A “Battlestar Galactica” Story, Epilogue Three — -and the last

NOTE to the reader: In the words of Jim Morrison — -This is the end, my friends. This story ends, but another will come along to take its place. If you’ve enjoyed this, let me know, and let Medium know too. They’ve taken me out of the metering program, so I will receive no remuneration of any kind for this. But make some noise to somebody anyway…

Now…for the end of the story:

Oh, THIS is gonna suck…

James trudged down the ship’s passageway back towards the maintenance deck, and the waiting members of Warrior Flight. Chris joined him halfway.

“Looks like you guys did well. The fleet’s outta the Veil Nebula, and we’re back on board.”

James looked at him dourly. “Not all of us.”

“I heard the comms chatter. Who’d we lose?”

“Dark Skull…and Warhorse. And I lost my Viper when that double-damned Jotunn blew up around me. So the final tally is down three Vipers…and two pilots.”

Chris stopped and leaned against a bulkhead. “Damn….damn, damn, damn. We could’a gotten more Vipers, or even reallocated the ones we had. But those two pilots were critical. Dark could’a helped us save other ships we found out here…Quinn could’a been an instructor again.”

“Aye…and that’s not the worst part. I’ve just come from Adama’s cabin. We’re done as a wing…with the loss of those two, and the three Vipers, we’re officially below strength to maintain operations. We’re being merged with Primus Flight.”

Chris looked at him, stunned. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me, mate. Warrior Flight ends here.”

“Godsdammit.”

“Yeah.”

The two of them continued down the passageway to the maintenance deck where the assembled members of Warrior Wing were waiting. James passed the word…the air of gloom was palpable. Then Paul (Boanerges) let out a shout…”Hey! What’re they doing to my Rhino?!?”

Everybody in the flight rushed to the viewports. Outside on the landing platform for the flight pod, technicians in EVA suits could be seen pushing the Rhinos off the edge of the deck. Already two of them could be seen drifting away in Galactica’s wake.

Paul recoiled in horror from the viewport, then let out a scream. “WHAT THE FRAK?!?!? WHAT THE FRAK ARE YOU DUMBASSES DOING???!?!?” He looked around and found the nearest technician, snatching him up by the collar of his coveralls. Pushing him up against the bulkhead, he got right against the technician’s nose. “WHO THE HELL TOLD YOU TO DUMP MY RHINO?”

The technician seemed to shrivel in Paul’s hands…and then stammered out an answer. “Sir, Chief Tyrol told me that he had orders from the Admiral himself…please don’t, you’re hurting me…”

Paul released the hapless tech, letting him drop to the deck. “So where is Chief Tyrol now?”

The technician rubbed his throat and rasped out “He’s in the flight deck cab, overseeing the operation.” Paul said nothing, but turned and ran for the cab. Brian (Hi-rise) was hard on his heels; both of them had brought Rhinos home after the escape. Bursting into the cab, Paul immediately got in front of Tyrol. “What the frak is this I’m hearing, about an order to dump the Rhinos?”

Tyrol put down his clipboard. Turning to the shocked and confused technicians in the cab, he quietly said, “Continue the operation.” Then he turned back to Paul and Brian, and looked Paul squarely in the eye.

“The order is confirmed. We’re dumping the Rhinos.”

This did nothing to pacify Paul. “What the hell for?”

“The Admiral came to the conclusion that we should dump the Rhinos because we don’t have spare parts for them. Cannibalizing parts from one or two to save the rest will become steadily limiting. Eventually we will run out of parts. Add to that the fact that we don’t have the tylium reserves to feed the additional fuel tanks that the Rhinos bring, and you see where this is going. The Rhinos are gone, end of story.”

Paul and Brian looked past Tyrol, out the viewport to the landing pad. The technicians were just pushing Paul’s Rhino to the edge of the deck; as he and Brian watched, it teetered on the edge of the deck as though grasping for safety. Then, with a final push…it drifted away into the void. Tyrol continued. “We stripped everything out of them that we could. Ammunition, tylium, avionics, you name it…we’ve got bullets, gas, and spare parts to last us the next three years, if need be.”

Paul simply leaned his head against the viewport. “Godsdammit…” Brian put a hand on his shoulder. “It could be worse…we knew from the get-go that this was a temporary arrangement. At least it brought you home. Herk and Quinn didn’t even get that.”

Paul sighed. “Yes, I suppose...I really liked that ship though….”

“C’mon. I’ll buy ya a brew, and we’ll drink to Rhinos, Quinn, Herk, and all the rest.”

The two of them turned away and walked out of the cab. Tyrol watched them go, then turned back to the cab technicians. “Get back to work people…”

Later that day there was a meeting between Warrior and Primus Flights. While neither flight had enough pilots or Vipers to stand on their own, together they were over-strength for a single flight. It was decided that Tom (Reaper) from Primus Flight would assume duties as overall commander of the unit, while Mark (Sem-pi) from Primus flight and Chris from Warrior Flight would each take over as flight commanders under Tom. The two sub-flights would maintain their former structure as much as they were able. In the event of death, disappearance, or incapacitation, pilots would move up in their sub-flights and assume more duties. “…and this will continue until we’re all dead or we find this Earth place, whichever comes first,” were the final words uttered by Tom on the subject.

The meeting broke up, and the pilots drifted back to their respective quarters…Chris turned to Tom.

“I sure hope this works.”

***

“I sure hope this works.” Chris yelled out the words as Galactica vibrated wildly around them. He, Spire, Mark, and Paul were simultaneously being pushed into the launch tubes. Galactica was shaking herself like a wet dog in the upper atmosphere of New Caprica, and plummeting planetward with each passing second. As fast as the tube doors closed behind them, they were starting engines and making ready to launch. Boanerges and Spire were already calling “Ready for launch” and Sem-pi had already gone. Salahdin couldn’t tell the launch vibrations apart from the atmospheric turbulence…He and Gingerninja called “ready for launch” together. The launch officers didn’t acknowledge, but simply slammed their hands down on the launch buttons. Salahdin could see loose debris flying down the launch tube ahead of him…as his Viper rocketed down the tube, all he could see at the end was flames…he burst out of the tube and the fighter immediately lurched and dropped, almost tumbling away from the rampaging battlestar. He looked over his shoulder…he could barely make out the gator-style bows of Galactica, shrouded in flames as the old warship plunged into the skies of New Caprica. The Viper’s engines coughed, gulping more air than they were ready for, but they caught and Salahdin slammed the throttles to the stops to catch up with the rest of the strike force.

It had been a long six months since the basestars appeared over New Caprica. The fleet had done the best they could; easily thirty-five percent of the total population of survivors had been caught on the ground. President Baltar and his staff had not been heard from since two days before the Cylons’ arrival; Adama had been forced to leave behind Colonel Tigh, and the maintenance staff had been doubly taxed because Chief Tyrol and Cally were both planetside.

Nobody knew where ex-President Roslin was, or if she was even alive.

Rumors and whispers had spread throughout the fleet. Adama had a secret communications channel with the New Caprican survivors. Baltar had apparently welcomed the Cylons with open arms. Tyrol and Tigh apparently had organized resistance and were trying to slow the Cylons down. But every time these rumors were brought up at flight meetings, Adama would simply glower and say, “I will not confirm or deny anything at this time. Continue to carry out your duties. That is all. Dismissed.”

But Salahdin wasn’t thinking of any of this now. As his Viper streaked towards the settlement, he found himself engaged by a pair of raiders. Without thinking, he flamed one on the initial pass; it fell to the ground trailing fire. He did not turn, but kept the fighter running hard towards the survivors…the second raider was winged by Reaper as he worked to keep up with Salahdin. And then…

“…ALL VIPERS, ALL VIPERS, CLEAR THE AREA, GALACTICA IS JUMPING!”

Even as he turned his head, a FTL-jump flash filled the cockpit; a split second later the shockwave from Galactica’s jump nearly blew the Viper end-over-end. He wrestled with the controls…the nose came back towards the horizon…

The fight lasted mere minutes, but felt like hours. Raider after raider, Cylon after cylon fell to the guns of Primus/Warrior Flight. Then the call came from Reaper. “All Vipers, head for space. Galactica is preparing to jump. Hurry the frak up, she’s engaged by four basestars and Adama’s not waiting!”

All Vipers and Raptors pulled their noses skyward and leaned on the throttles…when they got to space, the image they saw was grim. Galactica was being mercilessly pounded by two basestars, and two more were closing fast. The fighters waded into the fray and did what they could.

Then a call from Sem-pi: “All fighters, all fighters, go for combat landing on Galactica, no delay. FTL jump is imminent and we don’t want to be left behind.”

Spire: “What about Pegasus?”

On cue, Pegasus flashed into view right outside the tangle of basestars surrounding Galactica. The battlestar bored into the fight like a giant guided missile. The flight watched as her guns and missiles locked onto the nearest basestar. Adama was heard on the fleet tactical frequency: “…knew it was gonna be a one-way trip…”

On Galactica’s port flight pod, chaos reigned. Spire saw Kon-X slam down right in front of him; Gingerninja was scarcely 10 feet away to his right, dropping his Viper to the deck like concrete. He felt another impact, and his collision warning sounded; Salahdin and Boanerges had thumped down and skidded to a stop barely two feet from his engines. Even as Spire was powering down, more Vipers were piling onto the deck, and he could see the pod closing in preparation for the jump. He heard and felt Galactica’s FTL drives whining up to speed…and…

***

…and Kon-X yelped, “WATCH OUT!”

Spire yanked the stick hard to the left, narrowly missing the shuttlecraft that zipped past his nose.

The fleet had found Earth…or so they thought. All ships left in the fleet that could land, were landing. Primus/Warrior Flight had been ordered to launch and cover operations. The patrol was uneventful…but the two pilots noticed that things were quiet when they got back to Galactica.

The atmosphere on the maintenance deck was heavy. Tyrol was especially gloomy. Spire spoke first. “What’s up Chief?”

“This so-called ‘Earth’…” Tyrol paused. “This so-called ‘Earth’…is nothing more than a burned-out cinder.”

Spire and Kon-X looked at each other…then Kon spoke up. “Whaddya mean, burned-out cinder?”

Tyrol looked back at him, annoyed. “I mean there’s nothing left. Whatever civilization was there died hundreds of years ago, by our estimates. Nothing left but burned-out ruins and a few stumps of buildings. Not even any vegetation. Nothing but rocks and water.”

Spire and Kon just stared…Spire asked numbly, “So what do we do now?”

Tyrol shrugged. “Beats me. Admiral hasn’t made a call yet…he’s down on the planet trying to sort this through.”

The two pilots turned and walked quietly away. Kon spoke first. “I’m going back to my bunk…I’m beat, and we’ve got another flight in eight hours. See ya.”

Spire said nothing, but simply walked, numb, along the passageway. He stopped at an intersection between corridors, and leaned wearily against the bulkhead. People passed by…they didn’t notice him, and he in turn paid them no attention. Eventually his gaze strayed to the far bulkhead…somebody had left a can of black spray paint propped against a set of storage boxes. Without thinking, he moved over, picked it up, and flicked the top off. Holding it up to the bulkhead, he sprayed the words, “FRAK EARTH”.

He tossed the can to the deck, and stumbled back to the berthing area…

***

“No one should feel obligated to join this mission…in any way. This is a decision…I have made…for myself.”

Adama was speaking from the top of a set of service stairs on the hangar deck. The weary and battered pilots of Warrior/Primus flights stood in the background.

The last four months had been the worst yet. Morale had broken badly in the wake of the discovery of the burned-out Earth. President Roslin’s cancer had returned, and she’d gone into partial seclusion…although on Galactica, it was hard to keep her presence in the Admiral’s quarters a secret. Tom Zarek had attempted a revolt, one that saw mass confusion — -and some terror — -spread throughout the fleet. When the Admiral had been able to retake power on Galactica, he’d been forced to summarily punish Zarek by firing him down a launch tube…along with LT Gaeta, who’d made the fatal mistake of following him.

They were not alone. Chris, Kon, and Paul had been stripped of their rank; in the confusion of the uprising, they’d joined the mutineers. After fifteen days in the brig, Adama had gritted his teeth and grudgingly consented to their release; the shortage in combat pilots was more than both he and the fleet could bear. They returned to flight status, but at a severely reduced rank, and Tom rode them all hard. Then Chief Tyrol had been busted. Then a group of rogue Cylons had joined the fleet, leaving everybody even more uneasy than they already were.

Worst of all, Galactica herself was faltering. James had narrowly avoided death when a section of the battered hull gave way; he made it to the damage-control door before it had slammed shut, and watched as a combined crew of Galactica technicians and Cylon skinjobs was blasted out into space. Then the Sharon Valerii copy known as “Athena” kidnapped a baby named Hera — -some said it was hers — -hijacked a Raptor, and jumped away, leaving yet another hole in Galactica’s side.

Which brought them to this moment. Kon shook off the mental cobwebs and tried to regain his focus. Adama was continuing to speak. “There is a line running down this deck. Volunteers, move to the starboard side. Everyone else, to the port.”

The pilots of Warrior/Primus flight looked at each other. Tom moved first, going to starboard. Mark followed him. Spire, Kon, and Javadog looked at each other. Javadog spoke up first…”Aw, what the hell.” Then he crossed over to the starboard side. Spire and Kon shrugged and followed. Eventually, all the pilots of Warrior/Primus flight crossed over. James looked back up the line towards the stairs; Roslin had made her way through the crowd and was being helped along by Adama.

Adama looked down the length of the crowd. “Seems the choice has been made. Thank you all.”

Later that day, Titus, Ashicus, and Paul received special orders; they would be staging their Raptors on the starboard flight pod. The three Raptor pilots looked at each, beaten and exhausted from four years of near-constant combat and tension…said their good-byes to each other, and split up to go to their assigned stations. Tom, Mark, Kon, Spire, Javadog, James, and most of the former Primus Wing would all go with Galactica. Chris and the remaining survivors of Warrior Flight would hang back with the fleet for protection.

The Viper pilots shrugged and broke up to head to their Vipers.

***

“Let’s go round the horn.” Adama and Tigh locked eyes, and Tigh started the count.

Across the fleet, the pilots could hear the countdown. On the rogue basestar, Salahdin heard the Viper squadron check in. “Viper wing?” “Go.” “Assault One?” “Go.” “Assault Two?” Titus reached for the mike, but Starbuck cut in. “Go.”

In his cockpit, Spire switched his comm to the old Warrior Flight private frequency. “Salahdin, you on here?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re getting ready to jump, man…hopefully I’ll see ya when I see ya.”

“Don’t worry. I suspect this Cylon colony the Old Man’s been talking about will be more fixated on Galactica than you guys. Just keep the toasters off of her…she’ll bring you home, one way or the other.”

“Hope so.” There was a pause…both pilots switched back to the fleet frequency just in time to hear Tyrol’s voice say, “Jump on my mark…5…4…3…2…1…MARK!”

Galactica flashed out of sight. Salahdin sighed.

“Godspeed fellas…”

***

FUUUWWWWWWOOOOOMMMM.

Galactica resolved directly alongside the Cylon colony. As fast as his vision cleared from the jump, Titus could feel the ship taking huge staggering body blows from the colony’s batteries. Then a strange thrumming noise built in the background. Are they spinning up the FTL drives already?…

Then, from Tigh. “LAUNCH ALL WINGS!”

Then Titus noticed something else…the Cylon guns. They’ve stopped. In front of his cockpit windows, Raptor engines were glowing hot, preparing to jump…his co-pilot initiated the jump sequence. Five seconds later, all the Raptors jumped together…and Galactica’s starboard pod exploded, never to be used again…

In the Viper wing, the pilots heard Hot Dog yell, “Here they come, let’s take ‘em!!” Spire, Kon-X, and Javadog were already in the thick of battle. As fast as their respective fighters had left the launch tubes, they were engaging. Raiders swarmed around them, thick as flies. In his own cockpit, Spire felt himself fall into the groove: Turn, aim, shoot, BANG!…turn, aim, shoot, BANG!…and Kon-X and Javadog were right next to him. The three Vipers were turning and shooting as one; twelve guns acting as one single unit. Raiders were flaming out of battle left and right. And then…

Sem-Pi: “I got a problem here.” Spire turned his head slightly…Sem-Pi and Reaper were cornered, surrounded by what looked like two dozen Raiders. Without thinking, he whipped the Viper hard over and started shooting. Kon-X, surprised by the move, nearly collided with the Raider he was pursuing before uttering a curse over the open frequency and turning to follow. Spire was shooting his way towards the beleaguered Primus wingmen…two Raiders flamed on his first pass. Sem-Pi and Reaper were taking advantage of the diversion to try and shoot their way out…

In the Raptor wing, Titus, Boanerges, and Ashicus were in formation as the wing resolved in the asteroid field outside the main battle. Boanerges watched in horror as his wingman — -who he’d never gotten a chance to meet — -disintegrated under a direct hit from an asteroid. The wing flew on, dodging asteroids, waiting for the launch order from the wing lead, Helo. Titus broke concentration long enough to see Galactica’s engines flare white-hot….and the old battlestar lunged at the colony like a wounded bull, ramming into the side and coming to rest with her bows firmly lodged. The Raptor flight continued its hell-for-leather approach through the asteroid field…after what seemed like an interminable run, they finally reached the outer hull of the Cylon colony, set down, and began deploying their troops.

Back among the Vipers, Spire and Kon-X had finally reached Sem-Pi. Both he and Reaper were heavily engaged; Kon-X could barely read the lettering on Reaper’s hull as he dodged, twisted, and slid his way around the Cylon formation. But the two of them were badly outnumbered. Spire counted nearly six Raiders on Sem-Pi’s tail alone, and it seemed like an entire wing was chasing down Reaper. Javadog was bringing up the rear; Raider after Raider was dropping off Spire’s tail. Then Javadog found himself jumped by three Raiders…the five pilots worked themselves into a loose formation and began shooting their way through the waves of Raiders. For a moment, it looked like they would make it…

Back on Galactica, the ground teams had already recovered Hera and were climbing back aboard through the battlestar’s crunched bows. Cavill and his personal centurion bodyguard had reached the CIC.

Gingerninja was fighting in formation with Bubba and Lela. The three of them swept along the upper surface of Galactica, clearing Raiders as they went. Bubba glanced over to his left…and saw a ring of Raiders and Heavy Raiders closing on Spire and the other four. He called over the common frequency, “Ginger, Lela, we need to go left…I see Spire and some other folks down there…”

Gingerninja: “Roger, let’s go.” The three Vipers bore to Galactica’s port side….and then they watched in horror as the Viper next to Spire’s exploded under the pounding from the Cylon guns. Spire’s Viper was blown to the right and began to spin away…over the comm, the three of them heard, “ARRRGGGGGHHH”. The other three Vipers in Spire’s formation used the explosion as cover to dive away and disengage. The Cylons seemed to hesitate, then four of them dove after Spire. Gingerninja flamed one, then another in quick succession; Bubba and Lela took down the other two. The rest of the Cylons scattered.

Gingerninja pulled up next to Spire. “Spire…you alright over there?”

There was a long pause…just as Gingerninja started to key the mike to call him again, Spire answered. “Yeah…but I’m afraid my ship’s had it.”

Gingerninja looked over the slow-turning Viper. The explosion had blown away the left wing and taken that gun with it. The nose was badly singed, the canopy had cracked, and there was visible blast damage in the hull under the canopy. As he stared, it looked as though there was leaking hydraulic fluid dripping from the gashes. The top engine was firing intermittently, and the barrel of the top cannon was visibly bent and warped.

He keyed the mike. “You’ve had it old son…we need to get you back aboard, and now. Who was that in the explosion?”

Another long pause. “Kon-X.”

Gingerninja felt himself go numb. “What the frak happened?”

There was a rasping cough over the comm. “Frakkin’ Cylons musta put a hot round into the tylium tanks, I guess…I dunno for sure. The other three were Javadog, Reaper, and Sem-Pi. Did they make it out?”

“Yes, they did. They’re headed for the ship now. We should go too…Bubba, Lela, give me cover.” The other two Vipers moved into defensive positions. Remembering a move that Starbuck had told him of from the Battle of Ragnar Anchorage, Gingerninja carefully slid the left cannon of his fighter into the nose section of Spire’s craft and, using his thrusters, turned both fighters toward Galactica.

In Galactica’s CIC, the Anders hybrid suddenly let out a prolonged scream. Tyrol looked at Tory, then lunged at her and strangled her on the spot. The Cylon centurions were thrown into confusion, and Cavill yelled “FRAK!”, put his gun in his mouth, and committed suicide.

The Raptor wing, with Ashicus and Titus, coasted to a stop on the port flight pod. Sem-Pi, Javadog, and Reaper were right behind them. As the Raptors were pushed into the maintenance deck, Titus watched as the three Vipers smacked down and used their own engines to push themselves out of the way. The three craft were heavily dented, ridden with bullet holes, and streaked with smoke. The three pilots jumped down from the cockpits and immediately turned to look out towards the landing deck…Titus hurried over to see what was happening.

Titus: (to Javadog) “What’s up?”

Javadog: “The five of us — -Spire, me, Kon-X, Reaper, and Sem-Pi — -were taking on the Cylons when there was a huge explosion in the middle of the formation. I think we lost a Viper.”

Titus: “Who?”

Javadog: “Dunno…Gingerninja, Bubba, and Lela managed to shoot the rest of them off of us. My guns are empty. Reaper and Sem-Pi are out as well, and Reaper’s Viper is badly damaged. That just leaves Spire and Kon-X.”

The pilots stood there and watched…then a strange formation of two interlinked Vipers, with two more riding outboard, came into view. Over their shoulders they heard the FTL drives start to whine…the two out-riding Vipers landed first, and the conjoined Vipers hit the deck hard and slid to a stop. Three of the four pilots emerged from their cockpits and ran to the fourth Viper, which was heavily damaged…they wrestled the pilot out and made a run for the maintenance deck, dragging the injured pilot between them….

….just as Galactica jumped away…

­­­***

Galactica resolved in the middle of nowhere. The weakened hull, further damaged by the battle, groaned and flexed heavily and began to crack apart.

On the port flight pod, Spire’s damaged Viper, without any restraints to stop it, was catapulted off the forward end of the landing deck and disappeared into space. James’ Viper, which was still attached, joined it. The rest of the Vipers collided with each other like pinballs, finally coming to rest against the inboard bulkheads of the flight pod.

On the maintenance deck, the pilots and support crew were thrown around violently. James found himself whipped forward against a bulkhead; no sooner did he shake off the dizziness of the impact than Bubba’s butt landed on his head. Lela found herself tossed on top of Mark, and Tom, Javadog, and Spire barely missed being crushed when a toolbox slammed forward into the bulkhead behind them. Throughout the ship, hull breach alarms were sounding; Galactica’s hull was breaking up.

And then…it stopped. For a moment, there was silence, save for the sound of various groans and profanities as crewmembers and pilots alike painfully pulled themselves to their feet. After a minute, Galactica’s engines could be heard firing up again.

In the pile of bodies on the maintenance deck, Spire let out a moan. James pushed Bubba off, and he and Javadog crawled over to him.

There was a piece of shrapnel in his left leg…and a slow-moving puddle of blood under it.

James remembered…the leak. It looked like hydraulic fluid… He screamed “CORPSMAN!!” at the top of his lungs, and ripped off his flight jacket, wrapping it around Spire’s leg. No corpsman responded…“HELP ME!!” he yelled; Javadog and Tom joined him. The three pilots picked up Spire and, stumbling over debris and other bodies, ran for sickbay.

The scene in sickbay was bedlam. Wounded and dead had piled up, and Cottle was a blur in his efforts to get to them all. One of the nurses reached Spire first; her tone was coldly serious. “What happened to him?”

James spoke first. “Injured in battle. He’s got serious shrapnel damage to his left leg, looks like it missed the artery but just barely. He’s bleeding out. Not sure about the bone.”

The nurse’s only answer was a curt “Got it.” She grabbed a pressure dressing off a nearby cart, then looked at James. “Hold him.”

James, Javadog, and Tom said nothing, but took Spire’s arms and legs. The nurse reached down and quickly pulled the shrapnel out…Spire let out a scream and tried to flail against the three fellow pilots. In one motion the nurse tossed away the shrapnel and clamped the pressure dressing around the wound, tying it down, and then reaching for a second one. A second nurse appeared with a hypo-needle, pressing it against Spire’s arm. He began to settle…then stopped struggling. The first nurse finished dressing the wound, then turned to the pilots. “We’ve got him sedated. Come back later.” Then she disappeared into the mass of wounded and dying…

Spire appeared to have passed out; the medical monitors showed that he was still alive, but steady. James reached down and picked up the bloodied shrapnel. Some lettering remained, visible through the blood and the smoke; he swept his hand across the metal to clear it up. It was the nameplate from the fuselage just under the canopy…the lettering read: “MAJ. KONROY XERXES — -KON-X.”

***

TWO DAYS LATER:

The fleet had returned. The extent of Galactica’s damage had been surveyed, and the news was grim. Tigh had passed the word: Galactica was never going to jump again. All of her main structural members had been damaged in the battle, and had broken in the strain of the last FTL jump. The ship was finished.

But there had been good news — -the final jump had landed them right at a new home. In the wake of the battle, Adama had ordered the few surviving Raptors planetside to conduct surveys, and the reports had come back positive: The new planet would easily support the whole of the Colonial survivor population. As the fleet materialized around them, Adama, Tigh, Lee, and selected members of the Colonial Quorum were already making preparations.

The journey was going to end here. With Galactica no longer capable of FTL speeds, the fleet running low on provisions, and the Cylon threat apparently removed, the great exodus across the universe would end on this planet for humanity’s survivors.

Back in the Warrior/Primus berthing areas, the mood was subdued. Adama himself had come down and personally thanked them all for their service. Spire had begun to try to move around; his initial efforts had been painful and clumsy, but he was regaining strength. Cottle had already made arrangements for the recovering injured, and was going to have the sickbay cleaned out and moved planetside.

The pilots began packing; what would not fit into the personal storage of the surviving Vipers would be shuttled down via Raptors and some of the smaller cargo vessels within the fleet. Nobody wanted to leave anything behind…

THREE DAYS AFTER THAT:

Javadog, Reaper, Sem-Pi, and Bubba lined up in their launch tubes. Javadog looked to the launch control officer…and saw that there was none. He keyed the mike. “Launch control, this is Javadog. Where’s my LCO?”

Silence…and then: “Java, this is Reaper. We’re on our own. The LCOs have all pretty much walked off the job…nobody to really stop them either. War’s over for us.”

“So what now?”

“So we go down to this planet, build cabins for ourselves, and live until we die. I’ll give us the count…sound off Vipers.”

“Sem-Pi, green board, ready.”

“Bubba, green, ready.”

“Javadog, green, ready.”

“And this is Reaper…green board, ready. On my count Vipers…3…2…1!”

All four Vipers left the tubes simultaneously. Javadog found himself looking back wistfully at the shattered hulk of Galactica…gun turrets were displaced or missing. Hull plates were dented, shot through, smoke-streaked, or missing outright. The starboard flight pod had a giant hole left behind by the simultaneous FTL jumps of the Raptor flight in the battle. The bows were a sorry sight, crunched and battle-scarred.

He sighed. Ya did good, old girl…ya did good. Sorry to leave you like this, but it’s time for me to go…and you too. He remembered the final brief given by Adama: “…Once the civilians have been off-loaded, the fleet will leave the orbit and rendezvous with Galactica. The course of the fleet will be plotted into the navcomputer ahead of time, but the actual piloting will be done by Mr. Anders. He’ll guide the entire fleet directly into the sun…”

The formation had passed by Galactica. Javadog shook off the funk…Time to go live the rest of my life. The Vipers headed planetside. Upon landing, they were met by Tyrol. “Okay, Viper pilots! As soon as you have dispersed to the location of your choosing and you have unloaded your ships at that location, you are to do the following!” Tyrol went through the procedures for setting the autopilots to return to Galactica…without their crews.

The pilots of the combined Warrior/Primus flight gathered for one last time. Tom was first to speak. “Well fellas…where do we want to go?”

There was a long silence…broken by James, who looked around and saw Adama, carrying the former President Roslin to a waiting Raptor. The Old Man looked very old indeed, as though the strain of the last five years had caught up with him all at once. He carried Roslin in his arms, like a child.

“I think we should follow him. It’s worked pretty well so far.”

Tom looked around. “Any other ideas?” As one, the flight said, “No.”

“Alright then. Head to your cockpits and fire up…we’re riding out to follow the Old Man, wherever it takes us.” Without a word, the pilots returned to their cockpits and lit engines. Titus and Ashicus, who had been carrying supplies (and James and Spire, as their fighters had been lost), followed.

The flight was strangely quiet. Javadog found himself gripped with the urge to do barrel rolls; the rest of the flight engaged in their own silliness, brought on by the newfound lack of stress from constant pressure of the Cylon pursuit. Only Reaper held straight and level, tracking the movements of Adama and Roslin’s Raptor…eventually the Raptor landed next to a small hill. Reaper waggled his wings, and the rest of the flight settled down and landed behind him. They watched solemnly as Adama carried Roslin to the top of the hill…and began to bury her.

Tom broke the mood. “Alright…you know what to do from here. Unload and let’s get these ships outta here.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent unloading and setting up camp. As the sun set, Javadog looked back up towards the hilltop. Adama had finished building the burial cairn for Roslin, and was sitting up there alone, staring towards the sunset…

***

ONE YEAR, POST-PLANETFALL:

Adama broke out of his fugue. The late afternoon sun was streaming through the open windows of the cabin. He looked down at his hand, still holding the “Warrior Flight” patch…he set it back into the footlocker.

Walking over towards the door, he looked down to the bottom of the hill. Four cabins had been built in the last year since the Colonial survivors abandoned the fleet…as he looked on, a fifth was under construction. The cabins were arranged in a circular pattern, spread widely so as to allow room for others. In the middle was a great campfire; Bubba and Lela were there, along with their infant child. Tom and Sem-Pi were working on the fifth cabin, and the young one known as Blast was helping. Spire emerged from one of the existing cabins; he was followed by a woman known as Katherine, who’d found her way to the settlement a month after the group had established it and had become close with him. Another young man called Nikomer was there; he’d stumbled across the settlement some three months ago and had been taken in by the group. Chris and James were sitting by the campfire with Javadog, alternating between swapping lies and trying to cook dinner.

Adama smiled. These guys were some of the best.

The sun eventually went down…and came up again the next morning. And would continue to do so forever…