The Chrome Berets

[Wraith]

Planet Virgon, Athena City
1/10/48 1500

   Major Catlett watched as the shuttles landed. Word went out that what happened on Virgon had been done to all the Colonies. Eric was pissed that the inner colonies had simply rolled over and died. He expected more from the other tribes, who always derided the Virgonians for their lack of fight. Then he heard that the Galactica was the last Battlestar, and how the Pacifica was lost with all hands aboard. He had to force himself to hold back tears when he heard that. His daughter, Tabitha was serving aboard the Pacifica. He had been lucky; except for Tabitha, his family was alive and well, safe in a bunker below Lake Desire. The Cylons were so busy fighting that they had not bothered to look for the shelters. Not that it would do them any good. The bunkers were sealed and protected by crack VDF units. The Cylons would not get to them before they were evacuated to safe shelters. The evacuation of humans from the colonies was a true sign of defeat. Eric wasn’t willing to accept defeat, there was still a hell of a lot of fight left in the VDF. He wiped some sweat from his forehead as he watched two more squadrons of attack helicopters fly into the ruins of Athena City. The nimble VH-26 ‘Cuda was easily more than a match for any Cylon Raiders inside the twisted ruins of the city. Their tactic of hiding among the confused broken buildings, hunting for any Cylon Raiders they could find, made them as valuable as any Viper. It was able to hide behind buildings and “pop up” attack them as they flew through. This was cause of great concern for the Cylons, who had never met the ‘Cuda before. It was a delightful surprise indeed. So far the ‘Cuda squadrons had taken heavy toll on Cylon tanks and artillery. The fact that the Cylons had been stopped before reaching Harmony Base was due largely to the ‘Cuda. The Naval assets left on Virgon were being diverted to help stop the Cylons in the Port Devotion front. Eric was having to pull mothballed weapons systems out of wherever he could find them to make something happen.
   He pulled down his helmet visor as he heard a cry for help from a listening post, he was about to take a Bruno transport into battle to rescue those guys, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

Colonial Frigate Arc Royale
Ragnar Anchorage Graving Yard
1/10/48 2315

   The graving yard at Ragnar Anchorage wasn’t manned. That came as a disappointment to the crew of the Arc. They had hoped for some help with the repairs but in the end, the DC (Damage Control) teams and ships engineers were faced with the task. The Chief Engineer estimated two days of hard work would get them back into the fight, though it wouldn’t be pretty. Captain Raul Gonzalez wasn’t concerned with how the Arc looked, he just wanted to get back to Picon and do what he could to defend his family. The rest of his battle group could go on to whatever destination they wanted, but he was determined to get home.
   “Captain, we have in inbound signal, could be Colonial, I'm not sure.” His DRADIS operator said. The DRADIS board mirrored onto the giant glass screen that they normally housed their tactical display on.
   “Have the Corvette, Liberty, intercept it and tell us what it is.” Raul ordered.
   “Sir, I have confirmation, its the Defiance.” The DRADIS operator said smiling.
   “Tell them welcome, and send to Defiance Actual, I want to see him when he has time.”
   “Aye sir…” the DRADIS operator sent the message and waited. In a moment he handed the Captain the reply. “Defiance Actual Killed In Combat, First Officer Domiano commanding.”
   Raul crumpled the paper in his hand and let it drop. His friend since childhood had been killed. He had no other family other than Ronald LeCroix. This war just got personal. “Tell all teams to hurry repairs, we are going back in, and I want to get in this war again NOW!” Raul pounded the rail around his command chair with his fist. He tried to fight back the tears, but they ran down his cheeks. He pounded the rail again, and again. The rage was so hard to contain, he had to hurt something. Inside him, the gentleman fought the animal, and he shook trying to get control of his temper. The rest of the bridge crew saw the big man taking it hard and gave him respectful distance and silence. He appreciated the First Officer of the Defiance for his tact in not broadcasting the death of his friend openly. He would have to thank him later.

Medea Island, 500 miles from Port Harmony, Athena’s Island
1/11/48 0500

   The climb was the toughest thing Jeff had ever done, but he felt so relieved when he got to the top. Along the way he had met six other refugees and together, they had made it to the top of Mt. Gilgamesh. It was colder up here, the wind tore at them and they had little concealment. The had made a makeshift camp fifty meters down from the peak, where the scrub brush still lined the side of the volcano.
   Talking with the others, Jeff learned that he had a retired Warrior with him, a veteran of the Cylon War who had lost his arm. The replacement arm looked really good and Jeff could hardly tell it wasn’t real. It certainly didn’t hinder him any, and in fact, they had come up with a plan to use the bio-mechanical charging system of his arms battery to power the emergency radio once the radio’s battery died. It wasn’t a good plan, but it would work for low power short burst messages. If he sent only text messages, it might work. So he climbed to the top and began his first emergency transmission. “CQ CQ, this is Captain Slattery, VDF calling anyone who can hear me, CQ CQ.” He waited. Nothing. He knew as much, it just wasn’t able to make contact with the Predator. He walked back to the camp and nearly dropped the radio when he saw one of the refugees talking on a satellite cellular phone. His radio wasn’t designed to work off satellites, it was line of sight, for security. However, he was stunned by the simplicity of the civilians solution. He sat down and laughed as he asked if he could borrow their phone.

Chapter 8
Arrivals and Departures

BSG-01 Battlestar Avalon
1/11/48 1000

   Brandt marked off the progress as it happened. Avalon’s shields were refit with the new “Focus” shield array. The equipment was basically carried in and bolted in place on the Avalon’s barn like bridge. The cable and emitters were harder to install and they ended up cannibalizing the old electron screen electronics. That meant no secondary shields, but with the rhino hide of the Avalon, it wasn’t necessary. The prototype “Prowler” fighters were loaded, though the weapons pods they used were having to be painted black to prevent them from getting mixed up with the weapons pods the older Vipers used. The engines were being refit with a new core and larger fuel pumps, that was good. It meant the giant alligator could outrun a Basestar. The might come as a surprise for the Cylons, if they remembered Avalon as being slow and clumsy. The missile tubes were still empty and she had no up to date weapons control software, but the technicians at Arcadia were installing some kind of strange round mushroom in the middle of his bridge. They claimed it would project a three dimensional image of the combat zone, complete with little likenesses of the ships involved, as well as display data about them, such as speed, damage taken, course, heading, probable heading, and suggested maneuvers. He could do without the suggestions, but the rest sounded great. IF it worked. He was delighted, not bad for a days work, but then, they had two hundred of the best brains in the Colonies working around the clock, and his DC and engineers were working with them every step of the way. In another two days, they would be off to Ragnar Anchorage to re-supply their missiles and guns.
   He tried to lean back a little but the command chair was still broken. He spilled his coffee and cursed. This was some damn good coffee, even cold. The new cook from Arcadia knew how to make soldiers coffee. That, he smiled, was the best upgrade they had made since arriving.

[Wraith]

Planet Virgon, Athena City
1/11/48 0900

   The bottom floor of the Dymands Department Store was buried four stories below ground, in the heavily reinforced foundation of the high rise. Dymands had always prided itself on having the latest styles as well as being the most lavish shopping center in Athena City. Among its expensive fashions, it also sold the latest electronics and entertainment devices. The communications suite of the Dymands Store was also state of the art. The satellite dish array was now in ruins, but the powerful transmitter and receivers were hidden in the basement, along with two young Virgonians. The young boy now typing away on a state of the art lap top was responsible for the replacement dish that was now sitting under a camouflage net in the rubble of the building. His friend, and hopefully girl friend, Sarah, was making some hot dogs and beans on a cooker plate they had also stolen from the store ruins.
   “Ok, Sarah, I think I have their codes down. Want to watch as I test it?” he asked. Sarah nodded setting the pan down and walking over. She leaned over the make shift desk, pushing her glasses up onto the top of her head. Danny tried not to stare at her lips as she leaned closer. He had the biggest crush on her. Sarah had straight blond hair and green eyes with smooth clear skin. She looked so girl-next-door with her cute good looks and her pink pouty lips, Danny found himself often zoning out when she was talking, looking at her lips and day dreaming about kissing them. He was still thinking of that when she pulled off her tee shirt and bent over to pick up the VR helmet. He helped her to plug in the VR suit she wore, which looked so sexy on her that he had to bite his lip to keep from making a silly noise he made when he was excited.
   They both stood looking at each other through the visor of their helmets before they both waved their hands in front of their faces activating the VR suits. They “saw” the internet connection appear in front of them. It was neon pink in Sarah’s visor, a greenish blue in Danny’s. They saw the command line interface hovering just above their heads to the right. To the left, they saw the current URL address they were occupying. He put both hands in front of him and mimed opening a book, the action opened a program he had loaded in his RAM drive he wore on his hip. Sarah also wore a RAM drive on her hip, but Danny thought it looked sexy on her, though just why he couldn’t explain.
   She turned to face him and looked at the holographic display that hovered in front of him. It was translating data faster than a normal program could. Because it was already loaded into RAM, it could be accessed far faster than a program loaded from Crystal-Drive. As a result, it was able to flex and bend and wrap around the code bases that the Cylon command codes assumed in virtual space. The actual process of how programs work in VR was hard to understand for basically 99% of the population, but the result was a totally object oriented environment, where commands were selected, initiated, and stopped by the shape and position of an object. To understand how a program worked, was to understand how to shape the object that represented the program. Danny had crafted his first program at the age of seven, but it was just a simple file copy program. He crafted it to look like a light switch and snuck into the VR class room office and replaced the simple “light switch” object on the teachers office with it. Needless to say, it made studying for tests far easier. He was able to download everything that the instructors were working on. Since the majority of Colonial citizens were still afraid of the net VR internet, only a small fraction actually utilized the VR portion, hence the command line interface. It was planned that in time, the CLI would be eliminated.
   Shannon watched as the hack program began to glow the same color as the Cylon comm. program. It was bright red, and she looked up at Danny excited. They had been working together all day and night to make the hack program work right. They were not sure what the result would be, but it seemed like they cold at least do SOMETHING to fight the Cylons.
   “Ok, it works, its interfaced fully with their comm. program, now what?” she asked. Danny shrugged. He hadn’t gotten that far in his plans.
   “How about we screw with them.” Danny offered. He reached back and “selected” a music program he knew Sarah loved. He activated the program and entered the command ‘Dance’ into the Cylon comm. line. Sarah giggled and he saw her disappear as she pulled off her helmet and shut off her VR suit. Danny did the same and together they climbed the stairs to the bottom floor. They climbed the top of the second floor debris and looked out over the surrounding area with the field glasses they stole. For about a hundred yards around, the half dozen Cylons the saw were doing some odd movements that at first looked like they were short circuiting. Sarah laughed as she realized, that was the machines interpretation of dancing. They laughed and pointed at the Centurions before going back into the basement. Danny jacked back in and together they removed the dance command and entered two simple commands, ‘Leave’ and ‘Ignore Humans’. They went back to the look out point and were delighted to see the Cylon guards turn and walk away, ignoring them entirely. “By the Lords… do you realize what we could do if we could tap their entire network?” Sarah asked hugging Danny. She kissed him hard, fully and lovingly, and Danny blushed feeling his toes curl. He looked at her wondering if she really felt that way, or if it was just the moment.

Planet Virgon, Port Devotion
1/11/48 1100

   Cecil and his 4th Armored were falling back regularly. Even with the audacity of the civil defense corps, the Colonials were being pushed back to the South. There was a large group of civilians boarding shuttles to escape the war not more than a eighty miles behind the lines. They had to hold the Cylons back, there was simply no other way. He ordered his tank squad to form up on him and they pushed up out of their cantonments and charged the Titans. The infantry on their sides also charged the Cylon infantry. From his hatch he watched the infantry engage the Cylon infantry hand to hand. The swords of the Cylons cleaved and the automatic pistols of the Colonials raged. Inside the turret, he told his gunner to fire at will and Cecil turned his attention to his anti-personnel machine gun. He began to cleave into the endless lines of Centurions. His driver didn’t bother with turning or maneuvering. He drove straight into them, crushing them and grinding them under his treads. To his sides the surviving tanks of his squad were doing the same. The poured on the heat, one of the tanks firing off thermite rounds, creating fires that burned at several thousand degrees. The Centurions in the area melted or ignited immediately. The Titans stopped their advance as did the Centurions. The line temporarily stalled. The sudden aggression of the Colonials stunned the Cylon command, but they would not stay stalled for long. Cecil and his crews were buying time, trying to ensure the safety of the refugees.
   Corporal Pyke held a 3.2mm machine gun in his arms. Behind him his buddy, Lance Corporal Krump was carrying a huge backpack with a link belt that ran to the machine gun. As they ran, Pyke sprayed the area with the machine gun and Krump fired off thermite grenades with his rifle mounted grenade launcher. The were clearing a swath nearly sixty yards wide and almost seventy yards long. Everything in the field of fire was instantly shredded. Anything not shredded was incinerated. The civil defense corps followed on, killing anything outside their field of fire. Off to the side, the Comets were blasting a path wider and longer, but it wasn’t about the size of the field of fire, it was about maintaining it. Pyke knew that he was eventually going to run out of ammo, and that Krump was going to melt his grenade launchers barrel. He figured that the Comets were getting low on fuel and ammo. He only hoped that the Cylons were even lower on fuel and ammo.
   Eleven more Marines joined Pyke on the top of a grassy knoll. They stood side by side, each carrying the same needle machine gun. They were spraying the area to the North as fast as they could. The ammo low light began to blink on Pyke’s gun. “Reload!” he yelled at the top of his voice. One of the civil defense troops ran from the hidden tunnel entrance with a back pack of ammo. While Pyke fired at targets as fast as he could, the CDC trooper switched out the link belt to the feed lip of the fresh backpack. Pyke didn’t bother to say thanks, or hi or anything. He was far too busy. The same scene was being played out by the other Marines. They were expending the ammo as fast as they could, making a wall of needles which cut down Centurions as fast as they reached the top of the hill. The pile of chrome plated wreckage was becoming deep, difficult to climb over or around, and the Cylons were forced to expend troops to dig a path through the line of their dead. The advantage of being on a steep hill gave the Colonials a definite advantage. They could not fire back at the Colonials while climbing the hill face. The way the hill behind the Cylons was so steep and close, it prevented Cylon artillery from assisting the Cylon infantry. With the Comets driving the Cylon tanks back, it was becoming a meat grinder for the Cylons. They were losing troops faster then they could replace them. It wasn’t a perfect situation for the Colonials however, the Marines were already running on empty, having been fighting steadily for nearly 48 hours without food or sleep or proper hydration. Many had fallen, exhausted, unable to fight anymore, and were being cared for at the emergency infirmary. Pyke and his squad were one of three platoons left in this area. Being Recon, they were far more accustomed to long term endurance tests like this, than the CDC troopers, who were working in shifts. Even so, the fatigue was taking effect and the Marines were slowing in their reactions, running out of energy.

[Wraith]

Planet Virgon, Port Devotion
1/11/48 1100

   The Centurion reporting to Satan had no delusions that his Command unit was going to be pleased with the report. The losses in the drive South were staggering. The Titan tanks were bogging down in the soft marshy valley North of the shuttle base that they were pushing toward. The number of Centurions lost in the drive for hill 338 was also staggering. The losses could not be sustained and were certainly not replaceable. The loss of the landing barge was unthinkable, a situation they had never planned for. The in-ability to launch and orbit a communications relay was also a sore spot. The preliminary assault forces had only two more satellite units to launch, then they would be out of rockets and that meant that all communication with the rest of the invasion fleet would be lost permanently.
   “By Your Command.” He reported dutifully.
   “Report Centurion.” Satan said holding his head in the manner similar to that of a human nursing a headache. He wasn’t sure exactly why this posture felt so appropriate, but it did seem to help in the situation. The last report from the landing barge said that there was a Basestar en-route to assist with ground assault. The ground forces seemed to be fighting the very planet itself. Satan was not one of the religious cast of Cylons that believed in some form of higher intelligence, like a God, but he was beginning to think there was something to those crazy beliefs. So far the ground was sucking his tank crews down, the air was corroding his Centurions, and the atmosphere was ionized enough that the makeshift relay he was using to maintain communications with the front on Port Harmony was not able to maintain encrypted transmissions. Everything was being relayed in analog, which meant that the Colonials were likely able to decode the orders being given to the Command Unit assigned to that front. Another thing that was clear, was that the Colonials were probably familiar with the status of the Cylon forces on that front. With the reports coming back, Satan was fairly sure that the Port Harmony forces were facing the famous 24th Guards Mechanized Division. In the last invasion of Virgon, the 24th had been instrumental in the defense of the Port and the repulsion of Cylon forces from Virgon’s single moon that the Cylons had tried to use as a base. That plan had not worked out well, as a stationary forward base was impossible to defend. Virgonian forces, non-military to be sure, had strapped bombs to themselves and had infiltrated the base and detonated themselves. The lack of gravity on the moon had played havoc on the Cylon damage control teams and the Raiders burned in the solium bomb debris. It was a total loss and the plan to occupy the moon as a base was discarded this time without so much as a discussion.
   “The attack on the valley 731.676 has ground to a halt. The loss rate has exceeded projections by a factor of eleven. Also, the loss of the barge included the heavy bombers and the fuel. In order to continue the attack, we must find a way to get the solium from objective Farm to this location. The fuel issue is critical on the Port Harmony front. The Command Unit there has rationed the Titans use to emergency use only due to a lack of fuel. There is however one more thing you should know. There is a strong storm cell due in two days. It will certainly complicate the situation.”

   Satan could have sworn, for a moment or two, that he felt some odd sensation  similar to a migraine. He hated this stupid planet. He hated this stupid war, and most of all he hated his stupid Supreme Commander. Things couldn’t be going worse, and he was going to die on this miserable water planet. Life wasn’t fair.
   “Pull forces back from 731.676 and begin a general retreat back to this port. Inform the Port Harmony forces that they are on their own. Centurion, you are responsible for getting that fuel here, you have unlimited authority, make it happen!” Satan turned away from the Centurion in rage. It wasn’t this models fault, all of this. But he was experiencing what could only be described as emotions. Even his core processing was being effected by this damned planet.

Planet Virgon, Port Harmony
1/13/48 0340

   The rain had finally let up. The last two days were almost peaceful. Even the fires that had been burning steadily since the initial bombing raids had smoldered and many were nearly out. The monsoon was timely and helpful. The Colonials had let up their attacks, the Galactica had come and gone and taken away many of the damned militia that IL666 had been facing. He knew well enough that the 24th was still out there, and from what he understood, they were reinforced by the 3rd Armored Division, which was now little more than a heavy Battalion, having lost 33 of their initial 54 tanks. The Titans were good at killing those pesky Comets. The Titans had superior armor and heavier guns. Mordred had been wise enough to use them more sparingly than Satan, his commanding officer. Satan had tried the massed armored attacks and had paid the price. Mordred however, consolidated them more as mobile artillery and was only using small battle groups of five at a time to engage the Comets. The losses mounted only when the Colonials pulled out of Port Harmony and let his armor roll in. They changed tactics on him and engaged his Titans with those strange craft with the rotary wings, what they called helicopters. The Colonials called them ‘Cuda’s after their predatory fish that prowled the coasts. They were a great weapon and when asked the last time what he needed to advance his front and destroy the Colonials, Mordred couldn’t help but say a squadron of ‘Cuda Helicopters would do the trick nicely. He tried to resolve the situation in his second brain, which was of high quality, up-graded from its original configuration with special parts and customizations, till it was nearly the capacity of a third brain. That advantage was definitely… He stopped to consider the word carefully.
   The clouds were parting slightly and he was able to see a few stars through them with his filtered optics. The weather was improving. From under the awning of the bombed out monorail station, he looked the maps over, seeing the fresh marks on it from the most recent Intel dumps. The Colonials had fallen back through a forested area between a mountain range and Athena City. A small river ran through that area, but he was not going to risk trying to cross it any time soon. The recent rains had no doubt swollen the rivers banks and the Colonials would surely blow the bridges in the area before they got close enough to secure them. Not knowing the banks and the way the shores shifted after monsoons, he was sure that his attack would fail. That idiot Satan was urging him to attack, but he would not. The monsoons had helped alright, helped the Colonials. Like everything on this damned planet, even the weather was against the Empire. In the distance he heard the ammunition plant near the Port itself explode. The Colonial Jaguars had finally found it. He didn’t care, it was mostly just shells for the C-9360 artillery pieces that he didn’t have anyhow. There was nothing there he couldn’t stand to lose, so the Colonials might claim some victory, but they had lost at least three squadrons trying to get at it. He felt some satisfaction at their mindless insistence to destroy something simply because they assigned some kind of value to it. It didn’t seem to occur to these humans that just because THEY placed value on something did not mean the Cylons did.
   He called his APC to the monorail station and ordered his command staff to ride along. He wanted to survey the front from the top of one of the mountains they controlled. If he could find a flank to roll over, he cold get into Athena City within two days, that would break the line on the Colonials and put pressure on their forward air bases. Meanwhile, his engineers were trying to get at least one or two of the surface vessles combat ready, they had to find that carrier task force and direct the Basestar’s weapons onto it. Those carrier based fighters were causing him no end of grief. If he could neutralize that task force, that would shift the air war into his favor. He could finally get his three bombers off the ground and start mass bombing on the humans. But until those interceptors were eliminated, he dared not play that card. The Colonials were flying a new craft that captured Colonial pilots had informed his interrogators was called the Fantan. He wasn’t sure what a Fantan was in Virgonian, but he was sure it was probably something equally lethal as the ‘Cuda. He cursed the Supreme Commanders serial number again. They were behind the curve in both numbers and technology. All the energy weapons and all the new armor and the new model Centurions were not helping in this low tech guerrilla style war they were fighting. It was a war of attrition now and by the numbers, the Colonials had many times more troops to lose. He knew his position was hopeless unless he could shift the causality of the war to something that favored the Empire. Fighting over land was pointless and that’s what the Colonials had succeeded in making this. The war for resources had ground down into an ugly stalemate for land. Once he took Athena City, and its solium storage, he could rest up his troops, fall back, and consolidate his line. Within a month, he could fortify the Port Harmony base and begin to isolate and destroy resistance. First, though, he needed fuel and food, which, thankfully for the Empire, were one and the same.

Battlestar Avalon, Ragnar Anchorage
1/11/48 0715

   Danson sipped his coffee watching the forward holographic projector. It showed the outline of the Ragnar Station, but the engineering teams were still fiddling with something or another and it wasn’t a clear picture. He tried to eat another bite of the jelly roll that the new cook had brought him, but it had gone hard while it sat and he put it back down.
   “Con, signal, bearing dead ahead, offset 16 kilometers Z axis, contact reports Colonial signals, possibly the Whaley sir.” The young con officer reported. The young man tapped his headset. “New report, it’s the Liberty sir, part of the Arc Royale task force.” The young officer was delighted to hear another ships signal.
   “Combat, this is CNC, plot me firing solutions on the new signals, stand by with missile tubes ten through fifteen. Con signal Liberty with our designation code, interrogate their computers if they do not respond immediately. We cant take the chance that this is a Cylon trap.”
   “Sir, it’s the Arc Royale, requesting to talk to Avalon Actual.”
   “Ask them… no tell them to stand by.” Danson said bitterly. He pushed the intercom button to. “Captain to the bridge, set condition 2. Battle stations, battle stations, this is not a drill, all hands to battle stations prepare for ship to ship action. Gunnery crews spin up tubes, all turrets target solutions and stand by.”
   “Brandt to Danson, I'm on my way, what’s the situation?” Brandt asked as he dressed.
   “We are two thousand kilometers from Ragnar Anchorage, we are being hailed by a ship claiming to be the Liberty, and another ship claiming to be Arc Royale has hailed us, requesting to speak to Avalon Actual.”
   “Take the call Danson, I will be a few minutes.”
   “Aye sir, CNC out.” Danson replied. He picked up the handset and waited for the comm. officer to patch the call through. “Arc Royale, this is Commander Danson for Avalon Actual, what is your intention?”
   “Where the frak is that old war dagget Brandt?” a salty voice asked from the other end. Danson grinned at the description of General Brandt as a dagget.
   “He is on the way to the bridge sir. From your tone I take it your intentions are not hostile.” Danson said realizing how stupid he sounded, but knowing that it was proper protocol.
   “Are you stupid son? Were Colonial, not Cylon! Now stand down son, we don’t need to start shooting each other, there’s too many tin cans in the area to do that for us.” Arc Royal Actual said in a condescending but moderately sympathetic manner. He knew Danson was following proper war time procedure, and that the Avalon was certainly NOT going to stand down just because he asked them to. IF they did, he intended to blast the Avalon to bits, since that would definitely be something the Cylons would do trying to trick the small task force into an easy kill.
   “Arc Royale, we are code Bravo 759, please reply.” Danson said tapping his finger on the railing, giving a small indicator to his Combat commanders that he intended to challenge, and that if they did not reply properly, to consider themselves weapons free.
   “Avalon we are condition Uniform 221. Welcome to Ragnar.” Arc Royal Actual’s voice seemed relieved that the challenge and reply had come and gone properly. There would be no more shooting for at least another day or so, since he was sure the Avalon was here to arm herself to the teeth. A Battlestar could take on a mind bogglingly huge amount of ordinance, and one the size of Avalon could take twice the amount. He hoped that Ragnar had enough stock to fill her magazines. He truly wanted to see that monster of a ship in battle again. Her history so far had been glorious, and with her back in the fight, even as old as she was, the Cylons would have to give up some space.
   Brandt arrived only a few minutes after the Liberty escorted the goliath Battlestar into a docking facility on Ragnar. He was wearing his dress uniform, and looked freshly shaved and very much the impressive figure that his records made him out to be.

   “Raul!” Brandt cheered as the commander of the Arc Royale entered the docking hatch. Before the officer of the deck cold signal to have the Captain piped aboard, Brandt had grabbed his arm and the two of them had left the Avalon chattering about things that Danson knew nothing about. Instead Danson let his mind drift to the holographic display that was now showing the colonies and the Cylon positions, as far as the Colonial spy satellites were able to report. There was a pattern developing, but he wasn’t able to identify it just yet.
   
   Ryan Domiano had been delighted to hear that the damaged engine was repaired and his turret was able to fire, though only in a forward arc. It was better than a blind spot. The Liberty had taken some damage to her under side and one of their turrets had blown its magazine, destroying the fire control station beyond repair, however the turret itself was still in good shape. It was not the same model turret that the Defiance needed, but it had been bodged onto the rails of the lost turret and welded there. The gun would target anything in the forward arc, with a gun axis of thirty degrees, giving the Defiance a range of fire that covered the entire forward quadrant and leaving only a 47 degree blind spot on the port side. That was horrible in all but the most extreme situations, but he considered the total destruction of the colonies about as extreme a situation and he was likely to ever face. The Liberty was about the same size as the Defiance, however, she was newer and built on the Voltaire platform, not the older Hutchins chassis so even though they were assigned as the same class of ship, the Liberty was actually about a third longer in the beam, and two under side turrets by design. Of course, now it had one, but that was still more than the Defiance could claim. What Ryan was thrilled most about was that the turret they received had upgraded their guns on that side to the modern 58.8 cm gauss rifles. That slug was easily able to carry enough mass to do serious damage to the Cylon picket ships that Defiance was designed to engage, while offering the Defiance the advantage of range, since the guns fired faster. The velocity of the 58.8 cm projectile was nearly on par with the massive 256 cm rounds that the Avalon could fire in her main guns. Those projectiles were sickeningly fast, reaching an amazing .43c in speed by the time they left the dorsal barrels. Those rounds actually had the ability to slow themselves down when they arrived on target, for use against space stations and planetary defenses, where that much speed would produce too much penetration, and not enough energy transference. But in ship to ship combat, the speed with which the projectile could arrive at its target often determined whether the target was able to retaliate before its destruction. His own 58.8 cm projectiles would carry a speed of nearly .4c which meant that he could fire two salvos before the Cylon return fire could reach him, since the Cylon Corvette’s guns were known to fire energy bolts which, being plasma balls, could not be made to fire faster than .19c, or else they would rapidly release their energy back into the firing rails and blow up. Energy weapons were odd like that. The friction of launching them often determined the speed with which they could be deployed. That speed often made them unwise choices when it came to ship to ship warfare, which was exactly the point of the Corvette class ship. In essence, the Cylons had missed the entire point of the Corvette class ship when they changed over from projectile weapons to the energy guns they insisted on using now. The Colonial Navy had tried switching to energy weapons, but had already realized the limitations of energy based guns, and had abandon them in favor of the gauss based weapons that were staple to the Colonial Fleet. About the only energy based guns in the fleet were the anti-aircraft batteries on the modern Battlestars, since the blast effect of the plasma balls was much more effective than the explosive shells of the faster firing multi barrel guns of the older Avalon. The debate was still raging amongst the crews of the fleet, but in his mind, the debate was definitely over. The Battlestars with the slower firing energy based defense turrets were mostly floating around in pieces having assumed orbits near whatever gravity well they were destroyed in, while the Avalon and even the Galactica, which employed both energy based and the projectile based guns was still alive. He grinned, thinking how wonderful it would be to get the Galactica and the Avalon together. Of course, the Galactica had left the home systems, reportedly to take refugees to a safe area. Word had reached them the day after she had left, and so they were not able to reach her commander to request that the Galactica remain in system, to assist with the defense of the Colonies. In fact, it seemed that her captain was under the impression that the colonies were lost.
   Domiano couldn’t accept that. The Sentinels had launched, that meant that surely the Cylon home systems were slag. Without their home planets to support their war effort, they would be in just as bad of shape as the Colonies were now. As far as Ryan was concerned, both the Cylons and the Colonials were about equal. If anything, the Colonials had some small advantage, since they were able to re-supply and reinforce easier than the Cylons, who were at least three jump points away from the closest friendly graving yards. That meant that any ship that the Cylons lost to damage, or destruction, was not going to be replaced or repaired any time soon.

[Wraith]

Planet Virgon, Port Devotion
1/14/48 0500

   Deacon was trying to figure out what the hell was going on over on Port Harmony. He knew the tactical genius of Major Catlett, but in the last two engagements, the 24th had left a weak right flank, as well as having failed to bring their heavy armor into the fight at all. The result was that the 24th was  steadily falling back, and had given up nearly thirty miles of front.
   He knew that Rolf was not going to be happy with the latest Intel dump. He had counted on Eric holding the toasters on Harmony till he and Rolf could get control of the invasion on Devotion. The Marine Divisions were holding the Cylons and even starting to push them back. Deacon was not ignorant of the fact that Eric was operating with half the forces that he and Rolf had. The Harmony forces were hurting badly, the initial bombardment had destroyed the Marines barracks as well as the command offices. The Army on Harmony was mostly built around two units, the 24th and the 3rd.  The rest of the forces were made up from the CDC troops.
   At least Rolf and he had the 1st and 2nd Marine Divisions. He also had the 16th and 4th Army Divisions, however they were mostly deployed and were protecting the smaller islands of the archipelago. So if Eric was having troubles, he needed to get an idea of what he and Rolf  could do to help. If necessary, he could try to get the Navy to ship in some of the deployed forces to reinforce Harmony.
   He just hoped there would be time. The Intel was showing a fast advancement by the Cylons, as they seemed to be passing through Athena City with nearly no resistance, as the 24th seemed to fall down again and again, being out flanked by the Cylons. At the rate they were advancing, the Cylons would be all the way into the Serenity Pass, along the Tranquility River. The only thing that could stop them from breaking out behind Eric’s lines and doing some open ground running, was the shattered remains of the 17th Cavalry and the 24th Armored.
   “Deacon!” he heard Rolf yell excitedly. Deacon jumped up and ran to the other end of the tent, startled by the sudden yelling of the general. “Frakin’ get the hell over here Deacon, we got something here.” Rolf said walking quickly to meet Deacon halfway. He was holding part of the Intel dump, and was practically drooling. “We got em, son of a bitch! We got them!” Rolf was clapping him on the back, giggling like a school girl. “Look, see that? That’s a Cylon command code coming off Colonial comm. net! Someone out there is working on their code! Our Condor R.P.V.’s picked up the signals while getting us some pictures of Athena City.”
   “By the Lords, Rolf, the Cylons are moving through Athena City. If there is someone there hacking their command code, we need to get them out of there!”
   “Frak! Eric is losing Athena City???” Rolf was visibly shaken. “Oh frak, oh frak oh frak oh frak!” The general collapsed into a chair. He was shaking as he considered the news. “I don’t care what it takes Deacon, you tell Eric to get the person or persons who have that code, if he doesn’t get them, he better be dead!” Rolf was angry again, the panic having passed and been replaced by determination. “This could be the most important event in the war.”
   “Aye sir, I'm on it. I'm going to send Lieutenant Colonel Ripley to take personal command of the 24th, and have Major Catlett take his remaining Marines and get those people out of Athena City.” Deacon said putting his hand on Rolfs shoulder. “Meanwhile sir, Monte Claire is back online, side-banding on Mil-Net. We should probably get them involved in this after we get those people the hell out of Athena City. They might be able to do something with that code.”

[julix]

wow,
Tabbi thanks for posting...........that is a lot to take in.  We have such creative people here   will post some more later................

[Wraith]

Planet Virgon, Athena City
1/17/48 2200

Colonel Ripley had never traveled in the small “snipe subs” that the VDF used for infiltration missions. As a result, he had arrived at the make-shift port with far more equipment than the tiny five man sub would ever be able to transport. Having left behind a huge portion of his equipment had already pissed him off in the worst way. He then arrived one hundred meters out from the coast and told that he could paddle the rest of the way in, as Cylon shore watchers were getting far too accurate at calling in artillery strikes on the subs lately. Vincent Ripley attempted to paddle in, but the rifle fire from the high ridge a half kilometer to the North gave him cause to rethink his decision and he ended up pulling his back pack and communications pack out of the raft and float in. The Cylons devastated the raft, but Ripley survived.

Following his arrival on the sandy beach, he was picked up by a Navy SEAL team and transported by motorcycle side car to an APC. The seven hour trip could probably have been made in less than an hour under peace time conditions, however, the winding path they chose ensured the highest survival probability, and for that Vincent was grateful.

He arrived at the door to Major Catlett’s command APC looking as if he had crawled the way from Port Devotion command, which had put Vincent in a sour mood and heightened his irritability for this entire mission. Major Catlett seemed impressed that the staff officer had been so inclined to smudge some dirt on his face and uniform to better blend in and nodded his approval. Vincent merely raised an eye brow at the Mustang officer he was taking over for. This Major was always considered a wild card of sorts to begin with, and now, from the sit-rep he had gotten from the SEALS, the whole war was being lost, seemingly intentionally by this lunatic wacko. “Major, good evening sir, here are my orders, you will please accompany me to your quarters.” Vincent said with more irritation than tact.

“Colonel, I would very much love to go to some form of quarters, but no-one here has slept in nearly a week. I am aware of your orders; they were back channeled to me already. I really don’t have time for your bullshit, nor do I care what you or Rolf or Deacon thinks about me or this theater. If you have half the intelligence you appear to have, you will sit down and think about what you see and hear and keep your mouth shut.” On the map board, Eric was arranging grease pencil makings of the 24th infantry, 5th armored and the 17th Cavalry. In front of them he had already marked the Cylon primary units, the 133rd Centurions’, the 55th Armored, the 9th Light Strikers, and the 15th infantry. His forces had been able to whittle down the 133rd from nearly a Battalion in strength to just about a heavy company. They were the real threat, all of them elite, and re-armed with VDF rifles, taken from dead VDF troops. Eric hated that he had left those bodies and weapons laying in the last several battle fields, but he needed the Cylons to see how weak and disorganized the VDF was here. He had intentionally kept the 5th armored back, and to date they had not fired even one shell at the Cylon line.

The 9th Light Strikers were new to the front, having been pulled off the rear guard, where they were kicking in doors of shelters nearly as fast as his VDF commandoes could evacuate the civilians. Twice they had arrived within minutes of the VDF leaving, and on one occasion, they had killed a VDF commando team and its refugees. That was the most nightmarish occurrence in Eric’s mind. His primary mission was the safety and security of the civilians and in one instance he had failed and nearly a hundred people were massacred as a result.

“I can’t do that Eric, you’ve lost Athena City. You’ve let the Cylons just walk through your lines several times. I mean, Gods Eric, Rolf is seriously considering having you arrested for treason!” Vincent nearly screamed at the Major who was grinning and giggling at the announcement.

“I love to see that fracking numb nut try that.” Eric laughed. He called over a runner and told him to tell the 5th to once again, sit this one out. He again advised the 17th to find good tertiary fighting positions and to be prepared to fall back on command in good order.

“Major Catlett, you are relieved of command. Gunny, escort Major Catlett to… well, find some place for him till I can figure out what the hell to do to save this front.” Vincent said bitterly. “Am sorry Eric, I will not allow you to lose this war. We MUST take back Athena City, it’s the most important thing in the world… well, it may be the most important thing in the war.”

“Well, your about to lose it you jackass, I may be under arrest, but the only one here that can lose this war is you. I’ve just about got it won on this front. If you let me explain…”

Planet Virgon, Athena City Front
1/18/48 0130

The initial drive by the 133rd, backed by the 15th infantry, had not only been successful in capturing all four bridges, but they had driven deep into Colonial lines, pushing against the typically weak left flank. Again the Colonial cavalry was falling back, and he encouraged his 55th armored to drive on. The 9th Strikers were providing excellent field security for them, and the Colonial anti-tank units were forced back beyond range of their out dated Pilum anti-tank missiles. The same exact scenario had played out now for the eleventh time, and Mordred was becoming almost bored by it. He had heard so many horror stories about the famous Major Catlett and his VDF infantry. So far they had been a great big disappointment. The only thing preventing his troops from pushing them off the South sea wall was those damned ‘Cuda’s. He felt the urge to excrete some form of moisture from where his auditory command speaker was located in what was considered his head, and wasn’t sure why he desired to do so every time he thought of those cursed machines. If he had the ability to taste anything, he supposed that the mention of those air craft would have created a bad taste.

The 55th was now deep into the VDF lines, and the follow-on drive was in its initial stage, as the 133rd shifted its front and began to fall back in good order as the 15th performed another pass-through maneuver. This was a rather dicey time, since neither the 133rd nor the 15th technically controlled the front, and both were out of position so it was difficult to say whether one unit should advance or fall back or form up to support the other. Still, they had performed the maneuver so many times that it had become routine.

Mordred walked back into his APC, where the green lights illuminated the map board. It was dark out, the first time he had engaged the VDF at night. They seemed to fall into defensive posture at night, and it was pure luck on his part that his 9th Strikers had located the poorly hidden command units earlier that morning. For once he had the advantage; his Centurions were much better at night fighting than these humans.

He sat at the command table and half heartedly listened to the reports from the front lines, as he planned his report to the much less successful Port Devotion command. Those commanders were having to fight for every inch, and the cost in infantry power was making that front questionable. He doubted the likelihood of their success and had already begun making preparations to shift his 15th to attack from the sea South of the VDF units, trapping them in a cross-fire.

He missed the initial call for instructions from the 9th. It was the second call for support that got his attention, as it was more a cry for help than anything else. The 55th was being torn apart, and the 15th was being pinched hard from the right flank. This was new, and the pass through was in disarray. The VDF had hit his troops in exactly the right places at exactly the right time, but he was confused about WHAT and WHO was hitting them.

“Vincent, tell the 5th to follow on, turn their flank, wheel right, wheel!” Eric ordered from the side of the command table. Colonel Ripley nodded, grinning. This loony Major was right. The Cylons were trapped. He gave the signal and the bridges were blown, trapping the entire front on the wrong side of the river from Athena City. Now only the occupation troops were left to defend the city, and the elite unit, the 9th was being slaughtered.

“So all this time you were intentionally letting the Cylons turn your left flank, just to lure them away from Athena City and into this marsh land?”  Vincent asked. Eric just nodded. The heavy Titan tanks were finding themselves sinking into the ground if they stopped moving for more than a few moments, and were hopelessly high centered if they pin wheeled in place to turn, forcing them to make race car like turns to change direction. The 5th Armored had been waiting for them all this time, using the ammunition that the 3rd Armored had taken with them when they abandon their tanks earlier in the week. The result was, the Cylon forces had assumed that the 3rd was decimated, and that the 5th was destroyed in the initial planetary bombardment, since they had not engaged till now.

The 5th fired off dozens of FASCAM launches (Family of SCAterable Mines) which when fired from the backs of the Comet tanks, created an instant mine field that the Cylon 9th Strikers, in their light APC’s could not negotiate. The 55th was then forced to stop and they simply sunk into the prepared marsh, and were being pounded with Pilum missiles as fast as the VDF Marines could fire them.

On the right flank, the 133rd had been taken completely by surprise by the sudden thrust of the 3rd Armored, now using LAV’s (Light Armored Vehicles) and IFV’s (Infantry Fighting Vehicles). The combination was unorthodox to say the least, as IFV’s almost always travel with heavier vehicles like tanks. However, the IFV’s took on the role of tanks, while the LAV’s took on the role of the IFV. The combination had worked well in several pre-war simulations and Eric enjoyed the shock that the Cylon infantry showed when they were suddenly stormed by armored vehicles and were left defenseless while their own armored support sunk in the marsh. Those Centurions that did manage to survive the kill box found themselves trapped on the wrong side of the river, and not being able to swim, and unable to ford the flooded swift moving river, they fought to the death in a big pile of chrome plated slag. The Fantans of the Predator had been busy briefly, but had returned according to plan in time to drop thermite munitions on the slow clumsy Cylon infantry, sinking in the muddy banks of the Tranquil River. By sunrise, the Cylon advance was destroyed, and Colonel Ripley found himself questioning why he ever doubted Eric.

“Vincent, if you cannot choose your enemy, and you cannot choose hour of battle, at least choose your battlefield. In this case, I arranged for them to choose it for me. You see, I used the Cylons tactical and strategic superiority to my advantage. Always use your enemy’s strengths to your advantage.” Eric said smiling. “When weak, appear strong, when strong appear weak. Never let your foe know what you are willing and not willing to do.”

“So what does that mean? I don’t get it.” Vincent admitted.

“Well, we were surprise attacked, and so we couldn’t choose the date, time or hour of the attack, and got caught with out pants down and our hands holding our junk. We couldn’t choose what equipment the Cylons would use on us, and we couldn’t choose how they would employ that equipment. However, we COULD choose how, where and with what we would hit them back. I was not willing to engage them in Athena City as long as we had civilian shelters there that we had not been able to evacuate. I was willing; therefore, to sacrifice as much as necessary to draw them out, and get them to fight MY war. You see, the Cylons are strong on infantry, and armor, but weak on air. So I feigned being weaker on the ground and faked a lack of air support to give the impression that they were far stronger than they really were. They assumed us to be far weaker than WE really were. So I used their strength against them, and got them to engage us in a battle on the battlefield of MY choosing. If they had not believed us to be this weak, and themselves to be so much stronger, they would never have committed to a battle on this side of a swollen river. Now, we have to get some troops together to rescue the civilians from Athena City, before the Cylons can get a handle on the situation and start reinforcing their cantonment there. They will figure out what were doing quickly, so we have no time to lose.” Eric was explaining the situation even as they quickly made their way to waiting VU-19 Hopper helicopters. The larger troop transporting helicopters were slow and easy targets, but Eric felt the risk was worth taking, to get to the Athena City resistance before the Cylons realized their situation.

Battlestar Avalon, Ragnar Anchorage
1/17/48 1530

Dansen looked at the holographic display trying to size up the small Battlestar Task Force he was commanding. General Brandt was having trouble breathing, and was in the Life Center sucking on some oxygen. That left him in charge. He didn’t like it.

Something about the way the Cylon fleets were spread out was odd. They seemed to almost ignore the outer colonies, and were concentrated heavily on certain colonies. Picon and Caprica and Geminon were taking the brunt of the offensive. Fleet headquarters on Picon were smashed; the office of the Navy was nuked into oblivion. DRADIS control on Caprica was smashed, though he was surprised to hear Monte Claire side banding again. That was good news. Someone, at least, was alive and trying to coordinate a counter attack. The Avalon was now armed to the teeth, and her rat tag little task force was about as ready for battle as they would ever be, short of a complete refit.

He nodded his intention and his CNC talker gave the command, “Execute Case Red.” And the small task force of eleven ships jumped for the closest Cylon task force, around the planet Virgon. In under 17 hours, they would join battle, and someone was going to die. Dansen felt himself clenching his jaw so hard it hurt. He had 17 hours to figure out what the hell the Cylon fleet dispersal meant.

Colonial Destroyer Apollion, Cylon Sovereign Space
1/16/48 0323

Douglas Eugene Reynolds was the first to wake up. The blue glow of emergency lights lit the smoke filled tunnel that his station was housed in. The ship had been thrashed back and forth by the detonation of more solium warheads than their anti-missile DRADIS could count. The Cylon home world was dead, liquefied, and molten. The atmospheric temperature was still about 220 degrees Celsius, and rising. Secondary and tertiary detonations were dotting the planet. He could see it all clearly through the porthole, as the atmosphere had boiled away in seconds. All over the place he could make out fire storms and giant floating balls of flame and melting fall out. The Apollion was one of four special destroyers. They were built using stealth. Their outer hull was made of a DRADIS absorbing material similar to Kevlar, and their inner hull was rubberized ten inches thick. The effect was a flexible outer hull that reflected no radiation, and rendered the ship invisible except to the naked eye. All gun turrets were removed and only a few missile tubes were left in place for self defense, though stealth was to be its major weapon, and defense. The Apollion’s DRADIS tubes were retractable and also coated with rubber, to further reduce any chance of being found.

This worked great, and the small spy ship had been sitting in a parking orbit around the Cylon home world of Cylon Prime for nearly four months. Not once did they have a reason to load their missile tubes, as no Cylon ship so much as scanned their little piece of space. However, that same invisibility was exactly what caused their near destruction, when three large Sentinel missiles slammed through the wing structures of the ship on their terminal trajectory. The Apollion was fortunate they had not detonated upon impact, as the disaster that would have caused could have changed the outcome of the entire missile attack. The complete vaporization of the Apollion was without question, however, the massive solium missile detonations would have created a chain reaction in outer orbit that would have vaporized thousands of missiles, and possibly saved the Cylon planet from destruction. The Gods, it seemed, blinked. The Apollion was merely heavily damaged, and the retribution was complete.
Dougie, as the crew called him, was the ships communications officer on watch. He had sent off an urgent message, “Harbinger arrived, awaiting orders” in one of the specially designed stealthy torpedoes which would use the jump point HPY-8715 to send its coded message back to Colonial Signals. The message, when declassified would confirm the absolute and total destruction of the Cylon civilization. Fleet would know as a fact, that the Cylons would never call their empire home again. And that the only surviving Cylons would be found in isolated out posts and aboard their Naval vessels, as everything else was vaporized. He just hoped that there was a Colonial Navy left to read the message. He had already decided that what he had seen inbound from the jump point was the rumored Sentinels launch, which meant that what he just witnessed here had likely already happened back home. And if that was the case, this small ship, and its crew of fifty eight people, may be all that was left of the entire human race. He suddenly felt the need to smoke a fumarello, regardless of the fact that smoke choked the air scrubbers already. “Frak it…” he said tapping one out of a pack rolled in his sleeve. He lit it up and took a long hard drag on it. The Destroyer was slowly spiraling towards the now molten surface of the Cylon home world, and they had no power and no control. He figured that his death was largely unlikely to be caused by smoking… well burning up yes, but not from this fumarello.