“What’s that?” Cassiopeia said.
“An explosion! In the mine. Something’s setting Tylium off. We have to get the blazes out of here!”
“Oh, my God!” Cassiopeia shrieked.
Starbuck knew exactly what was going through her mind. If the tremors from the underground explosion rocked the tanker, the Tylium in its holds would—he didn’t want to think about it. The planet itself could go up. He headed the tanker toward the clouds again. If he got away from Carillon, if he got away from the perimeters of the mine explosions, if he successfully avoided pursuers, if he didn’t encounter the attacking Cylon Star Force, if he could get through any fighters attacking Galactica, if he could execute the extremely difficult landing of a tanker full of volatile fuel upon the deck of a besieged battlestar—if he could do all that, everything else was easy. All he had to do then was climb in his viper and go off and join his buddies in the suicidal battle against the Cylons. Not to worry, he told himself, everything was just hunky-dory.
A second, more powerful explosion rocked the tanker.
“Oh, no!” Cassiopeia yelled, looking out the side window. Starbuck could see fire reflections on the glass and he knew immediately that something down on the Carillon surface, perhaps the mine itself, was on fire, and perhaps setting off chain reactions all along the surface of the planet. He aimed the tanker for a particularly dark cloud. As he went into it, he passed a Cylon warship coming out. He could sense it swinging around to follow, even though he now could see nothing but cloud outside any portal.
Apollo sliced a Cylon ship into ragged, burning fragments. Glancing to his left, he saw Jolly’s plane in trouble.
“Look out on your wing, Jolly,” he cried.
“Which one,” Jolly responded. “They’re coming in from all over the place. They’re—”
Jolly was interrupted by a hit on his tail. His fighter started rocking from side to side.
“There’s too many of ’em, Skipper,” Greenbean shouted.
“What do you mean, too many?” Jolly said. “I’m here, aren’t I? Watch out at three o’clock, Skipper.”
Apollo evaded the Cylon with a sweep left, a quarter turn and a spin to the right. Coming out of the spin, he opened fire, cleaving his attacker across the middle. Both pieces started to go out of control and fall toward Carillon. Another Cylon fighter started tracking his wake and firing, and he put his viper into a reverse loop, coming down on the Cylon from above and running a line of fire along the top of the entire aircraft. A sudden explosion and the Cylon ship had been instantly transfigured to debris.
In the distance he could see one of the fighters of the Blue squadron shattering under the fire of eight Cylon attackers.
“Don’t think we can hold out much longer, Captain,” Jolly shouted. “Monk just bought it.”
“Do your best.”
“I’m doing miracles, sir, but it’s not—”
Jolly’s sentence got cut off by a trio of swooping Cylons. Apollo couldn’t wait around to see the outcome of the attack, because he was abruptly faced by a dozen of the enemy trying to make him the spoke of their pinwheel attack.
A bridge officer reported to Adama that four of the Cylon ships that had sneaked onto the surface of Carillon were now emerging from the cloud cover, apparently to join the alien armada and attack the Galactica’s squadron from behind. However, they did not count on the artillery on the Galactica and the luxury liner Rising Star. Catching the Cylon craft as they attempted a flyby, both large ships opened fire with long-range beams. The four ships exploded almost simultaneously. The crews on the Galactica bridge cheered.
“Another unidentified vessel approaching,” Tigh said. “Looks like, yes, it’s one of those Ovion freighters. Could they be launching an attack? Might be trouble. Should I order it fired on?”
“NO!” screamed Athena from the communications console. “It’s Starbuck. He just radioed. He’s bringing a Tylium load.”
“A Tylium load. Here? In the middle of combat?” Tigh said, incredulous.
Adama laughed, a bizarre sound to the crew around him, who had not heard him laugh so heartily for some time.
“That’s Starbuck. Prepare the landing deck. Well, prepare it!”
The bridge crew sprang into action.
“Oh, no!” Athena screamed, as she stared at the scanner screen.
Just beyond the tanker a Cylon fighter had broken from the Carillon cloud cover, heading directly for Starbuck’s ship.
“No, he can’t be killed!” Athena yelled.
From another corner of the screen a viper, just launched from the Galactica, appeared.
“That’s Boomer’s ship,” Tigh cried.
Boomer’s viper raced on a course to intercept the Cylon that was zeroing in on Starbuck. On the Galactica’s bridge, everybody held their breaths simultaneously. Just as it seemed the Cylon fighter would open fire on the tanker. Boomer guided his ship to a position in between the Cylon and the tanker, and opened fire. In a second the Cylon ship was a collection of specks that looked like momentary jamming interference on the viewing screen. Another cheer went up from the bridge crew.
“Look at that, will you, Tigh?” Adama said, pointing to the screen. Then he gestured toward other screens showing Cylon aircraft being hit by the smaller but more maneuverable Colonial Fleet vipers. “We’re doing it. This ship, it’s, I don’t know, it’s—”
“Coming back to life,” Athena said, coming up beside her father.
“That’s exactly it, it’s as if the Galactica’s been sick, tainted by running away from the battle. Now we’re proving ourselves again, we’re—”
“Wait!” Tigh said. “Listen!”
He turned up a volume switch. Boomer’s voice literally boomed throughout the bridge.
“Hey you guys, move over. Let me have some of this.”
“Boomer!” Apollo said. “Where you been?”
“You know darn well where I’ve been. On your lousy milk run.”
On the screen Boomer’s viper started blasting at a trio of Cylon ships, all of which seemed to explode at the same time.
“Boom… boom… boom,” Boomer said.
“Hey Boomer,” Apollo said. “Welcome home.”
Apollo’s ship streaked into the picture. His and Boomer’s craft seemed to touch wings as they headed toward a line of Cylon fighters.
“Hey guys,” Jolly shouted, “we’ve got a fighting chance.”
“You know it!” Boomer shouted. “In a minute we’re gonna be filling this sky with fire!”
Adama turned toward Tigh.
“Jolly’s right,” he said. “We’ve got more than a chance. Are all our people back on board?”
“When Starbuck gets here with the fuel freighter, that oughta be everybody. Nobody else reporting in from Carillon. Things are bad down there anyway. Explosions.” Tigh paused. “God, we lost a lot of people down there.”
Adama nodded.
“Yep,” he said, “and all that I can think of to say is, we’ve seen worse. Not very comforting. But we’re turning it around now. I can feel it. We’ll get those slimy—the Galactica’s alive again, do you understand, Tigh, do you?”
Tight looked at his commander as if he thought him on the verge of madness, but he nodded agreement anyway.
On the screens Cylon ships were blowing up all over the sky, as the human pests inside their vipers slipped in and out of the enemy’s traps.
Concentrating their attention on a separate screen, Adama and Athena watched Starbuck’s approach to the landing deck.
“Easy, boy,” Adama muttered.
“Don’t blow it now, bucko, please, please don’t blow it now,” Athena whispered.
The tanker seemed too large, too bulky for a smooth landing, especially under the present battle conditions.
“He’s got to make it, Dad!” Athena cried.
“You’re right there. If he doesn’t, there’ll be a hole in the side of this battlestar big enough to send it ou
t of commission for a good long time, maybe forever. Watch it, Starbuck. That’s right. Good. Easy, now.”
One miscue, one bad bounce on the Galactica’s deck, and the tanker was sure to explode. And Starbuck was already notorious for flashy landings. Just before the ship made contact with the deck, both Adama and Athena inhaled sharply and audibly.
“C’mon, bucko,” Tigh whispered.
Starbuck eased the tanker onto the deck so smoothly, so delicately, the fuel ship appeared weightless. When it gently glided to a stop, another unanimous cheer went up from the bridge crew. Adama could not help smiling.
“Precision flying?” Athena said to him.
“Exactly!” Adama shouted.
Starbuck ran down the gangway as the crew began unloading the tanker, rapidly but delicately. Athena’s jubilant mood was momentarily diminished when she saw the tall socialator, looking quite self-satisfied, follow Starbuck down the gangway. But her anger was brief. At least Starbuck was alive. That was what counted.
* * *
Starbuck joined the battle by paying back Boomer his favor. One after the other he wiped out four Cylon ships that had Boomer caught in a pinwheel attack.
“Anybody want to fly over and touch me for luck?” Starbuck yelled.
“Starbuck….” Apollo said.
“Yo!”
“On your tail.”
He looked over his shoulder. A Cylon fighter coming in from each side.
“Nothing to worry about,” he said. But a Cylon laser torpedo came too close and the explosion sent Starbuck’s ship rocking. He banked it over and away from the pair of Cylons, who continued pursuit.
“Boomer,” Apollo said, “you give him a hand?”
“Again? Well, I’m trying.”
Boomer swung over and began firing.
“Don’t take too long, Boomer,” Starbuck said.
Another explosion shook Starbuck’s ship. Boomer got the attacker in his sights and pulled the trigger with a vengeance. The Cylon fighter made a thousand beautiful little pieces.
“C’mon, Starbuck, Boomer,” Apollo yelled. “Let’s triple-team ’em.”
The three fighters quickly formed a triangular formation much like the one they’d used in blazing the path through the mine field, and they swept down together on the wall of Cylon ships, shooting left and right, up and down. Cracks seemed to form in the Cylons ranks. A series of explosions joined many of the close-flying craft. Apollo, Starbuck, and Boomer all together went into a tight turn and fled the counterattack.
“That’s a few for the Atlantia,” Starbuck said.
“And for Zac,” Apollo said.
Other vipers from the Red and Blue squadrons came together and blasted away at the Cylon spacecraft. The wall of menace was quickly becoming a wall of fire and shattered fighters, Starbuck thought, as he swooped down on still another sitting duck target.
* * *
On the bridge the reports came in so fast that they were difficult to assimilate. Adama felt at the center of a vast network of communications.
“Commander! Scanner shows a series of mammoth explosions on the surface of Carillon. Half the planet is blowing up, looks like!”
A screen displayed the large fires on the planet’s surface. Another one showed many explosions occurring in the sky above the mine.
“What’re those?” Adama asked.
“Not sure, but we think it’s the rest of the Cylon war party that sneak-attacked us down there. Appears they all didn’t take off before the mine explosions started.”
“Commander,” Tigh report, “the Cylon Supreme Star Force seems to be retreating, at least for the moment. Should we give pursuit? All our pilots are begging to pursue.”
Adama wanted to give the order to pursue, but it was too dangerous to let the vipers get too far away from the main fleet.
“No,” he said, “we must conserve our resources. There’s too much to do yet.”
“Should I order the vipers to return to base?”
“No, we better go out and meet them. Contact the Rising Star and the other ships. Tell them we’re all heading through the minefield corridor. We’ve got to get out of this trap, then set all ships for the hyperspace jump back. I don’t know for sure what’s going on down on Carillon, but we can’t afford to take chances—we’ve got to get moving in case the whole planet blows up. It gets any worse down there and, what with a working minefield on one side and an exploding planet on the other, we’d be between the devil and the deep blue.”
“Yes, sir,” Tigh said. “I’m on it.”
Adama raced around the bridge as they set their course for the minefield corridor. He barked orders, directing the assembling of the fleet, the tricky flight through the minefield, and the subsequent landing of the flight squadrons.
The new crisis developed almost as soon as all the ships were outside the minefield. The Cylons had reassembled, rebuilt their attacking wall, and were heading back toward the fleet.
Adama turned to Apollo.
“All right, Captain,” he said, “what’s our potential? Can we give them a good fight, Apollo?”
Apollo punched out the information on the board below the main scanner, examined the data that came up on the screen.
“I’m afraid not, sir. There’s still too many of them. In the long run, they’d wear us down. If we hadn’t just been through a fight, we might be able to do something, but just now—”
“All right, all right. After the last time, I hate like hell to retreat from another battle. I don’t want the military record of the Galactica to be tainted again.”
“Sir, it’s hardly taint when we’re saving what’s left of the human race.”
“That’s what I said the first time.”
“You have the knack of always being right.”
Apollo and Adama exchanged smiles. Adama saw, over his son’s shoulders, that his daughter endorsed Apollo’s words.
“And anyway,” Starbuck interjected, “you know the old maxim: we’re not retreating, we’re just advancing in another direction.”
“All right then, we’ll make the hyperspace jump in—”
“Sir, there isn’t time,” Tigh said. “The Cylons’ll close in on us before we can all make the jump. We have to set up a diversionary action.”
“The Red squadron’ll take care of that,” Apollo said, then waited for Adama’s response. After a brief moment, the commander nodded agreement.
“All right,” he said, “but the Galactica’ll be the last ship to make the jump. Rest of the fleet’ll go first. Apollo, you take your squadron out there and stall them, then get back here in time for the jump. Those are your orders.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” Apollo began running to the elevators leading to the bridge, shouting back to Starbuck at the communications console, “Assemble Red!”
“Jolly and Greenbean’re gonna love this,” muttered Starbuck as he set the alert claxon ringing.
There was a moment of quiet on the bridge as everybody watched the pilots scrambling toward their launch cribs, and the fighters, now refueled and made ready by the Galactica’s efficient flight crews, starting down the tubes.
Suddenly, as if to add insult to injury, Tigh shouted out, “Oh, my God!”
“What is it, Tigh?”
“This is terrible. I just sent a message back through the secret transmission channel to the rest of the fleet, the ships we left behind. They sent back this.” He waved the report under Adama’s nose. “An attack against them has just commenced. A group of Cylon warships’re surrounding them and’ve begun firing.”
“Have they any chance?”
“If they can hold off until we make the jump back there.”
Adama turned toward Starbuck.
“Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Assemble the Blue Squadron. I want it ready for a fight as soon as we make the jump.”
“Aye, aye, sir!”
Starbuck, waving back at Athena, made his run
to the elevators.
For the next few minutes, as the fleet made preparations for the hyperspace jump, and Apollo’s squadron blasted away at the Cylon attackers, and the Blue squadron made ready then settled themselves into gee-couches for the hyperspace jump, the bridge of the Galactica was ablaze with activity.
The timing had to be exact, and it was. As Apollo’s squadron returned to the Galactica after their hit-and-run assault, the initial prejump mechanisms were set. After the returning pilots were safely ensconced in gee-couches, the jump was made.
A long moment passed, then suddenly the Galactica found itself in the middle of the Cylon attack on the rest of the fleet ships. Starbuck and his squadron raced to their launch cribs, boarded their ships, and catapulted themselves into the battle. The Cylons, so adept at ambush, seemed surprised at finding themselves under sudden and unexpected fire.
If the Cylon’s Imperious Leader could have viewed the battle activity aboard the Galactica, he would have been struck by the contrast on his own ship. Even the messages along his communication network had dwindled since the humans had begun fighting back, and winning. The losses on the Cylon side had no correspondence with any defeats in their previous history. Since his third-brain had more time than usual to contemplate the nature of his defeat, he could trace his mistakes quite far back. It occurred to him that his supreme mistake seemed to be dealing with humans in the first place. However he tried to interpret the meaning of the defeat, his mind returned to the havoc wrought by the human pest.
The universe had been in order until the humans had started asserting themselves. Even then, the Cylons had avoided actual encounters for some time. When they had tried to convince the humans to leave those areas in space they had usurped, the humans had not listened to reason. There had been no solution but war. Although the Cylons had made the first attack, it was in fact the humans who had precipitated the war by their stubborn interference in Cylon affairs and their refusal to give up their colonies and go back to whatever sector of the universe they came from.
[Battlestar Galactica Classic] - Battlestar Galactica Page 24
