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Columbia

By Fisherfish

Word Count
Date: 11/6/05
Series: Alternate Universe
Rating: M
Category: Action
Pairing/Focus: none
Warnings: Scenes of Peril.  Language
Summary: Picon Colony. Colonial Fleet Headquarters is ambushed, along with the fleet of battlestars including the Columbia...
Spoilers/Disclaimers: Dedicated to STS-107 Space Shuttle Columbia


"Gods damn it!"

Captain Dillion Marshall, Commanding Officer of the Battlestar Columbia, was bloody furious. Just an hour before, the battlestar among others had escorted the flagship battlestar Atlantia from the presidential parade on Picon for Colonial Day, when the Cylons suddenly attacked them right when they got to Fleet HQ. The entire base was wiped out within sixteen minutes, and the only reason Columbia had escaped was because of a pleading, abeit forceful order from President Adar, saying quite honorably, "Our so-called cloak of invincibility has fallen. Go forth now into the stars, Captain, and pray that the Gods be with you." Then the President's transmission suddenly cut off as the Atlantia enacted its self-destruct protocols, turning everything around them into a nuclear fireball. An equally honorable death.

Still, Captain Marshall still couldn't help thinking Adar was a moron.

"Where are we? How much longer until the drive is online? The Cylons will surely find us here soon!" The questions was directed to Lieutenant Maxwell, senior officer of the current watch. "The Cylon virus ravaged through everything, sir - all intel is compromised, including the network drive for the engine cores. We're lucky we got out of there alive." "As if our luck will hold," Marshall muttered. It was true - even the CIC was down, sparks still flying and instruments still showing static. And yet, the oxygen supply and auxiliry power held, meaning damage control was also still in the fight. Good, he thought. We'll need everything we have.

Suddenly some power flared and the tac board flickered to life. "NAV coordinates! And get me a power report!" he barked at anyone near. Maybe they could find out where the hell they jumped. "Yes, sir," Maxwell answered, rushing to the station. He pressed a few buttons, and, after a pause, "We're near Caprica, sir. Colonial transponders active."

Captain Marshall had a sigh of relief. This was good - now they could get some relief and find out what the hell happened over at Picon.

Suddenly, klaxons blared. "Report now! All stations!" he was yelling, trying to compete with the alarms. "Dradis contact!" Maxwell yelled back. "Cylons at... perimeter... firing.. tac nukes?" Maxwell's voice and the other sounds were fading out. " Report!" he started screaming. He began to lose oxygen, breathing shallow. "Anyone?!"

Someone dragged him into the cooridor just as he began to lose consciousness. "Sir? Sir?!" It was one of the Petty Officers on the deck, he couldn't remember her name. "Sir, can you hear me?" Now he remembered, barely. PO2 Irene Lorenzo. "Lorenzo.. report.." Maxwell managed. "Sir," she started, but she had a loss too, but she quickly regained strength. "Youth," he muttered. "Sir, the Cylons fired one of their tac nukes at us, just as we detected them. They fired the rest at Caprica..." Marshall made a whine. Billions dead on Caprica. "Ship status?" he asked hoarsely, trying to stand up. His eyes were blurring out, looking at her.

"Sir, all outer hulls are leaking air, and damage control is compromised. Second Command has been set up over here in COR." He managed to follow her to the room, his body aching all over. Everyone saluted as the door opened. "Stand.. stand down." He muttered. They took their seats, Captain David Allen was the meeting head, but he moved as Maxwell approached. "Allen... arn't you supposed to be with the Vipers?" Allen gulped, "All Viper squadrons were destroyed during the battle at Picon, sir. Only me and the Raptors are left, and I think they got hit with that tac nuke..." "Frak me," Marshall muttered.

"We've got a detect!" Lieutenant Maxwell had made it back, and he was at the other board, but he had blood all over him. "It's a... it's Battlestar Galactica !" The crew assembled let out a weak cheer. "Communique them this; Picon and outer colonies compromised. Move to Code Orange and evacuation procedures if any civilians present." "Yes, sir," Maxwell responded, typing on the board. Then beeps. And he typed again, with more beeps. "Lieutenant?" Marshall asked. "COM down, sir," Maxwell said quietly. "Our transponder's also disabled."

Great. No identfication tags. If they go near the Galactica, they'd probably shoot them down. Then an idea formed up in his mind, abeit a sad one. "Cylon base stars still in the area?"

"Yes, sir," Maxwell said quietly. "Three base stars taking firing position at the Galactica..." He suddenly stood up from his chair, active as ever. "Navagational control active?" he asked. "Yes, sir, NAV control active." "Plot collision course for those base stars. Arm all ordinance. Send out those Raptors."

They were going out with a bang.

"Sir!" Maxwell and Allen yelled back in response, abeit too strong. Klaxons roared so strong now. They knew their duties, though. The Galactica was an ancient, commanded by Commander Adama, if things didn't go too south. The first Battlestar was most agile with base stars, and if anyone would survive this holocaust, it would be rather them than... us.

"Collision in one minute," Maxwell reported. "All weapons armed! Raptors ready to launch!" That was Allen, at the other board as well. "Fire all weapons, disperse all remaining Raptors, and pray to the Gods."

"So say we all," they said holy. Silence covered the small room as launches were heard through the bulkheads. Raptors moving out torwards the Galactica, survivors for a day. "Collison in sixteen seconds." He remembered something, that number sixteen, but it took him fifteen seconds to realize it.

"So say we all," he said one last time.