Phase Two - The Great Escape (40,312 Words)

Battlestar Rhea, Marine Quarters, 1356 Hours

Master-at-Arms Master Sergeant James Mackenzie...nice title. It'll do you little good against Cylons is what ran through his mind, although he was quite elated over his recent promotion, he was sitting in his quarters enjoying the sweet smooth taste of some Caprican ambrosia. Caprican ambrosia, the best damn ambrosia in the colonies he thought. He nearly dropped his bottle when Private Nina Andrews entered the room.

"Oh, I am sorry sir, am I disturbing you?" she asked as she snapped to a salute.

"At ease, Private." he said, his speech slightly slurred, "You know I don't mind people in here, these are our quarters, I'm just having a little drink. What's the news?" he rolled off of his bunk and stood.

"All's quiet, sir."

They stood in an awkward silence for a few seconds when the klaxons began to blare.

"Action Stations, Action Stations! Set condition one throughout the ship. All hands report to action stations. This is not a drill. Repeat: Action Stations, Action Stations! Set condition one throughout the ship. All hands report to stations. This is not a drill.

They both looked at each other and reacted.

"Report to your station, have the rest of the marines assembled at their stations in two minutes or their asses are mine! And let the MCO get word that I'll be near the CIC."

"Aye, sir."

Nina ran off, following orders. James was throwing on his equipment muttering "Fraks," "Damns," and "Sons of bitches." Just how he wanted to be caught if the Cylons might have shown up, half-drunk in his undershirts. He whipped his bullet resistant vest on, strapped on his elbow pads, and whacked his helmet on. He was ready to go.

The way down to the main marine defensive location near the CIC was riddled with running crew and explosions rattling the ship. James was already sick of this battle, his head hurt, and his ears rang. When he arrived at the marine checkpoint, a squad of about twelve was formed into two lines and were going through the sequence of preparatory clicks, snaps, and clacks to be battle ready. They all saluted when James arrived.

"Sir, this squad is ready for contact."

"Very well, Corporal, at ease. Ladies and gents, from the news I hear, it seems we have another toaster rebellion on our hands. Now, I don't know if these things got the message the first time we shoved our boots up their asses, but I can assure you, any of them that board this vessel will get that message!"

His last sentence was responded to with "Oohrah!" by the squad present. James was pleased with the other marines, they were in high spirits for what was happening. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know that if they were taken by such surprise, things must not be going well.

Sergeant Major Highlands approached from the corridor, "Nice speech, Master Sergeant Mackenzie. We will be setting up barricades around the CIC and around Aft Damage Control and Secondary Fire Control, and other key points in the ship. The usuals from basic. Snap to, Sergeant." he finished.

James would take command of the marines near the CIC, Highlands would worry about the ones around ADC and SFC. James nodded to the marines who followed him off at a quick pace.

"Attention all hands, inbound shockwave, brace for impact, five seconds!"

"Brace! Brace!"James bellowed over the noise of the explosions and panicked crew members.

The shockwave tore through the Rhea, Sergeant Mackenzie was nearly against the bulkhead when it hit, but the shockwave carried him the extra eight inches and dislocated his arm. As flame enveloped the hall, a steel I-beam ripped through the ceiling swinging like a pendulum and struck a marine square in his chest. It smashed him up against the opposite bulkhead crushing his ribs and most of his vitals. He was left gasping for air and clawing at his broken chest.

James stood again, everything was blurred and he tasted metal. The pain then came surging from his dislocated arm. He grabbed it with his good arm and with a scream of pain, popped it back into place. He coughed a few times as he saw what was left of his team get onto their feet. There were three casualties, the one marine who was smashed by the I-beam, Private McDaniels, was dead, and two more were injured, but not badly.

"Corporal, I am going to the CIC to see what in the hell is going on, make sure everyone is formed up at their locations, and listen for more announcements like the last one."

He saluted to James who spun around and jogged to the CIC. He arrived to find a scene of chaos. Commander Cavil was on the ground, limp, with blood pooling from a gash in his head, several standing information panels were toppled, and a few of the CIC staff were being patched up.

"Colonel, what the frak is going on, sir?"

John wormed his way under a pile of debris that had fallen in the middle of a hallway, blocking easy access. Someone else had already cleared a man-sized tunnel beneath it, but it required him to crawl. His guts were aching and he felt like his eyes might pop out of his head.

All around him, the sounds of war raged. The action stations alert sirens, the reverberating booms as missile after missile exploded against the ship's hull, the screams and teary-eyed praying. Had he been more religious, he might've prayed then. The thought entered his mind as he clutched at the deck, trying to pull himself through.

What can the Gods do? he asked himself. They let this happen, didn't they? They let the Cylons attack us, nuke the Colonies. Frakking worthless is what they are.

He escaped from the pile of debris and pulled his legs free of it, kicking off a charred piece of insulating foam. As he was regaining his footing, there was another boom, this time much louder than the others. He was sent flying down the corridor as the ship lurched and spun.

"Shit!" he shouted as he rolled hard against the far wall, his legs barely managing to brace the impact.

He could hear the sound of rending metal and fire alerts ringing through the hallways. That was bad. Meant that there was a fire somewhere and a hull breach somewhere else. Both of those meant death if he found them accidentally.

Standing up, he limped over to the nearest door. It wouldn't open. He tried the panel, but it was dead. He put his shoulder up against it and pushed, but it still would not open.

"Frak me!"

He tried the next door down. It, too, would not open automatically, but he was able to shove it open with force. He could see that it led into the mess hall, now deserted. Even the Cook was busying himself, somehow.

Knowing him, thought John, trying to keep his mind occupied as he crossed the mess to get to the opposite bulkhead. He's probably out there fighting the Cylon's with his teeth and a steak knife.

The far door opened with a touch to the pad, and he made his way into another identical corridor. He mused, momentarily, on the idea of someone getting horribly lost on a Battlestar because the entire thing looked the same from the inside as he made his way in the direction he believed the flight pod to be.

No, he thought. Don't think about that. Zeus' Beard!

Finally, he reached the last door and it swung open to greet him.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome!" quipped a passing deckhand.

John watched the short stocky fellow run past, then swept his eyes across the room. The other deckhands were working like busy ants, scurrying all over the place. Vipers and jocks were parading around the crowded deck, trying to find a way out into the fight.

Hey, at least you're not the last one out there.

He walked over to the nearest deck hand, a women, and touched her on the shoulder.

"Uhh.. 'scuse me," he said. "When's the next flight out of here? I think I need a vacation."

Tracey turned around, took one look at Nagala, and told him to, "Piss off!"

John was speechless for a moment. He hadn't expected that.

Just as he worked up the nerve to say, "but!" she turned back to the Viper she was working on.

She tugged at a worn cable and pulled it out of the metal casing that surrounded it. There was an audible POP as the two disconnected, and it was quickly followed by a resonant CLANG as the tube hit the floor. Without having to ask for it, she received a replacement in her hand.

At least we have parts, she thought. Too bad about ammunition, though.

"Are the tubes working again, yet?" she shouted over the din.

She received a thumbs down and a shake-of-the-head from Gardener, who stood near Parker, looking scared and confused. The poor girl was probably barely holding it together. Then again, so were all of them.

"Frak. Alright, send this one up to the lifts. We've got another manual take-off here."

"Seriously," said Nagala, sliding around in front of the Chief, trying to get her attention.

"I want to be out there in a Viper. I know I can be a pain in the ass, but we're talking about the fate of the Colonies here. I mean, I think that's a little bit bigger than you or me or the CAG, don't you?"

"Well, it's nice to know you're so eager to work now."

John looked over his shoulder in annoyance, then quickly turned back to the Deck Chief.

"Look, I just want to-"

"Fine. I'll put you in your Viper if it'll shut you up."

"Thank you."

Tracey looked around the hangar deck. It was chaos, but it was an organized chaos. To the eye of a deckhand, this was the way it was supposed to look. If anyone was standing still, then something was wrong. Somebody wasn't doing their job. She caught sight of Nagala's Viper, sitting alone. Drifter was still scrawled across the side in grease.

"Come on," she said. "Let's get you out of here."

"Now this is what I'm talking about."

He followed Graham at a slow jog across the hangar deck over to his Viper. Other than the word 'Drifter', it looked brand new. He noticed that somebody had patched up his wing after he'd taken the liberty of removing the CNP device from it.

"How soon can I be out of here? Did you say the launch tubes aren't working or something?"

Tracey sighed heavily.

"Yeah, that's right. The first big hit seems to have knocked 'em out or something. That or someone turned them off. To be honest, we can't get a single story straight down here."

"Shit. All right. The sooner I'm out there, the better."

"Now there's something we can both agree on. Come on, help me get this bird over to the launch elevator."

Cavil's eyes opened and he felt a familiar - and welcome - burning in the back of his sockets. His brain was waking up after a download. It had happened before, on occasion, and he'd always found the experience fascinating rather than painful, as some of the other models did.

He pushed his head up and out of the tub's protective slime, feeling a warm breeze brush against his face. He took a deep breath, filling his empty lungs. There was another One sitting there next to the tub, a pair of stylish sunglasses resting on his nose, despite the dark interior of the birthing chamber.

"Hello."

Something in the air was different than usual. Rather than the usual pleasant aroma of the resurrection ship's sterilized biological interior, the reek of human filled his nostrils. He couldn't help but frown at the unpleasant scent.

"Sorry.. not the welcoming committee you were expecting? We were a bit pressed for sitters, what with all the downloads we're having to process. Lots of sleeper agents coming in, you know."

Cavil heard a scream of terror from nearby.

"Ooh," said the other One. "Someone's cranky."

"They'll learn to accept their nature.. eventually"

Cavil turned the other way and saw and Eight standing over him as well. It reminded him of the CAG. She would be showing up in the chamber soon. He might even be able to be there to greet her.. give her a familiar face to 'wake up' to.. so to speak.

"They'd better. Nothing seems more ridiculous to me than a deranged machine."

"Sorry to interrupt the dialogue, brother.. sister.. but is somebody going to help me out of here, or what?"

"Oh no. I'm afraid we can't do that."

"What? Why the hell not?"

Cavil gripped the sides of the tub, already preparing to pull himself out. The One and Eight reacted immediately, their hands connecting with his slippery shoulders, strong arms forcing him back down into the birthing goo.

"What are you doing?"

"Sorry brother. It seems there's been a slight mistake. Back you go."

"What?!"

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of something - no.. someone. It was a hooded figure, robed in white. They stood, watching, arms at their sides, face obscured by a blinding glow.

Before he could see who it was, he was thrust down into the tub again, thrashing as he tried to pull himself up for air. He kicked and sputtered, but nothing could stop it. As he took his first gasp, he felt a shocking pain in his chest.

Then another.

Cavil's eyes opened and he felt a familiar - and unpleasant - burning in the back of his sockets. His heart was waking up after a sudden stop, the warm gel spread across his bared chest and an air tube shoved down his throat. He felt gloved hands pushing down on his shoulders and against his neck.

"We've got a pulse again. He's alive!" someone shouted.

"Thank the Gods," said another.

"It's all right, Commander. You're still with us. We thought we'd lost you there for a moment."

Shapes began to materialize before him. The bright light of the hooded figure had turned into a blinding overhead that glared obtrusively into his face from above. A masked face obscured it momentarily, leaning over him to speak.

"How do you feel?"

"Terrible."

With that word, he fell into a deep and agitated sleep.

The shockwave ruffled him up and spat him out towards the planet. Gods damit! He struggled to regain control over the viper and finally managed to stop its spin, though the instruments were still dead. Improved stability my ass.. He'd never put a VII through something like that before, but the egg-heads down at R&D claimed nothing short of a nuke could knock it out cold. Guess they were wrong. Again.

The DRADIS buzzed back to life and he quickly picked up Rylan's ship not too far. Reaching for the throttle, Graff spun his viper towards the squad leader and initiated a long burn, closing the distance between them. His hand automatically jumped to the comms panel as he braked and got in formation with the rest of the squadron.

"Blue four, checkin in."

Rylan's Viper dropped back slightly, fountains of thruster mass suddenly reflecting the bright light from the sun in front of the concrete blue fighter. The wireless crackled, Andreu's voice rolling in along with waves of static.

''Confirmed bee-four, try and find three if you can,'' the left wing dipped twice, followed by its opposite copying the gesture, ''stick with me otherwise.'' A pause, an avalanche of static across 1st squadrons channel. ''More wise words from an old man.''

Graff paused a second and tried to remember their roster. He wasnt sure about most names, but this guy wasnt an easy one to forget.
"Three's in infirmary." He grumbled, not sure if anyone heard him over the static. "Guess I'm stuck with you, boss."
He rolled his viper on its side and slid forward through the ranks, only bringing it back to level when he reached the squad leader's ship.

----

Fear and doubt had wormed their way inside Andreu; the calming words filtering their way across the ether were as much for Rylan as they were for his pilots.

''Take a deep breath and be calm. We've all got your back - and your're ready for this. Fight to the best of your ability, make people proud.''

His mouth was dry. Was there anything he could give? Anything that might bring one or two more back? There was so much to think about and no time to say it.

''Aghh... wireless and dradis might get a bit sticky out here, the Toasters have always been better at ECM than us, so you can't be relying on your targeting computers. Use your eyes and judge the lead just like you were trained and it'll be all right. Viff like there is no tommorrow. Gods speed.''

But he was lying to himself - and them. They were all going to fraking die.

Good ol' mark one eyeball.. he sighed, we really are screwed. Combat, real combat. Graff hadn't seen serious action in over three months. His hand was a bit shaky on the stick, though not because of the lack of practice, that would show itself later. No, what lay ahead of them really scared the crap out of him, and he hated that. C'mon moron, you were dead the moment you sat in this cockpit, what's the worse that can happen? He cleared his mind and tightened his grip on the stick. That feeling of helplessness was still lingering in him, but at least he wasnt afraid anymore.

The silence over the comms signaled to him that others were having the same setbacks. Usually jocks talked your ear off right before a fight, now they were sitting quietly, mulling over their thoughts. And Graff couldnt take it anymore:
"Any chance we can wrap this up quickly? I got a game I gotta get back to for frak' sake!"

---

Crap, she thought, done counting. A little less than three quarters of the Air Group were out, more or less evenly split into all squadrons. About twelve each. Maybe enough to shield their carrier from 90 percent of the missiles. Or they would get in each others way. She herself couldn't shoot a single missile down and Rhea was still getting pummeled with them. By the time Elena reached the bow, the super-heavy batteries shot a destructive salvo towards the significant, shiny star-shaped structure that was surrounded by a web of clouds, streams left behind by the missiles. For a second, she believed to see an explosion, but it could just as well have been the launch of another barrage of missiles.

"Ice/Rhea", Ream started, "We've lost the launch tubes. We will try starting as many as possible over the landing bays."
"Roger that, Rhea", she responded blankly, covering her annoyance. I noticed that already, thank you.

Moments later, something caught her eyes on the DRADIS: A whole load of small, red dots moving in from this Basestar or whatever it was.
"Attention", she spoke into an open wireless channel to address both the pilots and the CIC, "I count 80+ enemy fighters inbound, organized in four or five squadrons; ETA: One Minute." Looks like we actually got their attention. "Blue, Red, Gold and Black, we're going to intercept them. Everyone else: Take down as many missiles as you can and everything that gets past us."

----

Here we go.
The quiet hum of the engines kept his nerves in check as he played with his finger on the trigger, checking from time to time to see if the safety was still on. Graff tried to remember all the history classes he hadnt payed attention to, to get a glimpse of what those things looked like and what they could do, but to no avail. All he had in his head were images from old cliche-ridden war movies and one documentary he never saw end-to-end.
He shook his head slowly. Gods, whats it matter now anyway?

----

Two to 1: Not bad.

The Waffle Irons had been heavy and unmaneuverable assault boats compared to the old mark Twos. If they were still like that now then numbers wouldn't mean much, if you were fast enough.

Lot of ifs in there...

----

While her Viper launched itself towards the grey dots in the far distance, bright blue trails burning at the exhausts, she wondered why the reacted so fast. Or this slow. Didn't they expect us to resist? Or did they just 'overlook' one Battlestar? Something was very strange when she looked out of her cockpit, turning her head towards the rest of the shipyard and the battlefield. As if she wanted to see more explosions, more projectiles tra-
And then it hit her what was odd: There were tons of missiles but no golden 'stars' traveling the other way around, no 'bullet holes' in the clouds or any other sign of resistance, whatsoever. The other battlestars, it seemed, didn't return fire at all.

What the hell?! Her mouth was wide open in disbelief.
"Rhea/CAG, be advised: Far-distance eyeball run gives reason to believe that at least two Battlestars' weapons systems are offline!" Elena was deeply disturbed by that. If they couldn't shoot, they were as good as lost. And the loss of four Battlestars was quite a blow.

Focus, damnit. They'll do their job. Do yours. Your business are fighters, remember?" She exhaled, calmed herself down and then checked both with her DRADIS and her eyes.
"Fifteen seconds! Stick to your wingmen and trust your skills." Even though she was calm, her heart skipped another beat, clenched together, sending a shockwave of pain through her chest. But it did neither prevent her from arming her guns, nor from saying: "Weapons hot and engage."

----

The orange glow brightened, evolving into a deep blue stream of colour as the Viper exhaust tightened, pushing the fighter faster and faster. The formation of cylon ships flexed and morphed, shifting like a shoal of fish or a flock of birds dancing in the morning sun, the nearby star glinting off their dark metal carapaces.

"Blue, spread out. We need room to maneuver when the first salvo comes in. Ok roll on in when...''

The great wave of cylon ships exploded, the tight ball of ships bursting into a fluid wall and spreading round to envelop the knot of Vipers, torrents of blue tracer errupting seemingly from empty space milliseconds ahead.

----

Graff flicked the safety on his cannons off and let his viper slowly slip behind the front line. As the first salvos were exchanged and the skirmish broke out, he kept his eyes on his wingman, following him through the maze of ships, stray rounds, missiles and debris that was starting to form. Again, that was the way military training had conditioned him to function in combat: he could focus on one thing and leave the rest to reflex.

The normal person took at least 3 seconds to react to a threat, jocks did it in less than half a second. All it took was a flick of the wrist to put his viper out of harm's way, and that action came so natural he didnt even have to think about it anymore, it just happened and he knew it was the right move. In fact, the most dangerous thing that can happen to a pilot is when he doubts his actions, that split second when conscious thought conflicts with reflex means the difference between life and death.

----

The sheer mass of enemies made it easy to just shoot a salvo and expect it to hit something. At least she thought so. But the new fighters of their old foe was fast and maneuverable, even a bit more then their Mark Sevens. Elena took one down but it took a considerable amount of luck to have her bullets slice through the main body of the fighters, the cockpits. It turned out messy: Instead of a clean explosion, there was more of a red cloud, as if it had been a sack of blood. It surprised her. She didn't forget to turn her ship vertically, though, and that saved her from being blown by a blue jet of projectiles.

That was a close call...
"Ice/Lynch: We've got three bogeys on our six!", her wingman reported. Knowing that the other pilots were just in the same danger as the two of them, she decided:
"Let's spread legs. Break left on my mark, 180 and boom."
"Roger that."

She waited only another two seconds until her instinct gave its thumbs-up.
"Now! Break, break, break!"
Elena pulled right and that probably didn't surprise the Cylons who kept shooting. But while she started to circle, her Viper spun around, synchronously with her wingman's, and a second later, three more enemies were done.
"Good job", she spoke and regained control, turned again, passing by another Viper at dangerous proximity.

"CAG/Rhea", Ream's now unpleasant voice returned, "Prepare for combat landings."
We're leaving, it went through her head, we're going to withdraw. On one hand she was glad that they would reorganize instead of blindly try to defend themselves, and on the other one she was afraid of running away just to face an even better prepared foe. But to give those orders or think them through was well beyond both her rank and her capabilities at this point.

"All hands, prepare for combat landings on mark. I repeat: Prepare for combat landings on mark. Draw the fight closer to the Rhea."
She hoped that Ream wouldn't bother addressing her first to give his mark. An explosion next to her that threw her Viper of course without causing significant damage and a scream over wireless, followed by sudden static, made her horribly aware of the fact that each and every one of them could die at any moment.

----

He bit down on his lower lip, blood squeezing from the bite wounds. It slipped out of view again, the sound of blood pumping roaring in his ears as the silver glint on dusty black metal disappeared under the nose of the Viper. He punched the throttle up to 120% and kicked down on the acceleration pedal, forcing the bird into a power dive, slamming his head back violently and crushing his eyeballs against the top of his skull. Fighting for breath, unable to scream as his diaphram siezed up, he held the dive for only a second, the target pulling achingly slowly back into view.

His quarry taunted him, accelerating slowly straight and level just out of perfect cannon range, waiting for him to pull in. As he eased the fighter into his kill slot, the taste of the kill rising inside Rylan already, it quietly slipped down and out of danger, barely maneuvering. Every time it pulled away, he wanted to break the control column in his hand; he bit down on his lip again. Twisting the stick and rolling the fighter to keep the cylon in view he spent a quarter of a second tp glance to the side, behind him, eying the three OpFors tailing him.

They closed, the same casual prescision in the movements as his own target. Sticking on one target for so long always attracted oportunists, that was why the first thing taught in air tactics was to never to do what he was. They were closer to venting him than he was to icing his target; they would get him first – but as long as they were on him, they weren't on anyone else. That made him smile, a suicidal feeling of bravado flooding through him.

A viper glided silently somewhere behind the three tin cans, only the occasional flashes from its maneuvering thrusters and the light shining off its cockpit giving it away. Its pray didnt seem to notice any of those things though, they were too focused on their own quarry, still toying with it, confident in the outcome of this encounter.
Graff however, had other plans: two missiles streaked from under his ship and headed for a single raider, who immediately bolted away from the fight. One gone. The instant the missiles had left the viper, its engines came to life and pushed it towards the second raider, who was already turning to face the new threat. Two dead. Five consecutive shots buried themselves in the raiders dark hull before its reactor exploded with a bright flash, vaporizing the entire ship.

The third raider chose to ignore him and just accelerated after its original target. Graff gave chase, pushing his ship and his body to their limit just to keep up.
"Blue Lead, you got a bogey on your ass. Its getting in weapons range fast, I suggest we sandwich the bastard."


Jointpost written by:
James Graff
Andreu Rylan
Elena Vance

Layne Staley made his way towards the CIC taking up position just out side the doorway in.

"Attention all hands, inbound shockwave, brace for impact, five seconds!"

"Four, three, two, one" Layne thought to himself as he braced for impact. The shockwave threw Layne against the wall.

"Damn, what rush!" Staley said as he dusted himself off."Good thing this ship's built better than that rust bucket of a ship, Atlantia. Damned deathtrap."

He checked himself, nothing major save the pounding sensation in his head.

"Nothing a little cigarettes and alcohol won't take care off." he thought.

Layne was holding up near the CIC when MacKenzie and a handful of marines entered the CIC

"Colonel, what the frak is going on, sir?"

"Shit's hitting the fan hard." Layne said as they passed him. "If any of your marines are medics, help the wounded. Otherwise take defensive positions."

Layne reached into his pocket and pulled out his packet of cigarettes, lit one up, as the shockwave had caused him to lose the one he was smoking, and resumed scanning the corridors in front of him.

"Two more Battlestars have been destroyed, Adjunct; The Pacifica and The Night Flight... and it seems the Acropolis is trying to escape on Sublight engines alone."

The blond man who spoke, said it with a smile. His clean white teeth glistened despite the relatively dim lighting. Two's always had had a certain charm about them that was hard to ignore under any circumstances.

"Yes," interjected a troublesome One. "But what of our own ships? Surely we don't find ourselves to be infallible, do we?"

He looked around with accusation burning forth from his auburn eyes.

"Of course not," responded the Six. She turned to a nearby Four who was pulling his hand from the data stream.

"Report."

"Only one of our ships has been destroyed," he said calmly and confidently. "Although the Basestar Orion has taken heavy damage on their central column and is requesting withdrawal."

"Tell them to wait until after the Imperius has arrrived."

The Imperius was the Cylon Fleet's newest warship. It was a masterpiece, glorious, powerful, and yet strangely beautiful. It was a Commandstar, twice the size of any Basestar and brimming with weaponry and equipment the Colonials had never even dreamed of.

It would be the deciding factor in the annihilation of the human race.

"By your command."

She turned back to the questioning One and smiled, triumphantly. He raised his eyebrows, sarcastically.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

Her patience with him was coming to a close. She'd never gotten along well with Ones. Their two models were so different, it was hard to hold any kind of discussion without a battle being waged.

"What?" she asked, cautiosly.

"The Rhea," he said, matter-of-factly, as if it should have been obvious.

"The Rhea will be destroyed momentarily along with its remaining sisters."

"Don't be too sure," said the One. "There were numerous agents aboard and yet that ship not only avoided the CNP Virus entirely, but has actually restored the majority of their systems and are fighting back with full force. Even their Viper wings are fully functioning. You don't find that odd?"

"What are you implying?"

"We could have a traitor on board."

"A traitor?" laughed the Six, looking around. The Eights, Threes, and Twos shared in her mirth.

"Surely you're joking? Do I need to remind you that it's one of your models that is the Commander of that ship?"

"We'll see if you're laughing when the Rhea sends a nuke into our hangar bay. There's a headache I wouldn't mind not waking up with."

She was about to respond, but a Five cut her off.

"The Imperius is preparing to jump in. These are their jump coordinates. Orders are to make sure all Raider wings are out of the way in time for their arrival."

She nodded and glared at the One.

"We'll finish this discussion later."

"Why not? We have all the time in the universe now."

''Right.''

Rylan felt the torque on him as the Viper twisted and decelerated, weaving a rythmless path back , the accelerating Raider growing larger every time he caught a glimpse of it over his shoulder. Blue flares exploded from the centre of the enemy fighter just as he got an eye on it– and Rylan swore, fighting to keep his boat out of the line of fire. A sharp ringing reverberated through the superstructure, red lights glaring on a side console – but no fire alarms of loss of power.

Close.

His relative velocity crept towards zero, only the distance between them and his frantic shifting keeping him alive. White jets spat quickly from the front of the Raider, the beast decelerating finally, slipping into it's perfect kill distance. He waited, autocannon rounds blazing past every time he pushed into a new vector – a salvo fired, well off target, and Rylan ground his teeth together, tensing his muscles. A hard turn, taking an infinite amount of time, pulled the Vipers nose slowly onto his pursuer. Organge tracer mingled with blue, storms of sparks burning in space when cannon rounds met in the maelstrom.

''Hurry up Graff, he's dead to rights right in front of you.'' he released the mic, ''And I'm to him.''

His eyes narrowed as the illusive figure he'd been hopelessly chasing moments ago suddenly slowed down and steadied its trajectory. Graff maintained his velocity and pointed the ship directly towards the raider, high speed tunneling his vision. The viper trembled as a steady stream of projectiles burst from its KEWs heading for the - now dangerously close - raider. First couple of rounds overshot wildly, and in a normal situation Jim would've been worried about hitting his wingman, but this was anything but normal and time certainly wasnt on his side.

The toaster reacted almost instantaneously, trying to get itself out of the incoming firepath, but ultimately got caught in the crossfire and ended up as a cloud of debris orbiting a chewed hull. Graff nudged his stick just enough to avoid hitting the big pieces (and Rylan's viper) but at that speed the smaller bits acted like a shotgun blast to his left wing, littering it with holes.

''Don't stop acclerating, get the one I was after!''

"Aye.." Was all he could respond. The Gs forced his jaw shut, his teeth were clattering and he could taste blood in the back of his mouth as he put the viper into another power-turn, desperately trying to stay on the fleeing raider's tail. This one wasnt as fast as his late brother, or it wasnt trying yet, Graff didnt really care. All he wanted was to get that bastard in his kill zone and get the frak out of there.

----------------------

John felt the familiar shaking of the cockpit as the launch elevator rose beneath him, carrying him up and onto the take-off deck. He twisted his neck to the sides, felt a satisfying crack, and brought it back to rest.

As his Viper edged up over the lip of the elevator, he could finally see the destruction going on outside. There was a blur of light. Explosions, tracer, engines all whizzed past the flight pod's exit at phenomenal speed.

"Frak. I should've stayed in Sickbay."

Too late for that now.

There was a click as the lift reached the top of its run. Nagala looked up through the top of his canopy, staring at the dark flightpod roof overhead.

"Gods, don't fail me now."

With that, he flicked off his maglocks and gunned the engines. Immediately he felt a stabbing pain in his gut as the Gs began to kick in. He was moving towards the battle, faster and faster.

"Shiiiiiiiit!"

Then he was in it. He flicked on his comm channels to fleetwide and suddenly the sounds of battle filled his ears. Screams, shouts of joy, explosions: the familiar sounds of death and destruction.

He glanced at his DRADIS screen, trying to find his squadron. He couldn't stay alone out here for long, or a Raider wing would pick him off without any effort.

"Blue Leader," he said, holding down his comm buttons. "This is Drifter. Sorry I'm a little late to the party... I can't spot you on DRADIS in this soup, need instruction. Over."

----

A wash of static as Nagala's voice echoed over the wireless "Blue Leader,"

''Fraksake!'' Rylan screamed as a blue bolt rammed into the nose of his Viper, pushing him to the right with the kinetics and detonation. His DRADIS cut out, replaced by a bright red and flashing warning error. He pulled on the stick, fighting the forced spin, and a patch of the Vipers skin blew out, cracking the canopy as if flew back, several front thrusters now blazing acrid smoke and blinding him. Now he couldn't viff starboard or down straight...

"This is Drifter. Sorry I'm a little late to the party... I can't spot you on DRADIS in this soup, need instruction. Over."

''Aghh frak! Stick with Black, stay near the Rhea. I'm bugging out, we're over-extended. Graff, you hear me!? Run, fight or dodge what you have to!''

----

"Right," said John to himself.

His finger was off the comm now, and instead traced unsure patterns on his DRADIS screen, trying to find Black Squadron. Suddenly his eye grabbed a snippet of a name.. Heller.

"Gotcha!" he shouted and tilted his bird back to the Rhea.

As he spun about, he caught sight of a massive explosion from the other end of the shipyard. The carnage was incredible. Four Battlestars had already been destroyed, their debris lazily drifting downwards towards the surface of the Colony below.

He punched the throttle and headed for Heller's Viper.

----

"Whew...", she whistled at the explosion of her pursuer. She had no idea who destroyed it but it certainly helped her a lot. Elena had lost sight of her wingman amidst this chaos. But before she could even think of searching, a blinding flash emitted to her right. A silent "Frak me..." escaped her at the view of the ship that had just jumped in, and she wasn't the only one. In fact, for a moment the battle seemed to come to a halt while many of the pilots expressed their shock and awe. It was close, an that fact frightened her even more, because it was really gigantic.

"CAG/Rhea", Ream began, like she ought to expect, "Please identify unknown vessel visually."
"Rhea/CAG: Vessel is... probably twice as big as the other battleships and double the number of columbs. Structure resembles a six-pointed star. My personal guess is that this is their flagship."
"Ice!", a familiar voice yelled over the wireless...

----

"Ice, where are you?!"
Lynch's voice was trembling with fear. The reason was obvious.
"Almost there...", she responded composedly. After she had caught his signal, it hadn't been that hard to get to him. The tough part was something else: It wasn't that easy to get a lock-on when the target on his tail knew what situation it was in and flew unsteadily, like it was drunk. And what was worse: The earlier explosion probably screwed her targeting computer, as it lost its acquisition over and over, forcing her to adapt to its movements and turns to the point of nausea.

A *pling* sounded from the other side of the wireless and the look through the canopy showed sparks from the fin that had been pierced by a projectile.
"Oh Gods! Hurry, damnit!"
Elena gritted her teeth, glaring at her secondary display. "Come on, frakker", she swore, fighting to keep the grey shadow within the range of tolerance, firing sporading salvos from her guns, knowing that they wouldn't hit. After what felt like a life-time, she heard the high-pitched beep she had been waiting for and didn't hesitate for one instant. The missile was released and raced towards its designated target.

It broke off, accelerated to its limit, turned and rolled over, dealing with forces that would have easily crushed a human body, but the missile was more agile and only seconds after the launch, it crashed itself into the target's exhaust, critically damaging the structure of its engine core and starting a chain reaction that lead to a clean, bright explosion.

"Thank y-", Lynch started with relief but was drowned by Ream's voice on an open channel;
"All Vipers, cease combat and return to base! I repeat: All Vipers return to base immediately! Combat landings authorized. 90 seconds countdown to FTL-jump commencing on mark... Mark."

His last words had more effect than anything else. The message was too clear: 'Get home within 90 seconds or you will be left behind and die.'
Elena almost pulled the control stick to herself with all of her might, pushing the pedals and thus initiating a harsh, instantaneous about-turn towards the Rhea that felt like a good, tasty kick in the stomach.

"Defending squadrons: Cover the backs of the homecomers!"

Her ship sped up, flying to the max of its capabilities, and the Rhea grew bigger with every passing moment. She activated her thrusters, made a turn while still flying in the same direction, wanted to provide some coverage herself... and there it was, right in front of her: A Raider at point-blank range. Even before instinct could punch in she knew that her position made it impossible for her to win this duel, as her reaction time wouldn't allow her to shoot in time before it opened fire. It was already holding its gun while she had not even considered drawing. This knowledge put a stop to her instinct's program. Instead, her mind picked moments from her life, pasted them together to a movie that she was about to see.

But then Elena realized that it didn't shoot. That it had to be there for several seconds now and that it still didn't open fire. She took a closer look. The grey hull of the ship seemed to have some kind of long hollow in it where she assumed the cockpit to be. There was movement. The grey metal slid open, revealing darkness and then... a blazing red laser, apparently slowly moving from the left end to the right, like it was taking a close look. And it really felt like being watched, like looking into the eye of a beast. An unpleasant familiarity filled her. Her body was numb, her fingers unable to move. Even her conscious mind was resting. The laser had emitted forth and was on its way back...

-----------------------

John rolled his Viper hard to the left, trying to throw off the two Raiders after him.

"Come on, Phoenix, light 'em up!"

"I'm trying. I can't get a clear lock."

"Frak!"

He felt a sickening jolt as his right wing was hit near the engine.

Too damn close, he told himself. A few inches over and he would've been dead.

"Come on!!!"

As he shouted, one of the Raiders pulled away, Phoenix's missile in fast pursuit.

"One down," she said over the comm. "Just give me a second, Johnny, and I'll have this toaster off your back."

"Hurry the frak up!"

There was another jolt, this time from behind him, rather than beside. He checked his DRADIS screen and saw Torch flying through a cloud of Raider debris.

"Allright!"

"Thanks, Phoenix. I owe you one."

"Frak that, you owe me two."

All of a sudden there was a brilliant flash of light directly ahead of the two Vipers. Its brilliance was nearly blinding.

"Hades frakking Tartarus! What the hell is that?!"

"I dunno, but something tells me whatever it is, we don't want to be around it."

"Yeah, I'm with you."

Suddenly the Communications Officer's voice cut in; "All Vipers, cease combat and return to base! I repeat: All Vipers return to base immediately! Combat landings authorized. 90 seconds countdown to FTL-jump commencing on mark... Mark."

There was a moment of comm silence, then; "Defending squadrons: Cover the backs of the homecomers!"

"Shit!" said Phoenix. "All right, Drifter, let's punch it back to base."

"I follow you, Phoenix. Let's get the frak out of here."

The two pilots flipped themselves around, heading away from the massive Commandstar in front of them. John's DRADIS began to blare a warning as a massive Raider fleet began to head in from the Commandstar towards them.

John looked down at it, to see what kind of numbers they had behind 'em. It didn't look pretty. Then he noticed something else. There was a Raider on the CAG's tail, moving in for the kill. She wasn't even trying to avoid it.

Gods, she probably doesn't even know it's there.

"Be with you in a minute, Phoenix."

He accelerated hard, feeling like a sandbag had just been piled on top of him. The pain was nearly unbearable, but he held the throttle down, streaking through the fray around him towards his prey. Already, though, he thought it would be too late.

He watched as the Raider closed in. It had her in its firing solution. She was as good as dead. He saw her spin around, the nose of her Viper pointed straight down the Raider's gun barrels.

But it didn't fire.

"What the frak?"

He was closing fast, and he held his finger close to the trigger. He couldn't fire until he was sure of a hit. If he warned the Raider of his presence, it could fire on her. But why hadn't it already?

There was a moment of tension throughout the battlescape. Seconds turned into hours. John felt the sweat bead on his forehead and run down his broken nose. He could see every twitch and movement of the Raider and of the CAG's Viper as they hung there, both just staring at eachother.

Then he fired. The Raider burst into a ball of flame and disappeared. He flew through the cloud of remaining debris, a dark sticky substance splattering across his canopy. Without thinking about it further, he hightailed it back towards the Rhea, calling out over his comm;

"Come on, Ice. You can thank me later. Let's get back to the Beast."

Her tension grew way beyond a red line, to a point where she sensed that something was wrong, the pulsing laser was just about in the middle again... when it exploded. The shockwave shook her hard, small pieces of debris hit her canopy, some with enough force to make some rifts but fortunately not breaking it. Still, that was far better than getting killed. And she had been close to it, very close. Just why-

"Thirty seconds to FTL-jump", Ream reminded them. She swallowed all of her thoughts down and handed herself over to instinct once more.
"All Vipers, initiate combat landings NOW. Let's go, people!", she spoke into the comms, turned towards the Rhea again and lid up her engines for the short remaining distance, landing relatively soft in the flightpod and hoping that they would leave in time.

----

The front of the Viper was venting burning thruster fuel, pushing the nose down and to the right, leaving a grey cloud of smoke behind it. White bursts were constantly firing in the thruster clusters at the wing bases near the rear of the fighter, spinning the craft to keep the Rhea in Rylan's cockpit view. Occasional burst would light up to push him horizontally or vertically back on view.

Andreu shouted into the mike, concentration forcing out pleasantries, ''Blue One incoming, make a hole!''

His Viper roared past slower vehicles making their way toward one of the cavernous landing bays, buzzing pilots allready stretched thin by the combat. Unsure of when his Vipers nose might simply completely explode, ripping him into chunks of burnt meat still gasping for breath, he gunned the trio of main drives at an angle, trying to curve his trajectory. This would be a hard landing, technically and physically.

----

The viper trembled under the hailstorm of cannon shots falling on it but held together and Graff managed to squirm out of the way, cursing the gods and his luck. The Rhea was in sight now and that calmed him a little, he still had time, they hadnt jumped away yet.. His pursuers were back though, blue tracer fire filling the space around him.

"Frak!" He screamed as something hit him, blowing off his left wing completely and sending the viper into an uncontrolled spin.

The light from stars, explosions and tracers all merged on his canopy, in a nauseating painting he struggled not to look at, instead fixing his eyes on the instruments. His body protested to the treatement it was subjected to and he nearly blacked out. Not now damit, too close, not now! Graff tugged on the stick while pushing down the right rudder pedal and managed to slow down the viper's spin enough to look up and approximate his distance to the battlestar and direct the ship into the nearest flight pod. There wasnt enough time to regain stability, at least he didnt think there was, so all he could do now was hope.

----

John tilted his head back and watched as the CAG snapped out of it and started heading back for the Rhea.

"All Vipers, initiate combat landings NOW. Let's go, people!"

Don't mind if I do...

He pushed his acceleration to a nearly dangerous level as he headed for the large Battlestar, biting his lip in concentration as he avoided the incoming fire that seemed to be coming from everywhere. Then something made him stop.

Phoenix.

He flipped the nose of his ship around 360 degrees in half a second, knowing that had it not been for his training at the academy he'd have probably already blacked out, and punched it in the direction of the last place he'd seen her.

"Phoenix, this is Drifter, where are you? I can't see anything on DRADIS. Let me know if you've landed."

The only sound was static as he released the comm button, an occasional blur of screams and cursing punching through every now and then as if to highlight his own emotions. He had left her to run ahead and save the CAG and now he couldn't find her.

She's probably already landed, part of his mind told him. She's probably out of her Viper already, that's why she's not answering you.

Another part of him wasn't so sure.

"Twenty seconds. All Vipers, land now!"

"Dammit! Ream, can you tell me if Phoenix has landed?"

"Negative, Drifter. There's too many of you coming in to keep accurate track. Hurry up and land your bird."

"I gotta find her before I do.. make sure she's landed."

"Ten seconds."

"FRAK YOU!"

He spun around again, shooting a barrage of fire through an incoming raider. It split down the middle, one wing slicing past him on the left, the other veering off into the battle, the small explosion sending out a bone-rattling shockwave.

He headed for the Rhea at top speed, eyes frantically searching in the mayhem around him for some sign of the new Lieutenant. There was just too much. Too many birds, too many bogeys. It was a miracle anyone could tell whose side you were on in that mess.

As he neared the hangar bay, Ream's voice cut through the static of battle once more.

"Four seconds. Last chance, Vipers!"

And then he was in.

----

Rylan's eyes focused, bringing the smashed Vipers cockpit swimming back into his vision. Pieces of fibreglass lay over him, a fragment falling from the jagged edge of the fractured canopy as he began to move. Blood trickled down from his nose, the thick taste slowly making its way down the back of his throat. He pulled off his helmet, the pressure placed on the back of his head making him want to vomit, as his shaking hand tried to finger the hatch release. The light didn't flash on.

''Blue one, krypter-krypt... frak, I'm mean the... the canopy is stuck and I'm on fire. Help.''

James entered the CIC, the guards saluted him, and he returned a halfhearted salute. There wasn't time for formalities, things smelt bad, they were bad.

James approached the command table, and saluted, "Colonel, what the frak is going on, sir?"

Ethan glanced from the DRADIS screen to see the Marine enter the CIC. "What do you think Master Sergeant?" Ethan said sarcastically before turning back to the DRADIS screen. He knew he shouldn't have snapped, but the current situation had his adrenalin pumping at overdrive.

Alex was slightly shocked by the Colonel's reply. Surely someone in his position shouldn't snap like that. Looking at one of the over head panel's it showed the FTL's spinning up. No doubt the cylons would detect it, which would cause more trouble for them.

"Sir, FTL's are spinning up. Where are we jumping to?" Sola asked before the Colonel replied he turned back towards the Marine.

"Anywhere but here Ensign." Ethan said as the ship shook once more. "I trust you'll make the right choice."

Glancing up at the DRADIS briefly, Ethan turned and looked over to the Marine.

"The Cylons have launched an all out attack, Admiral Nagala has taken command of the fleet, and we are currently getting pounded by a sizable Cylon Armada," Ethan said as he turned his attention back to the DRADIS.

James looked at the DRADIS, it chimed in new contacts every once in a while, he redirected his gaze to the Colonel. "Damn, that bad? Are they engaging ground forces?"

"I doubt it. From the information we've received, they haven't even bothered to try and send forces to the ground. They're just nuking the hell out of the Colonies," Ethan said frustrated.

"New contact! Dead ahead! Enemy... Unknown...?" Ream said questioningly as he looked up at Ethan.

Ream called out as Alex was just starting to program in a set of co-ordinance to the Nav computer.

"What in the name of the gods is that," Ethan muttered as he stared at the DRADIS screen. "I want a visual confirmation on what the hell that thing is right the frak now!" Ethan ordered clearly.

"Mr Ream. Get the CAG on the horn. We need to identify that ship NOW!."

Turning back towards the Nav computer Alex was finishing up the calculations. The blinking co-ordinance showed an the outer limits of an asteroid belt. Good place to regroup and repair.

"Colonel, FTL course plotted, the Ordina Asteroid Field. It's the opposite side of the Solar system to the Armistice line. Should give us a chance to get the ship back in fighting condition."

Watching the blinking screen of the Nav computer Alex prayed that they would get a chance to get there.

Narrowing his eyes, Ethan stared at the DRADIS screen. "Helm, make for the Unknown contact. All ahead full. Mr. Ream, tell the Vipers they have 90 seconds to complete combat landings. Mr. Sola, get me a weapons lock on that Unknown target. "

Alex nodded and transferred the last of the forward bow cannon's ammunition into the loading mechanism's. When the last bite of fury that the ship had was ready to go, Alex began to issue command's to the gun crews. Alex stood to his full height and watched the DRADIS screen shift as the ship turned towards the unknown contact.

A single beep that lasted for about 5 seconds, pulled Alex's attention away from the DRADIS screen. Looking at the screen at his waist, then back up to the DRADIS screen, he could see the solution appear in front of the unknown contact.


Mackenzie raised his eyebrows at the Colonel's irritated remark and left the CIC. It wasn't the Colonel's fault,a massive Cylon attack, the Commander being knocked out, that would rattle anyone's day. He walked out just in time to catch the MXO.

"I hear shit's hitting the fan. Orders?"

"Shit's hitting the fan hard." Layne said as they passed him. "If any of your marines are medics, help the wounded. Otherwise take defensive positions."

James nodded to his marine group as they followed him to their defense point. They moved along the ship as the halls deteriorated around them. A pipe burst from the wall blasting scalding hot steam right at the group, James kicked the pipe calling it a "frakker" and continued on. Things might get worse...a lot worse.

"Colonel! Firing solution acquired. All forward batteries report ready."

Alex typed the word fire into the command panel and left his finger resting on the enter key.

Ethan turned his head and looked at the Tactical Officer. "Open fire, all batteries."

Nodding, Alex hit the enter key and the forward batteries rumbled into life. The smoke the was spit forth disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared. Direct hits, A successful salvo.

The ship rocked once again as the unknown target brutally returned fire. "Helm maintain current heading and speed."

"But sir, we'll go head on into that sh-"

"I know what will happen Ensign Stark, which is why you better keep the FTL drives spun up and be ready to jump on my mark," Ethan said in a voice that left no room for argument.

"Mr. Sola, has the air group landed yet?"

Alex looked around at Mr. Ream, who had obviously been listening as he nodded and turned back to his station.

"Air group is onboard sir."

Looking down at his panel he spoke again.

"Gun crew's report minimal ammunition. We're down to throwing rocks at them."

Alex braced as another hit rocked the ship.

"Initiate final preparations for jump. Spin up drives one and two," Ethan ordered. "Keep the batteries firing until we complete our jump."
Alex nodded and turned around to the crew in the CIC.

"Core's 1 and 2 ready."

Alex watched as more and more crew added in that there section was ready.

"Nav ready"

Walking towards the FTL computer Alex had the jump ready on the screen. Finger was on the red flashing button.

"Colonel, FTL jump ready, On your mark."

Ethan continued staring at the screen as the giant red dot slowly go closer to its center. Just seconds before it reached the center, Ethan turned his head to Sola. "Jump now!"

Joint post by:
Ethan Knight
Alexander Sola
James Mackenzie

Command Chamber - Basestar Tertius

"Well," said the Six with a smug grin at her wrinkled antagonist from across the data pool. "Looks like you were wrong. The Commandstar has arrived and within minutes the entire colonial fleet will be crushed."

The One raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly, as if he were humouring a child.

"Of course it will."

Her smirk evaporated and was replaced by a sour frown. The Twos and Eights around her shared her expression of exasperation but turned back to their various stations. They new that soon a new order would come to fruition and such trivial arguments would no longer matter.

"Just a second," said a Four. "It seems like our Commander Cavil is recalling the Rhea's Vipers and spooling up their FTL Drives."

He made a subtle nod to the One who had spoken earlier and the two of them shared a look that just reeked of 'I told you so'.

"What? Fine, well then, disable his FTL drives. Focus all fire on-"

"I wouldn't do that."

"Why not?"

Turning back to his data stream, the Four spoke again.

"He's turned the Rhea towards the Commandstar-"

"Putting himself on a collision course."

The Four nodded.

"If we disable his FTL drives, he'll have nowhere to go but forward, straight into the central column of the Imperium's finest warship. If not, there's a chance he'll simply jump away."

"We can't let them escape. If we don't destroy them, they could come back and take revenge on us."

The One shrugged.

"Your choice, Adjunct."

"No," said the Four. "It's not... The Rhea's just jumped away."