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 Post subject: Episode 21: The Enemy of My Enemy
PostPosted: Tue Dec 26, 2006 11:03 pm 
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[Written by GoldWolf]

Chiron Mission
Day 92 0635 Hours
Gunnery Sergeant Razorski and PFC Dan Wolfe
Deck 6, port passageway


Gunnery Sergeant Razorski and PFC Wolfe had charged out of the ladderwell onto Deck 6 expecting to face centurions—instead what they leapt out to was darkness.

Complete blackness, even their ZACS heads-up displays were dark and unresponsive.

“Frak!” Wolfe exclaimed involuntarily. Without the audio from the combat net, his voice sounded muffled in his helmet. He felt momentarily disoriented, and started sweating; then he felt Razorski’s hand on his arm.

She leaned her helmet faceplate against his and said calmly, “A nuke has gone off close enough for the EMP to shut down our systems.” Her voice carried clearly, with the faceplates touching. “But neither one of us is a crispy critter, so I’ll bet we can wait half a minute and reboot.” She tugged on his arm, and together they moved a few steps in the absolute darkness, to the side of the passageway. Razorski knelt, pulling Wolfe down with her.

They could hear sounds, but not nearly as much as they had before. The Gunnery Sergeant still had her hand on Wolfe’s arm, so he leaned to touch their faceplates again. “Gunny?” he asked. “Do you ‘spose the EMP took out the cylons, too?”

“Sounds like it, doesn’t it?” she responded. Wolfe could swear he heard humor in her voice.

“Think they’ll be able to reboot, too?” he questioned.

“For all our sakes, let’s hope not,” she said.

He gripped his SAW more tightly.

After what seemed like much longer than a minute, they did reboot their ZACS systems, and as she had earlier, Razorski bent a small chem light and threw it down the passage, so the night vision display had a small amount of ambient light to allow it to work.

“What about Anderson and Navarro, Gunny?” Wolfe asked, on the combat comms net once again.

“I’m not getting any life-sign telemetry from them,” she told him, “so either they’re dead, or they haven’t been able to get their ZACS systems rebooted. Let’s go find out.”

As they turned the last corner before they reached the computer core, they spotted a body—one of the Raptor crew, in a regular flight suit. Razorski went on one knee next to it, turning on her helmet light, and said, “It’s Moonlight… her suit is intact… she doesn’t seem to be hurt, although she’s unconscious.”

“That’s good,” Wolfe said with a sigh of relief. “That she’s not hurt, I mean,” he hastened to add.

“Affirmative,” the Gunnery Sergeant agreed. “You see the hatch into the computer core, Wolfe?” She turned her head, directing the beam of light toward it.

“Yessir,” Wolfe said.

“Stay here with Moonlight, but cover the passageways,” she ordered. “I’m going to check on my grunts in the computer core.”

“Yessir,” Wolfe repeated. As Razorski headed for the computer core hatch, he realized that he, too, was one of ”her” grunts. He grinned to himself, and stayed alert.

Gunnery Sergeant Razorski headed into the computer core.

She had her assault rifle ready, but even through the haze from the smoke grenades, she knew by the ZACS that the person who nearly ran her over was another Marine; then she saw it was Pvt Juana Navarro-Arellano. “Navarro!” she exclaimed, realizing even as she spoke that the Marine’s suit electronics were still offline. Probably totally fried…

With her free hand, she gripped Navarro’s shoulder and touched faceplates. “Are you all right? Where’s Anderson and Preacher?”

“Still back there I think, Gunny,” Navarro said with relief at seeing Razorski.

“Wolfe is with Moonlight,” Razorski jerked her thumb over her shoulder, and still with their faceplates touching, she said over the combat net, “Wolfe, I’m sending Navarro to keep you company; don’t shoot her, okay? Her suit is totally fried, so she can’t transmit on the net.”

“Sure thing, Gunny,” Wolfe responded.

Cautiously, the Gunnery Sergeant entered the computer core.

First she found four centurions. Dead. She crouched to examine them more closely, finding that two had obviously been taken down by gunfire. Good work, grunts. The other two looked undamaged but were inert, and just to be sure, she reached in between their neck-shields and the backs of their heads, ripping out wires.

She continued her search for Anderson and Preacher, finding Anderson almost at once. Like Navarro, his suit was completely offline, and he was injured. She examined him swiftly, finding that he’d been shot in the left upper arm. He was still bleeding but it didn’t seem too profuse—the constriction points of his suit were holding at his elbow and shoulder, but he appeared to be in shock.

Razorski shook him and put her faceplate to his, saying sternly, “Anderson! Lance Corporal! Pay attention, jarhead!”

He stirred, muttering groggily, “Gunny?”

“Yes,” she replied, already working to bandage his arm. “Hold still, I’m going to patch you up.”

“Yessir,” he said.

She sliced the suit open enough to get a field dressing tied firmly around the wound, and was waiting for the suit patch to finish sealing when she caught movement from the corner of her eye. She had her assault rifle in her right hand automatically, cautioning Anderson by placing her left hand firmly on his chest.

She saw it again… beyond the starboard hatch… someone--or something was there.

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Edit History: Updated graphic location


Last edited by RangerLord on Fri Oct 22, 2010 10:59 am, edited 1 time in total.

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 Post subject:
PostPosted: Wed Dec 27, 2006 12:14 am 
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[With SonOfTed]

Destroyer Douglas J. Griffyn CIC
D92 T0635


Previously, Battlestar Libra wrote:
In the Douglas J. Griffyn's CIC, the wireless crackled to life. The voice that spoke brought disbelieving stares from those listening, as it said "I say you be the first to speak your name, seeing as how I just pulled your arses out of the fire!"



The entire CIC was in shock, and disbelief was upon every face.

Herald picked up the handset, "Unidentified vessel, this is Commander Herald of the Destroyer Douglas J. Griffyn, Battlegroup 26". Herald's teeth gritted... he hadn't liked the sound of that other voice at all. He took another breath, “on behalf of our entire crew, I would like to thank you for what you just did”.

Herald would not disclose any information about the mission… not just yet.

“I’ve told you who we are, now it is your turn,” Herald ended.

After seeing the derelict Frigate floating by the moonlet, and what this small ship just did to a Cylon Baseship, Herald’s instincts were screaming for him to proceed with caution.

Braddock watched the small ship intently on the overhead DRADIS screen.

There was a long pause and then a sharp burst of static.

["I'm Captain Black Jack Mayer commanding the Deimos here."] The man sounded somewhat angry and more than a little bit overconfident. ["Don't bother trying to find anything useful about us in your military records... if you have any left that is. As you may have noticed by the rank I hold we do things a tad differently over here - namely this crew sticks by true Naval tradition."] Mayer paused - for effect? - then continued. ["I'm certain you're quite interested in trading stories about how each of us managed to survived the Cylons... let me tend to a few matters here and then I'll be calling you back!"]

Herald listened to the man's voice and to the inflections he used. He tried to picture this "Captain" but his efforts were in vain.

"Okay Captain, but be advised we will be conducting rescue operations for our crew trapped on the ground," Herald responded.

Great... we have pirates now, Herald thought.

_________________
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PostPosted: Wed Dec 27, 2006 12:28 am 
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[By Perseus and jdctexas]

Chiron Mission
Day 92 0635 Hours
Seargent Calapini and Mission Specialist Reed


When everything was plunged into darkness, Calapini almost panicked.

But thankfully, his training kicked in and he did the only sensible thing, he stopped firing, stayed behind his cover and slowly counted to sixty before trying to reboot his ZAC-suit. With a flicker, the HUD came back online and Calapini breathed a relieved sigh, not even aware that he had been holding his breath.

OK, suit went down but I'm still alive, which means that the cylons have been affected too...so as soon as I have looked after Reed, we can blow the frackers skyhigh!

With a grunt, he heaved himself from his prone position and carefully looked around his corner, just to be on the safe side if there was a centurion still 'active', but they looked like someone had pulled the plug, just lying there in a heap of tangled metal limbs.

Reed, Calapini noticed, had also reactivated his ZAC and was just pushing himself on one knee.

"Hey Reed, I really hope you have something left that we can use on those toasters before they wake up!" he told the other man while he helped him on his feet.

Reed looked down the hole to see the motionless Cylons. He reached into bag and pulled out some heavy explosives. The Cpl. planned on blowing the pile up.

"There must have been an EMP blast near by. It's the only thing I can think of that would shut down our systems and the cans."

The Cpl. looked down at his radio and hoped it still worked. "This is Cpl. Reed. Calapini and I are still alive. We have inactive Centurions...the next explosion you hear is us taking them out." Calapini shrugged at Reed - the transmission had been heavy with residual static, and there were no replies.

They worked their way down and Reed wired the pile. There were centurions that were still whole with no battle damage. He knew he had to work quick.

Then they heard faint, heavy footsteps near by. Two centurions were trying to round the corner, but they seemed to be still affected by the EMP blast. They looked pretty wobbly on their metallic feet and swayed like there was an earthquake.

When they suddenly opened fire on Calapini, he almost forgot to scramble for cover, he was laughing so hard from seeing two 'tipsy' centurions. Thankfully, their aim was far off because of the swaying and he wasn't hit.

While Calapini returned their fire, Reed prepared his last two 'surprise packages' and two explosions later there was a new pile of metal on the ground and two centurions less in the corridor.

"Get up the stairwell and round the corner...this one is going to pack a punch." Reed told the still chuckling Calapini pointing at his prepared det packs. Calapini could only nod.

Both men climbed at full speed up the stairs and after rounding a corner, Reed hit the fire button on his remote detonator.

The explosion rumbled throughout the ship.
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Last edited by RangerLord on Fri Oct 22, 2010 11:01 am, edited 1 time in total.

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 Post subject:
PostPosted: Wed Dec 27, 2006 12:35 am 
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[Written by SonOfTed]

Chiron Mission
Day 92 0635 Hours
Santana, Deczynski, MacIntosh & the injured


As the lights went out, Dr. Santana took a deep breath and mentally forced himself to relax. His HUD had been off and on standby for some time now, so he simply paused for a moment. IVs were hooked into both Sandoval and Gallagher and both continued to drain blood from the plastic bags, steadily adding the lifegiving fluid back into the two most critically injured marines. In the suddenly darkened environment, emergency treatment continued nonetheless.

First they nearly blow up the entire port side of the ship... now this... he thought grimly to himself.

"Emergency lights please," Nate requested briskly, activating the beacon on the top of his helmet as he spoke. In the midst of a major firefight he might have thought twice about the action, but here in the Chiron's trauma center, behind the outer perimeter of their defenses, he felt safe enough.

Deczynski and MacIntosh activated their headlamps also, turning so that most of the light from them focused on the motionless body of Sandoval as Santana continued to work. The Doctor reached into his med-kit and pulled out several heavy duty flashlights... he turned one on and set it pointing upward - it's beam a bright white spear that hit the ceiling above and splashed helpful light rays throughout the room. As they moved about, huge sinister dark shadows spun and twisted across the walls like evil spirits waiting to jump on them at the slightest provocation.

"I thought you said you were only going to give Private Gallagher one pint of blood," Deczynski said suddenly, watching Santana hook a second plastic bag to her IV.

Santana frowned. "I was," he replied. "But she needs at least two. Unfortunately Sandoval still needs three pints minimum."

"If you need to, take another pint from me," Ray offered, holding out his arm. "I know that the 'one pint every six months' guideline you medical people use is just for safety purposes anyway."

Nate smiled at Deczynski and nodded. "Yes it is," he admitted. "But we might still have to help fight the Cylons, and both of you have a lot more training with guns and explosive rounds than I do." He used a medical scalpel to punch a hole in the left arm of his ZACS suit and decompress it, then pulled the protective plating from his forearm and tossed it aside. "I am also Type O," he pointed out, "so I will take two additional pints of blood from myself."

MacIntosh was watching the darkness carefully, listening to the limited wireless traffic carefully. She stood next to the room's outer door with her rifle held at the ready, just in case. She glanced at the Doctor irritably. "If you need more, take it from us. I said I felt faint," she growled at him. "I never said I was going to faint!"

Deczynski smiled as Santana began chuckling with amusement. "Feeling faint is a warning sign anybody but jarheads would listen to," the Doctor said with a grin as he inserted a needle into the crook in his left arm. He found the vein he was looking for easily and began draining his own blood into another of the empty plastic bags. "Don't worry, we're in better and better shape here with each passing minute. Good enough shape, in fact, that I don't want you two passing out or shooting wild if we need to defend ourselves."

Ray nodded with satisfaction, noticing that the limited lighting conditions never even slowed Santana down. I just hope they don't bring you back more customers, Doc.

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Last edited by RangerLord on Fri Oct 22, 2010 11:03 am, edited 1 time in total.

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PostPosted: Wed Dec 27, 2006 12:48 am 
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[By mcpojoe7845 and ViperChickKaliyla]

Captain Miranda "Mongoose" Broccolo
Destroyer Douglas J. Griffyn Raptor CO
D92 T0635


-beginning flyover of Chiron site-

Mongoose had begun the dive towards the site, when the news of the Baseship came over the wireless, and she aborted.

But the screen lit up with all sorts of EM spikes in orbit, and she turned the Raptor to see the Baseship break apart into smitherines.

"Holy Frak," she exlcaimed as she saw the small vessel in the distance, and noticed how it wasn't on DRADIS moments before.

"Mad Dog, Mongoose here, beginning flyover of the Chiron site, did you all notice anything when you took out the nukes," Mongoose asked in a very questioning tone.

"Negative Mad Dog... we were flying in all different directions, but those that saw anything at the site said there was no activity. DRADIS showed no movements except Libra's RAT".- Mad Dog replied.

"Roger that Mad Dog, same DRADIS telemetry we received here, beginning recon dive," Mongoose said as she pitched the Raptor down towards the Chiron. "Parker, make sure we have all EM and Radiological sensors scanning in depth as we fly over," she said to her ECO.

Then Mongoose realized that she had not heard from Libra's RAT.

"Libra RAT, Libra RAT, this is Captain Broccolo, Griffyn Raptor 534, please respond and give us the current sitrep, we will be flying over you position in t-20 seconds," Mongoose said.

"Griffyn Raptor 534, Libra RAT. We've taken damage but are operational. Be advised that there are two heavy raiders in the vicinity, I do not know their status. We are waiting to extract the Chiron team after breaching the hull as per orders received. We have had no contact with the team since breaching the hull."

"Copy that Libra RAT, Cylon presence in orbit has been terminated, and our Vipers report no activity from the Heavy Raiders, we're coming in for a closer look," Mongoose replied as the Raptor picked up speed and dropped altitude.

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Last edited by RangerLord on Fri Oct 22, 2010 11:05 am, edited 1 time in total.

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PostPosted: Wed Dec 27, 2006 11:19 am 
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Previously, Battlestar Libra wrote:
The crew of RAT One waited for the cloud of debris to clear...it was clouding both their eyes and their DRADIS at the moment...Any moment, it should clear up, and they should be able to see whether or not their efforts had...

"Frakking Artemis!" Zimmerman exclaimed, eyes wide inside his ZACS. "What the frak???"

The cloud had not cleared. Rather, flames shot abruptly from the area they had fired upon...Seemingly coming from inside the Chiron...

Benson sucked in her breath slightly. That was not good. Not good at all.


Chiron Mission
Day 92 0635 Hours
Captain David Dedrick and PFC Hugo Lopez
Port side Trauma Center, ambulance accessway


When their combat suits failed due to the EM pulse, Captain Dedrick and PFC Lopez were just entering the port ambulance bay. Unlike the rest of the ship, the bay was now brighly lit, leaving little doubt that the RAT crew had received Dedrick's coded message and breached the outer doors.

Dedrick signaled Lopez to hold his position, but keep eyes on the ambulance bay. The two Marines' suit systems had been interrupted but not damaged, and began coming back online after just a few moments. Knowing that Calapini and Reed had their six, the Captain focused on getting his black box rebooted and re-establishing contact with the rest of the Recon team.

A few minutes before, Lopez had joined him after rigging the Trauma Center's forward access hatch with explosives. At that moment, the ordnance from the RAT had impacted the side of the Chiron. Dropping to their knees as the resulting tremor shot through the deck, they had instinctively looked down the corridor toward the ambulance bay. There was no time to react to what they saw. Triggered by the RAT's weapons, the booby-trapped medevac craft in the port bay had simultaneously detonated. The resulting fireball had filled the compartment, and continued to expand outward through the breach as well as down the corridor into the Trauma Center. Dedrick and Lopez could see the fiery, churning wavefront of the explosion as it flashed down the passage, engulfing them.

Fortunately, in the thin atmosphere the shockwave had little effect, and the flames from the incendiary devices in the ambulance Raptors rapidly expended the oxidizing agent and died out in the oxygen-poor air. Knocked down, but otherwise seemingly unharmed, Lopez and Dedrick headed toward the ambulance bay to assess the results of the RAT's attack. Cautiously they worked their way through the pressure door that Corporal Reed had demolished earlier, and began to survey the wreckage of the landing bay. That was when the EMP hit.

Comms were back online as PFC Lopez stepped into the full light of the sun streaming through the ruins of the outer bay doors. "Frak, Captain," was all he said as he took in the smoking wreckage of the three ambulance craft and the ragged hole in the heavy outer doors. Dedrick joined him, boots crunching on the glass that littered the deck.

Putting a hand on Lopez's shoulder, Dedrick nodded, adding "Frak, indeed."

_________________
"War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things: the decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks that nothing is worth a war, is much worse." - John Stuart Mill, British philosopher and Member of Parliament


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PostPosted: Wed Dec 27, 2006 2:18 pm 
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[Written by GoldWolf, with a bit from RangerLord]

Chiron Mission
Gunnery Sergeant Razorski
In the computer core


Quote:
Razorski sliced Anderson’s suit open enough to get a field dressing tied firmly around his wound, and was waiting for the suit patch to finish sealing when she caught movement from the corner of her eye. She had her assault rifle in her right hand automatically, cautioning Anderson by placing her left hand firmly on his chest.

She saw it again… beyond the starboard hatch… someone--or something was there.


Gunnery Sergeant Razorski could hear over the combat net as the other Marines were checking in when their ZACS systems came back online. She’d also heard the chatter between Mousetrap on the RAT and one of the Griffyn’s Raptors, and thought, Good… we have reinforcements, and we can get our wounded out and taken care of.

Her full attention now, though, was on the figures she could see through the starboard hatch. She’d turned off her helmet light the instant she saw them, but there was light from their helmets enough to activate the night vision on her HUD.

She switched to the command channel and said, “Captain, I’m in the core and I’ve got your third party up here, three, it looks like two with a possible captive. Anderson is wounded and I haven’t found Preacher yet. Navarro’s suit is still offline but she’s all right, with Wolfe, and they have Moonlight with them. Hold tight but if you can spare a couple jarheads for backup, get ‘em up to Deck 5 and have ‘em wait there.”

Anderson stirred under her hand, and she pulled him to a sitting position without taking her eyes from the three figures headed her way. She sensed as Anderson picked up his rifle, and she put a cautioning hand over his as he gripped it. He moved his hand slightly, indicating he understood; his suit was offline and he didn’t have the advantage of the night vision function, but if the Gunnery Sergeant fired, he’d know what direction to fire.

Switching back to the combat net, Razorski said, “Wolfe, have Navarro take Moonlight back down the passage a few meters, I need you in here. I’ve got three targets coming in the starboard hatch and I’m not sure if they’re friendlies.”

“Yessir,” Wolfe replied. The Gunnery Sergeant listened as he passed on her orders; ten seconds later he alerted her as he reached the hatch to the core.

I don’t know who these people are, Razorski thought, but someone bailed us out…

A figure clad in a white pressure suit stepped into the computer room, his arms up and hands placed on the top of his helmet, in the manner of a captive. Behind him followed the reason for his position - two more figures, both in dark colored suits, each holding a weapon at the ready. Though they seemed to be of similar height, one was slender while the other was clearly athletic. Razorski realized they were not attempting to conceal their presence - beams from their helmet lamps stabbed through the lingering smoke, sweeping across the core room.

The slender figure held a pistol leveled at the back of their apparent captive, while the athletic figure carried a bullpup machine gun casually at the ready. Although similar in color, their pressure suits were plainly of different designs. What captured Razorski's attention, though, was the face of the first man, the captive. Softly lit by his helmet lamps, it was a face she remembered, one she knew as Hans Dean or Leonard Conoy.

Then her HUD showed the flare of a brighter light… coming from the forward hatch, off to her left.

“Wolfe, stay there and keep an eye on that forward hatch,” Razorski hissed. “Looks like some of these are friendlies… be careful.”

“Yessir, I saw light, too,” he readied the SAW, and grinned inside his helmet. “I’m always careful who I shoot. Or what.” Gods I love this job!

Razorski also grinned, inwardly, at Wolfe’s words, but her assault rifle was steadily aimed at the biological Cylon. She had eyes on the situation, and she calmly waited for Dedrick to do his magic and give her ears, too.

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Last edited by RangerLord on Fri Oct 22, 2010 11:10 am, edited 1 time in total.

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PostPosted: Wed Dec 27, 2006 3:22 pm 
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Chiron Mission
Lt. Levi "Preacher" Buckley
Computer core, at the forward bulkhead doors


Previously, Battlestar Libra wrote:
A rocket streaked downward from somewhere up above him, striking the deck in the midst of the Cylon column. The weapon exploded, and the last thing Preacher saw was the fireball expanding, seeming to fill the entire storage bay, as electricity arced outward in all directions, like lightning.


A sharp electronic crack sounded in Preacher's ears as the EMP destroyed his comm system, but he hardly noticed. His entire being was focused on the plume of flames that jetted through the gap in the doors, striking him even as he tried to spin out of the way. The blast, limited by the thin air, still turned his evasive dodge into a tumble across the core room deck. He felt, more than heard, as shrapnel spattered against the outside of the forward bulkhead. A handful of the deadly projectiles shot through the gap into the room, but mercifully missed him as he lay on the floor. He instantly thought of Anderson and Navarro, hoping they hadn't been hit either, but a glance in their direction showed him they were out of sight around the central computer housing. Preacher fought his way to his knees, cradling his injured arm, and retrieved his sidearm from the deck beside him. Regaining his feet, he stepped toward the forward bulkhead doors, intending to see if the unexpected attack had neutralized the Cylons.

Before he could, though, he saw through the gap in the doors as the area beyond was abruptly lit by something very bright. Whatever it was, it moved, casting a narrow stripe of brilliant white light across the deck. From the way the stripe shifted and widened, it seemed that the source was quickly approaching. Preacher awkwardly checked the pistol he held in his left hand, and shifted his right arm, trying to ease the ache of his wound. He stepped to his right, gritting his teeth as he readied his weapon, and attempted to transmit a wireless call. As he spoke, though, he realized his words lacked their usual echo in his headset, and he guessed that his wireless was dead. He began to carefully back away from the doorway.

At that moment, the light shining through the gap danced wildly, and Preacher briefly saw a blinding, fiery point of brilliance swing through his narrow view of the area beyond the doors. Then two gloved hands appeared, one on each side of the gap, forcing the door panels open as though they offered no resistance. White light blazed into the core room, at the same time revealing the figure that carried it. Preacher backpedaled another few steps, and stopped. At the door stood a figure in an orange EVA suit, much like those he'd once seen Duke Marshall's men wearing. The individual wearing the suit, who Preacher judged to be male, stood as tall as a Centurion and seemed every bit as big. Slung over his shoulder was a heavy rifle-like device, tipped by a brilliant white-hot flame, the source of illumination that Preacher had been watching. He judged the device to be a welder, although he guessed the unidentified man who carried it intended it as a weapon. Preacher leveled his sidearm at the intruder.

Swallowing hard, Preacher wished with all his heart that Razorski or Dedrick would suddenly appear at his shoulder. His mind racing, he thought, Now what do I do?

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Last edited by RangerLord on Fri Oct 22, 2010 11:13 am, edited 1 time in total.

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PostPosted: Wed Dec 27, 2006 6:01 pm 
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Chiron Mission
In the computer core


Quote:
Preacher backpedaled another few steps, and stopped. At the door stood a figure in an orange EVA suit, much like those he'd once seen Duke Marshall's men wearing. The individual wearing the suit, who Preacher judged to be male, stood as tall as a Centurion and seemed every bit as big. Slung over his shoulder was a heavy rifle-like device, tipped by a brilliant white-hot flame, the source of illumination that Preacher had been watching. He judged the device to be a welder, although he guessed the unidentified man who carried it intended it as a weapon. Preacher leveled his sidearm at the intruder.

Swallowing hard, Preacher wished with all his heart that Razorski or Dedrick would suddenly appear at his shoulder. His mind racing, he thought, Now what do I do?


PFC Dan Wolfe watched with amazement as the forward area of the computer core was lit by a dazzling bright light, carried by a huge figure in an orange EVA suit. Then he noticed someone else—Preacher! he realized with a jolt. Frak, and he thinks he’s gonna take that guy on with a handgun? “Gunny, Preacher is forward, facing off a huge motherfrakker with a welder.” Swiftly he thanked whoever it was that had designed the ZACS to automatically adjust the visor to shield his eyes from the glare of the welder.

That explains the light, Razorski thought. “Go back Preacher up, Wolfe,” she ordered, not taking her eyes from the biological cylon.

Wolfe moved forward with his SAW leveled, going to stand beside Preacher. Hot damn, this guy is BIG!

On the starboard side of the Mainframe complex, the Leoben Conoy copy stopped, his hands still on the top of his helmet. The other two figures moved to flank him, the man with the pistol still training his weapon on the Cylon. The second man still held the machine gun pointed to the side, but shifted so he now grasped the weapon with both hands. As Razorski sized up the two armed newcomers, she noted the smaller one speaking - evidently on his wireless. C'mon, Captain, she thought, we need to be listening in...

In front of Preacher, the huge figure with the welding torch lowered its tip. As the glare eased, Preacher was able to start picking out the man's features within the helmet. The Raptor ECO was alerted to someone's approach by a shift in the big man's apparent focus. Preacher glanced to his left and was relieved to find PFC Wolfe standing nearby, his heavy machine gun leveled at the unidentified man. Thank the Gods, he thought, for sending me someone who's as big as this frakker.

On the command channel, Captain Dedrick's voice sounded in Razorski's headset. "Got 'em," he said, "three bogeys, same frequency and coding. Going live..." Razorski's HUD flashed up another active channel, and an unfamiliar voice reached her ears.

"...obviously knows what it is, she hasn't shifted her rifle from it. Hope she don't care too much that I whacked the other one." The words matched up to the man with the pistol.

"Not an issue," came the reply, the speech slow and deliberate, in an accent she couldn't quite identify. "They are Marines, obligated to get us off this rock. Still, make sure not to accidentally shoot one." The words didn’t come from the man holding the bullpup machine gun, so Razorski figured that the ‘huge motherfrakker’ that Wolfe was facing had spoken.

“You can whack as many of them as you like,” Razorski said casually, “but if you shoot one of my jarheads I’m likely to get a bit riled.” The man with the pistol gave her a sharp glance, then returned his attention to his captive. She tied Wolfe’s comms into this net, and said, “Wolfe, ease off. They don’t want to shoot us,” for the moment at least, “so it’s probably a good idea we don’t shoot them.”

“Yessir,” Wolfe agreed, lowering his SAW, and he nudged Preacher with his elbow, who also lowered his weapon. Still, Wolfe didn’t put the safety back on.

“I’m Gunnery Sergeant Razorski, Battlestar Libra,” Razorski said. She knew that Dedrick was listening in, silent, and would try to trace ID once she got names from these people.

Wolfe noticed the big man tip his head slightly, a suggestion of a bow, and matched the voice he now heard to the man's lip movements. "It is good that your jarhead with the big gun follows your orders well, Gunnery Sergeant Razorski. I would be very disappointed to be ventilated, this close to securing my escape from this rock."

There was a pause, and then the man continued. "I am impressed, that you so easily accessed our secure channel. It saves us the difficulty of waving and gesturing to find common ground, though, that is good. And for you to bring a battlestar, I am honored."

“Well, it’s more like, the battlestar brought us,” Razorski replied dryly. “And who are you, sir?”

"You perhaps have seen the crash site a few klicks to the southwest? My former ship, the Satyr. I am the unfortunate vessel's former Security Officer. You may call me Rand."

“Yessir, I have seen it,” the Gunnery Sergeant acknowledged. “And who are your associates here, holding this piece of slime at gunpoint?” Interesting accent. I bet the Captain will have him pegged in half a minute.

"The man desperately trying not to shoot our guest is Bragg, and the silent man is Morgan. Normally, I would ask the courtesy of your companions' names, but I feel a sense of urgency about leaving this place before our guest's friends return. I'm sure your wounded Lance Corporal would agree."

“Yes, Mr Rand, I think we’d all agree.” In a blink, Razorski was back on the command channel, and said, “Cap, do we have a ride out of here? These guys want to bug out as much as we do.”

As she spoke, with her left hand, she took a few wire ties from a side leg pocket, and back on the hacked channel, she said, “Bragg, Morgan, I’m going to have Anderson—my wounded grunt, here—tie your prisoner up.”

She handed the ties to Anderson without taking her gaze, or her rifle, from the cylon. Anderson understood at once what to do, and warily circled around, using his uninjured right arm to do most of the work. When he was done, he returned to Razorski’s side.

    Image

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PostPosted: Wed Dec 27, 2006 10:06 pm 
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Deimos Renegades
D92 T0637
Cygnus Class Attack Cruiser

Quote:
The still silent warship, victorious over the Cylons, pulled out of its evasive manuever and slowed to a near stop, showing its broadside to the Griffyn. It made no further move.

..
..
..

["I'm certain you're quite interested in trading stories about how each of us managed to survive the Cylons... let me tend to a few matters here and then I'll be calling you back!"]

Herald listened to the man's voice and to the inflections he used. He tried to picture this ‘Captain’ but his efforts were in vain.

"Okay Captain, but be advised we will be conducting rescue operations for our crew trapped on the ground," Herald responded.

Great... we have pirates now, Herald thought.


Captain “Black” Jack Mayer had watched with a wry smile as the Base Star on the image viewer in front of him twisted slowly into two pieces and then came completely apart. Its final course had left it vulnerable, still rising from very low in the planet’s atmosphere in an attempt to get a better attack angle on the Colonial Destroyer that continued to hold in a standby orbit nearby. Like a pack of wolves ready to pounce, his CIC team stood huddled around the Dradis console at the center of the massive control center watching the fiery last moments of the Cylon mother ship in its death throes.

“These Cylons are not exactly giants of military strategy once we take away the elements of surprise and numbers, eh Malachi?” he asked his XO with a fierce look of anger and determination. Returning his view to the Dradis console he watched the Griffyn continue to hold at standby – studying them. I would too, thought Black Jack with fire blazing in his eyes.

"Of course Captain. They are still just glorified toasters in a way...." the Deimos XO answered with a lopsided grin.

Malachi Nyberg had been a Lieutenant in the Colonial Fleet for three years now, and the 27-year old had been content with his job before the attack. How could he not be, he got to do what he liked best, travel between the colonies like he had done since his birth....and even get paid for it!

But after the cylons had attacked, things had changed a great deal for young Malachi Nyberg....most notably his 'promotion' to XO, though that had been more a question of succession....

Silently, he let his gaze wander around the CIC for a moment, taking in who was positioned where and what everyone was doing.

Quote:
Malachi Nyberg is one of those unfortunate souls that can not claim a single colony as their home....he was born somewhere between the colonies while his parent's were shuttling goods. Not even his parents could have told him the exact position, or even between which two colonies it had been.

Growing up in his parents business, young Malachi soon came into contact with several of the more undesirable elements of society which prompted him to quickly learn how to defend himself against bigger and stronger opponents. Usually his tactics involved 'running as fast as you can' and 'strike them from behind when they have forgotten about you'...

Not even the Colonial Fleet could get him to lose that trait after he joined at the age of 17, after his parents disappeared in outer space without leaving any trace.

But seeing how his plans worked more often than they didn't, P.O Nyberg was sent to OCS at the tender age of 22, and without his chronic problems with discipline, he would have scored pretty high....as it was, he still managed with an average grade before getting assigned to the Battlestar Group 62 led by the Pegasus to serve on one of the ships there as Officer of the Watch....until the Cylons came.

Malachi is 27 years old, a bit over 6 feet tall with a dark brown complexion and black beard, and as a sign of mourning for the fallen crewmembers he keeps his head shaved.


Image

Most of the Deimos renegades wore Colonial uniforms to signify their rank. Those that did not were dressed completely in black, and naturally everyone also wore sidearms and knives. Many of the bladed weapons that they carried were hidden beneath their clothing in convenient places that left them readily accessible. Aboard this ship, trust was simply a word… everyone aboard knew full well that their first priority was to their Captain and that the second involved looking out for number one.

Quote:
Captain Black Jack Mayer’s story had started out as one of relative non-importance… he was 39 years old, had been born to a poor family living under very harsh conditions on a mining outpost located in one of the unpopulated deserts of Scorpia… As such, he had spent much of his teens and early twenties at hard labor, working in the mines that surrounded the encampment.

Mayer was not clan, but he knew of them and he knew much about their ways. He also knew of the Scorpians’ obsession with texa-gems and their outpost leaders’ determination to find them. Throughout the Colonies, other commodities like food, water, and fuel were much more in more demand – even much more profitable - but the people of Scorpia coveted texa-gems… as trinkets, as icons of their various religions, or simply as symbols of power and influence.

Black Jack learned to fight during those years… there was no way around it. You either decided that you were going to protect yourself from the drunken losers who partied too wildly after a hard day of digging in the desert or you ended up dead. The choices were two and he had decided early on to be a survivor.

Both he and another member of the mining outpost had learned the unique skills needed to find new sources of fresh water in the desert, and this elevated their level of influence very rapidly as they grew out of adolescence. During the times when supplies were lowest their technique became so essential that Mayer and his friend were often granted long periods of respite from the backbreaking chore of mining in order to locate new underground channels of water... a resource so truly precious in the hot, sun-baked sands of the Scorpia desert.

Orphaned shortly after birth he had never known his true ancestry. He interacted with enough of the Scorpians who were clan during his stay at the colony to learn the do’s and don’ts. Many of them passed through on a regular basis and traded lots of goods and services in exchange for even the smallest, unrefined texa-gems. The Scorpians believed that each of them contained “a spot of the sun”. Aside from outright bartering, the rare gemstones served as virtually the sole “currency” of the desert people.

Mayer’s position as one of the more irreplaceable men in the colony gave him exactly the opening that he was looking for. He used the preferential treatment that was afforded to him as a “waterlord” to get special privileges at first, and then one night he used that position of influence to pack up a few belongings and then he simply disappeared into the cold chill of the sunless desert night – the people of the small texa-gem mining village never saw or heard from him again.

After reaching one of Scorpia’s smaller cities he lived in the streets for more than a year, hitching rides on the trains that ran between the less populated areas and kept all of the main continent’s major cities supplied with precious goods from other Colonies. You could live a decent city life on the planet if you had money, but like anywhere else if you didn’t have any financial backing the times were tough more often than they weren’t.

That was why he joined the military… that was where he learned to love the dragon… and that was what almost got him killed before the age of thirty.


Image Image <-- Click thumbnails to enlarge!

Nik S’Jahar stood his post at the hatch to the Deimos’ CIC, outwardly calm and watchful. He didn’t watch the Dradis console, but the others there in CIC, as well as the passageway this hatch opened to. Here on the Deimos, it was his duty to make sure there was no threat to Captain Mayer.

He wasn’t sure he was the best one to safeguard the Captain’s life. Sometimes he was tempted to use his own knife on the renegade captain; he felt that way about most of the Deimos’ crew… and himself, on occasion.

His duty had always been first to his clan, and duty had sent him to join the Colonial Marines. The clan leader had told him he needed to learn about Colonial strategy and tactics, and return to the Jahari with that knowledge. But then the cylons had attacked the Colonies, killed all his clan… and things had gone from bad to worse.

He’d been Nikol S’Jahar, third son of the Jahari clan leader; and then a Private First Class in the Colonial Marines, assigned to the Colonial frigate Patrocles. Now… now, he was a member of the ‘Captain’s Guard’ on the Deimos, protecting the life of a man he hated and admired in equal parts. And he despised himself as much as he despised the Disavowed.

So while he looked outwardly calm, inwardly he raged.

Image

Black Jack Mayer watched everyone carefully as the small ship’s crew recovered from their run-in with the Base Star. The damage control teams were already in action, and everyone seemed to be performing up to his level of satisfaction. Given that the entire command structure aboard Deimos was relatively new, the almost seamless teamwork continued to surprise him, but he chalked it off to the fact that most people were willing to work at least twice as hard as they normally would when their own lives were at stake.

“Keep our starboard side facing the Griffyn for now,” the Captain ordered as he stood intensely beneath the Dradis console. “We don’t need their Commander seeing that missile hit we took from the Cylons just yet.” He turned around with his back to the central console and faced the room. “Are there any of you in here yet who doubt that we were being deceived, manipulated, and outright robbed by those who were supposed to be protecting us?

Prolonged silence followed his words, and Mayer nodded with satisfaction at the impact that his influence was stirring amongst the clanless and disavowed surrounding him.

A tall female with short dark hair stood proudly at the watch position. Her name was Ditaan and – although she had only been in her position a short time she already knew the ship’s helm controls and its navigation computer inside out. She glanced toward the Captain with a questioning glance and he met her eyes firmly.

“Sir, you left orders with the Tauranian Titan and the Distant Sun to join us in this system if we weren’t back in twenty minutes. I have no doubts but that they’re preparing to jump…”

“Let them come on in and join our party,” Mayer growled irritably. “There’s no sense hiding from these Colonials any longer… we’ve already taken back some of what was rightfully ours from that smuggler of a Patrocles Captain and his ‘salvage’ operation… I see no reason why we shouldn’t learn a little bit of what these people are about.”

He studied Malachi’s reaction carefully but again it was Ditaan who spoke first. “They’ll no doubt want to team up with us… add our firepower to their own.”

“Oh I’m counting on that,” replied Mayer with a sharp grin. “With limited resources at their disposal I see those people being a bit wary of us – they’ll take precautions, but we’ll keep our distance so as not to give them any cause for concern. We’re just a bunch of survivors who managed to find a few surviving ships amidst all that nuclear fire.”

Black Jack stroked the grizzled beard of his chin thoughtfully as he carefully weighed their options. “No one is to communicate with any of those Colonials except Malachi or myself,” he decided. “And if anyone is seriously thinking about trusting them, I ask that you remember that disaster of a man masquerading as the Commander of the Patrocles. Malachi, keep everyone sharp – and if that Commander wants us to jump to a safer location with him after they recover their people then by all means do so. Just make certain the Titan and the Sun know where to find us.”

---

[The following was inadvertantly omitted from the episode. The authors have my sincere apologies.]

Deimos Brig
Day 92
0633

[Written by ViperChickKaliyla and JDCTexas]

The sounds of cannon fire reverberated through the ship. In the brig, the cell doors rattled. Two people looked up from their bunks and across the hall that separated them.

"Ilithya, that didn't sound good." said the young ensign.

"Like anything does around here." she said, ignoring, given the circumstances, the young man's address of her by her first name. "Cylons were bad enough...." her voice trailed off.

The rumbling of the missiles leaving shook the cell doors more.

The ensign looked up "Sounds like the fight just took an interesting turn. Those were nukes being launched."

"Cylons?"

"That would be my bet." Ensign David Telves paused for a moment "If it's not Cylon, I wonder who they found?"

"Maybe they're shooting at each other." she said, bitterly.

"Could we be so lucky?"

Image
___________
7.15.15 Updated image location.


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PostPosted: Wed Dec 27, 2006 10:27 pm 
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Captain Miranda "Mongoose" Broccolo
Destroyer Douglas J. Griffyn Raptor CO
-recon flyover-

D92 T0635:30

The Raptor swooped over the Chiron at an altitude of 500 feet, with the Radiological Alarms and EM sensors registering nothing.

"Okay Mongoose, getting no radiaton from the ship, and those Heavies are showing no activity at all," Parker said.

"Everything looks good visually, I'm going to give RAT 1 the go ahead to approach for landing," Mongoose said, as she opened a channel and told the RAT the news.

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PostPosted: Thu Dec 28, 2006 1:20 pm 
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Chiron Mission Plus…
Day 92 Time 0638-0645
Heading to the Trauma Center


Quote:
... Razorski took a few wire ties from a side leg pocket, and back on the hacked channel, she said, “Bragg, Morgan, I’m going to have Anderson—my wounded grunt, here—tie your prisoner up.”

She handed the ties to Anderson without taking her gaze, or her rifle, from the cylon. Anderson understood at once what to do, and warily circled around, using his uninjured right arm to do most of the work. When he was done, he returned to Razorski’s side.


“The rest of my team is down in the Trauma Center,” Razorski told Rand, “and our ride will be picking us up there.” On the command channel to Wolfe, she said, “Without making it obvious, stay behind or with Rand, bring up the rear.”

“I’m on it, Gunny,” Wolfe replied, and grinned at Rand; he paused to put his faceplate to Preacher’s telling him what the plan was, then he stepped aside, indicating for both Preacher and Rand to precede him.

“Let’s go,” the Gunnery Sergeant said back on the hacked channel, and led the way out the aft port hatch, Anderson behind her.

Morgan gave the biological Cylon a rough shove, and Bragg moved forward, keeping his pistol aimed at the Cylon's back. Morgan stayed a step behind, staggered to one side. The skin on Razorski’s back crawled, with the cylon behind her, but she dismissed it. If Bragg had already ‘whacked’ one, he wouldn’t hesitate to whack another.

Preacher eyed the Rand warily, stepping around the big man and falling in behind Morgan. Rand raised the welder, thumbing a switch that killed the igniter. The core room was suddenly much darker, lit now only by the beams of light from the few whose helmet lamps still functioned.

Rand glanced at Wolfe and gave a tight-lipped grin, his eyes revealing amusement, and strode off after Preacher. Wolfe brought up the rear, sweeping the room with eyes and weapon one more time before following Rand to the hatchway.

Razorski slowed in the passage, pausing to turn her helmet light on, and said over the combat net, “Moonlight, are you out there?”

Right away she got a shaky reply, “Yes, I’m here, Gunnery Sergeant, but not all the way…”

“That’s all right; just let Navarro know not to shoot us, okay?”

“Sure thing,” the Raptor pilot agreed, and Razor heard as she relayed it to Navarro.

Back on the hacked channel, Razorski told the others, “There are two more of my people up here, but they know we’re coming.” She strode out, meeting up with Navarro and Moonlight almost immediately. Anderson touched Moonlight on the shoulder, and she fell in with him, while Navarro held her position.

During the momentary pause while Gunnery Sergeant Razorski collected Navarro and Moonlight, Wolfe took a closer look at Rand. What caught his eye was the canister the man carried on his back. Roughly three feet long, and at least eight inches in diameter, the package moved as though it were fairly heavy. Wolfe resolved to keep an eye on it, and point it out to Razorski once they reached the exfiltration point.

Navarro gave the group a quick look as they filed past, eyeing the newcomers and glaring at the cylon, her rifle lowered but ready; then she took up her position next to Wolfe, the two of them flanking Rand.

Dedrick's voice came over the command channel then, saying, "Gunny, the bus is here! Mousetrap is going to have to hover for the exfil - the hole isn't big enough for the RAT to enter the A-bay." He added, "The Griffyn is here, too. I'm linked up to their mainframe, and there's nothing in Military Intelligence on Rand or a civilian vessel named Satyr."

“Hmf, well, that’s interesting… thanks, Cap,” Razorski replied. “Good to know we got big guns out there. The prisoner is a Dean-Conoy model, in a white EVA suit. Our, ah, ‘friendlies’ are two guys in black suits, and a third, about as big as Wolfe, in an orange suit. I’m on point, we’ll be with you in a minute.”

True to her word, Razorski’s group reached the aft end of the port ambulance bay about a minute later. They halted, surprised by the sunlight streaming into the bay, and the extent of the damage.

"Gunnery Sergeant Razorski," Rand's deliberate voice came over the comm net, "your team plays rough, I see."

Offhandedly, Razorski responded, “Meh, sometimes our RAT crew forget to knock.” She switched to the command net, and said, “Mousetrap, I like what you’ve done with the place… nice southern exposure, get some daylight in.”

Two Marines appeared, entering the ambulance bay from the forward end. Razorski quickly identified them as Dedrick and Lopez. With a hand signal, the Captain left PFC Lopez guarding the entranceway, and he crossed the wreckage of the access passage to meet them.

Dedrick nodded to Razorski as he stopped beside her, a ghost of a grin visible through his faceplate. Turning so that Rand could see him, Dedrick's eyes narrowed as he spoke, "Mister Rand, I assume we have you to thank for disabling those Centurions...?"

    Image

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PostPosted: Thu Dec 28, 2006 2:17 pm 
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Chiron Mission Departure
Day 92 0645 Hours
Port ambulance bay exfiltration point


Quote:
Turning so that Rand could see him, Dedrick's eyes narrowed as he spoke, "Mister Rand, I assume we have you to thank for disabling those Centurions...?"


Rand nodded, the sunlight from the breached outer doors revealing his face and nearly-bald head.

"That earns you our gratitude, but not our trust," Dedrick continued. Stepping along the small column of Marines, he paused when he reached the Leoben-model Cylon. He met the Cylon's gaze, and spoke again to Rand, "As you well know, Mr. Rand, the enemy of my enemy is not necessarily my friend."

"We are all friends here, Captain," Rand answered. Experienced enough to read military rank insignia, Dedrick thought. Rand continued, "All but that one."

Dedrick's eyes were still locked on the Cylon, his brow furrowed above a narrower-than-usual squint. Neither of them had blinked so far. Dedrick shifted, moving one hand to the hilt of his knife. Leoben glanced downward, and when he returned his gaze to Dedrick's face, the Marine's expression was a grin that turned up just one corner of his mouth. Leoben tilted his head upward slightly, making a kissing gesture, all the while keeping his eyes locked back on Dedrick's. When the gesture was finished, Leoben grinned broadly. Dedrick's expression never changed, dark eyes still staring out from under gathered eyebrows. Finally he gave a nod and a hmmph that traveled down to his shoulders, and then turned away from the Cylon.

He approached Rand, sizing up the big man as he did. Then, as though there had been no pause in their conversation, he said "All but one, Mr. Rand. Perhaps so. Still, for the moment I'm asking you to collect your men's weapons and hand them over. We're about to catch the bus out of here, and I wouldn't want to get shot down from inside."

"As you wish, Captain," Rand answered. "Bragg, Morgan, your guns please." The two men responded, although their reluctance was obvious. Rand released the carrying strap on the welder, pitching the heavy tool aside as though it were nothing. Preacher awkwardly drew his sidearm, holding it left-handed - obviously understanding what was going on, despite not having a working wireless. Private Navarro stepped forward as well, leveling her assault rifle at the Cylon, and Dedrick noted the look of heightened awareness on PFC Wolfe's face.

"Thank you," Dedrick said, as he accepted Bragg's pistol and Morgan's bullpup machine gun from Rand. "Now, shall we see about getting everyone aboard the transport? Then, Mr. Rand, you should tell me what type of weapon you used against those Centurions."

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PostPosted: Thu Dec 28, 2006 6:40 pm 
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Offhandedly, Razorski responded, “Meh, sometimes our RAT crew forget to knock.” She switched to the command net, and said, “Mousetrap, I like what you’ve done with the place… nice southern exposure, get some daylight in.”


Unseen inside the RAT and her ZACS, a grin spread over Benson's face, as she lined the RAT up with the hole in the side of the Chiron. Her teeth pressed against each other, an expression of her stress and concentration, as she finally touched the RAT gently to the side of the Chiron.

Out of the corner of her eye, Zimmerman's hands moved to release himself from his seat, his gloved fingers hovering, just waiting for the order. Without looking away from the task at hand, she nodded her helmet-clad head, and Zimmerman quickly freed himself and headed back to assist the team. They would need all the help they could get, getting the wounded aboard the RAT.

Frakking Cylons... she thought, struggling to hold the RAT steady against the side of the Chiron. We should've finished this war the first time around...when we had the chance.

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PostPosted: Thu Dec 28, 2006 10:54 pm 
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Chiron Mission Plus…
Day 92 Time 0638-0645
Port Trauma Center - Preparing for Evac


Nate Santana carefully helped Ray Deczynski move Sandoval onto a gurney with wheels. "Put Patty Gallagher on the other one," he said as he pointed across the room. "Once we get to the ambulance bay we'll have no choice but to carry them onto the RAT and leave the carts behind."

Both of them were extremely gentle with Sandoval, since he was still receiving blood from an IV as they transferred him. Ray glanced curiously at the IV stand and then to the Doctor. "Aren't you going to have to transfer more blood into Sandoval?" he asked. So far he had only seen the private receive two bags of blood.

"Yes," acknowledged Nate with a quick nod. "Once we get him aboard the RAT I'm also planning to transfer the two pints I took from myself. For now... trust me, both he and Gallagher are as stabilized as they're going to get under the circumstances."

Deczynski finished securing Sandoval to the stretcher and turned to wheel him out of the trauma center and back toward the ambulance bay. He paused as the Doctor cleared his throat and called to him. “Let Erica move him to the transfer point,” he suggested. “She can pass him on to one of the marines there and then come back and get Gallagher.”

MacIntosh shouldered her rifle and took her place at the front of the cart with a curious expression. “Why? What are you guys gonna do?” she asked inquisitively.

Santana’s reply was to raise his rifle and shoot the electronic locking mechanisms holding the doors to two large cabinets tightly shut. They had secured in place once main power to the ship had died but now opened easily with the security devices destroyed.

“Some of the medicines in here are irreplaceable and difficult to manufacture,” Nate replied with a grin. “Unless you guys want to leave this place without achieving our primary mission objective.”

Deczynski shook his head with frustration. “Frak that… let’s take everything that isn’t nailed down!” he decided, moving more of the wheeled gurneys over to Santana so that he could begin piling cartons of medicine bottles and boxes of supplies on top of them. After that he moved to the next cabinet and soon both he and the Doctor were busily stacking supplies onto the gurneys.

Santana tossed all of the medical instruments that would fit into his med kit, then glanced carefully around the trauma center. “I wish I had time to visit their hospital,” he said with a bit of frustration. “But I seriously doubt that anyone is going to vote to stick around and raise the Chiron back into orbit.”

As they worked, MacIntosh delivered Private Sandoval to the marines waiting near the ambulance bay on decks nine and ten and then speedily returned to the trauma center. She shoved the empty gurney over toward Deczynski and then grabbed the one with Patty Gallagher on it. “Might was well load all of them up with supplies,” she suggested. Then she was gone again, wheeling Gallagher toward the ambulance bay and – hopefully –freedom.

Santana nodded and moved the third gurney closer to the operating tables. He began closing the portable surgical kits scattered throughout the room and stacking them onto the movable cart. “We may not come away with a lot, but we’ll get something out of this mess,” he commented briskly, pointing toward the cabinet where Ray was still removing bottles. “Be sure and take all of that,” he stated firmly. “Most of that stuff in those bottles can be manufactured once Iasoan has samples to work from… the rest of it can be grown.”

Once they were finished, they wheeled all three gurneys awkwardly down the corridor and away from the trauma center. Laffitte was up and insisting that he was well enough to walk on his own and Santana knew better than to argue so he let the marine push the third cart between him and Ray. Santana went first – rifle at the ready – and Deczynski carefully covered the area behind them.

By the time they reached the ambulance bay, MacIntosh had already unstrapped Private Gallagher and handed her to the waiting marines. She turned back and saw the others coming and smiled wanly. “I told them you were bringing stuff,” she said simply, “so I’ll warn you that the others are not crazy about the idea of taking stuff along.”

“Ask them what our mission was,” growled the Doctor. “We’re not leaving without this stuff unless Captain Dedrick or the Gunnery Sergeant strictly forbid it due to safety issues. We came to get supplies and we’re not leaving without them.”

Santana began to hand boxes off to McIntosh, who passed the supplies on to the marines in the RAT reached back for more. Both the Doctor and Deczynski were working as fast as they could to make sure that everything got transferred out to the evacuation area and into the waiting RAT.

Quote:
“Hmf, well, that’s interesting… thanks, Cap,” Razorski replied. “Good to know we got big guns out there. The prisoner is a Dean-Conoy model, in a white EVA suit. Our, ah, ‘friendlies’ are two guys in black suits, and a third, about as big as Wolfe, in an orange suit. I’m on point, we’ll be with you in a minute.”


Erica noticed more marines gathering to help, and after hearing Razorski’s voice crackling in her ear she gathered that the arrival of the remainder of their team was imminent.

“Get everything ready to go,” she said fiercely, slapping the marine standing at the bottom of the ladderwell. “Move move move!" Turning back toward Santana above her she shrugged. “Sounds like we found other survivors,” she pointed out. “At least one bio Cylon.”

When Dr Santana and his group came up, Razorski took one look at the supplies they had brought and said merely, “Doc, you get the wounded on board. We’ll get as much of these supplies on as we can, but this is a full flight."

Santana turned and regarded her thoughtfully. "McIntosh says you've got one bioCylon with you... leave him."

Razorski regarded the doctor. “Is that an order, sir?”

Santana glanced at the cartons of medical bottles. "If we have to leave any of the vaccines and serums behind... YES! This man is responsible for most of the injuries and illnesses in our fleet - at this point they're more valuable to me than he is."

Razorski nodded calmly. On the command channel to Dedrick only, she said, “Captain, we should not leave one of the enemy behind, alive. With your permission, I’ll terminate it.”

"Negative, Gunnery Sergeant. That is a valuable piece of military intelligence."

She sighed internally. “It’s dangerous to leave it here. What do you suggest?”

"The biological goes in my place. I'll contact one of Griffyn's Raptors for a ride."

“Negative, sir,” Razorski shook her head, “I am not leaving any of my jarheads behind.” She paused, then added Santana to the channel, asking, “Doctor, do you have something that will sedate this thing for an hour or so?”

Nate grinned fiercely and - still without gloves - snapped open his med kit. "Probably be longer than an hour, since I'll want to make sure it knocks out his enhanced system. We'll have to depressurize at least one arm on his suit."

“I don’t give a frak about depressurizing its suit,” Razorski said flatly. “Do it.” She looked at Dedrick. “Tie it to the wing? Or leave it tied to something here in the Chiron and have one of the Raptors pick it up?”

Ignoring them both, Nate took out a syringe from the med kit that he had used to sedate both Sandoval and Gallagher. It still had a good dose of anesthesia left in it. He jabbed it roughly into the cylon’s upper arm, delivering the remaining contents into the Cylon's bloodstream. Private Navarro stood by, and patched the suit quickly once Santana withdrew the needle.

Dedrick said, "Leave it with me, and load some more of Santana's supplies."

Again Razorski shook her head. “Negative, sir.” She gave him a level look. “If you stay, I stay.”

"Works for me, Gunny. Doc, get your supplies on the RAT and get out of here RFN.”

Razorski switched back to the combat channel and said, “Sergeant Calapini, the Captain and I are staying behind with the cylon, to give more room for these supplies. You’re in charge.”

Calapini swallowed and nodded, “Yessir, Gunny.”

Her voice held just a hint of humor as she added, “Maybe you could send back a taxi to pick us up.”

    Image

_________________
Director of National Intelligence James R. Clapper, about budget cuts for the US’s intelligence agencies: "We're not going to do more with less and all these other clichés. . . . We will just simply have less capability."


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