The stealthstar periodically checking up on them had just jumped back to the main fleet.
Valkyrie disengaged from the gigantic station. The battlestar began manoeuvring toward the stable passage through the radioactive upper atmosphere of Ragnar to make its exit.
The smaller battlestar nosed its way out into open space. DRADIS was still showing all clear. Cale was glad at how smoothly the operation had gone.
“Begin jump prep and prepare to –”
Two basestars jumped into close range on either side of Valkyrie. Nuclear missiles flew out of each one, heading straight for both port and starboard.
“DRADIS contact! Inbound nukes!”
There was no time to react. None.
The CAP had escorted Valkyrie out and was preparing to land in preparation for jump. They suddenly averted their approach to try and take out the incoming missiles.
They failed.
The detonations were felt all through the ship. Large sections lost pressure, and several crew suffered from the explosive decompression, dying from acute lung trauma. Two deck crew working in an airlock were swept screaming soundlessly into space.
CIC shook violently. Cale was knocked unconscious, banging his head on the tactical table, opening a severe gash that painted a long red smear of blood across it. An alarm was blaring.
Keeting hauled himself up. “Damage report!” he spluttered.
“Sir, we’ve lost FTL and sublight engines!”
“The manoeuvring thrusters on the port side have been knocked out!”
“Starboard hull breaches, multiple decks!”
“Weapons grid offline! We’re defenceless!”
“Engine room is not responding!”
Keeting felt helpless.
“Vipers?”
The tactical officer gave him a bleak look.
“More incoming!”
Kinetic missiles streaked towards the stricken battlestar.
“They’re targeted on the flightpods! Brace!”
The missiles tore open gaping holes in the hull plating. One punched right through into the hangar deck of the port flightpod before detonating, causing catastrophic damage. Fires broke out, combated only by the hopelessly inadequate damage control teams. As each damage report came in, each more damning than the last, Keeting felt a heavy, hopeless feeling settle in his heart. They were all going to die and there was nothing, nothing he could do about it. Cale was still and had stopped breathing.
All they could do is wait to die.
*
One of the Valkyrie’s Raptors jumped into Bellerophon’s DRADIS range.
“Sir! Priority one communications request from Valkyrie Raptor Three-Five!”
“Open channel!”
“This is Lieutenant McEwen! Valkyrie is under attack, the Cylons have ambushed her and she’s taken heavy damage! Request assistance immediately!”
“Shit!” snarled Granger. He shot a look at Halstrom.
“Set Condition One! Signal Oberon to jump to Ragnar on our mark and spin up the FTL drive,” Halstrom ordered. “Raptor Three-Five, you are permitted to land immediately, port flightpod, checker’s green.”
“We’re taking both battlestars?” exclaimed Granger incredulously. “What about the civilians?”
“They’ll have to take their chances. I am getting our men out of there,” Halstrom snapped. He turned to the comms officer. “Transmit an emergency jump co-ordinate to the civilian fleet and tell them we’ll meet them there!”
“Aye aye, sir!”
Oberon and Bellerophon blinked out of existence. Then the Mercury-class battlestar re-materialised almost immediately.
“What the frak?” bellowed Halstrom. “Why didn’t we jump?!”
“Sir, there was a problem with the FTL, it's suffering calibration malfunctions! We’ll need a few minutes to straighten it out!”
“Shit!” Halstrom glared ferociously at the unfortunate bridge officer. “Sort it out, or heads will roll.”
“Trying, sir!”
“Houston’s on his own,” Granger said quietly.
“I know.”
*
Oberon jumped into orbit around Ragnar, flightpods extending.
“DRADIS contact! Two baseships and the Valkyrie. No sign of the Bellerophon, sir!”
“Frak! Where the hell is she?” hissed the XO.
“That’s the least of our concerns right now,” bellowed Houston. “Roll to port, forty-five degrees, and get suppression fire on those frakking basestars! Circle us around, continuous bombardment, try to get some of that enemy fire off the Valkyrie!”
“Aye aye, sir!”
Oberon rolled over to present its narrowest profile and dorsal and belly batteries to the enemy ships. With the Valkyrie crippled and drifting, the basestars turned their attention to the Oberon, with the intention of finishing off Valkyrie at their leisure later.
“Get our birds in the air,” ordered Houston tersely.
“Aye aye, sir. Vipers launching.”
Oberon’s squadrons launched out of the flightpods to assume formation against the enemy basestars, which were now deploying Raider squadrons.
“Incoming Raiders, hundred fifty plus!”
“CAG! Take ‘em out!” snarled Houston.
The Vipers met the waves of Cylon fighters head on, blunting their momentum. The main thrust of the Cylon attack split to envelop the Oberon in a pincer manoeuvre. Oberon’s AAA flakbursts and point-defence guns ripped open Raider after Raider, but the sheer volume of hostiles was threatening to overwhelm the defence guns.
“Sir! New contacts on DRADIS! Two...three more enemy baseships!”
“What?!” Houston exclaimed, aghast. “We can’t hold off five!”
“New contacts are launching Raiders, sir!”
“Keep us up and away! Keep them to one side and make sure they don’t flank us!” Houston ordered desperately. “Gods help us,” he murmured quietly.
Halstrom...where are you?
Meanwhile, on the battered and crippled Valkyrie, Major Keeting could do nothing but watch the icons on the DRADIS helplessly.
“Are all our weapon systems offline?”
The tactical officer hesitated.
“We might be able to use the nuclear weapons. We brought twenty-four warheads aboard from the Anchorage. The basestars are too close, though.”
Keeting was silent.
“Engines status,” he said quietly, despite the klaxons still wailing in CIC.
“We have restored some limited power to the main engines thanks to the Oberon,” answered the navigation officer. “Manoeuvring thrusters are still offline. Basically, we can move in a straight line. With the damage we’ve taken we can’t do much without tearing ourselves apart.”
“FTL?”
The officer shook his head. “Repair crews are working on it.”
The major could only imagine what kind of hell the engine room resembled at the moment. A fatalism settled on Keeting. He knew what he must do.
“Arm the warheads. Use of nuclear weapons is authorised by me as the executive officer on this ship.”
Keeting snatched the launch key from Cale’s corpse and tossed his own towards the tactical officer.
“Sir-“
“Just do it. The moment we have FTL capability, tell me immediately.”
Come on, Houston, he thought. Buy us just a little more time.
*
“Hull breaches on decks three through nine! Damage control teams report!”
Another explosion shook the Oberon CIC.
The CAG’s frantic voice could be heard on the comm chatter.
“Flashpoint, take yellow squadron and hit 'em on the left! Birdseye, take blue and hit 'em on the right! Red squadron, follow me, we're going straight up the gut! Green, cover the Oberon, she’s taken heavy damage on the portside flightpod!”
“Wilco, skipper.”
“Roger that.”
“...-aking heavy fire, skipper, will try and...kkkkkkkkk”
“We can’t take much more of this!” Major Briedis, the XO, warned.
“Gods damn you, Halstrom, where are you?” hissed Houston.
“Radiological alarm! It’s the Valkyrie, she’s armed her nukes!”
“What the hell?...Get me a channel to Valkyrie Actual, now!” Houston barked.
“Trying, sir!”
*
“Colonel Houston on the Oberon wants to speak with you, sir!”
“I don’t have time for him right now!” shouted Keeting. “Are the missiles in the tubes?”
“Yes, sir!”
“All ahead full. Take us into the centre.”
“We won’t last for more than a few seconds in there,” warned the navigation officer.
“I know,” said Keeting quietly.
The wounded Valkyrie, overlooked by the enemy basestars in favour of the fight against the Oberon, accelerated into the midst of the enemy, fires streaming out of the breaches all over her hull. The port flightpod was a shapeless, disintegrating mass of metal and large parts of it were coming away completely.
The basestars, having detected the radiological signature of the warheads, realised their mistake. Nearly all their Raiders had been drawn off against the Oberon. Their only chance lay in blowing the Valkyrie to pieces before it could launch. Each ship launched as many missiles as they could bring to bear against the Valkyrie.
Twenty-four nuclear missiles shot out of the Valkyrie, locked on to each basestar. The missile trails criss-crossed each other like a vast spider’s web, with the Valkyrie the fly in the middle.
On board the Oberon, the clusters of missiles represented on DRADIS sped towards their respective targets. Houston watched in horrified fascination as each clutch latched on to its prey.
Impact in five...four...three...two...
A brand new sun borne from twenty-four nuclear explosions exploded into existence for a brief moment. DRADIS simply whited out.
There was complete silence in the CIC.
DRADIS flickered back into life after what seemed like an eternity.
“Board...board is clear, Colonel. No enemy contacts.”
“The Valkyrie?”
“No sign of her, sir. Just a lot of debris.”
Houston glanced at the clock. The whole thing had taken, unbelievably, only fifteen minutes to unfold. It | 
