Commander Samantha A. Byrne, CF
Battlestar Majestica, Colonial Fleet Reclamation Facility
Second Cylon War, Day 86
“DRADIS contact,” Major McCreary snapped suddenly. “Reading two large contacts, possible Cylon basestars, and… what the frak is that?”
Commander Byrne’s gaze, which had gone up to the DRADIS display as soon as the first report had been made, now snapped to look at her tactical officer out of amazement of his outburst. The fleet had been on edge for most of the last twelve hours, as the countdown to the point at which the Admiral would officially be overdue had continued, so it was perhaps hardly surprising that military bearing was a little bit frayed at the moment. After all, although Byrne or one of the other Commanders could take over in the event of the Admiral’s demise there had been a reason that none of them had been particularly inclined to take command themselves; it was not exactly what you could call a sought after position but rather one that was taken out of obligation and necessity. Who would want to be responsible for fighting a war that almost seemed hopeless, not just concerned with getting through individual engagements but actually having to try and come up with a strategy that would allow them to beat an enemy that was far superior in both numbers and firepower, as well as holding almost all of the strategic positions and resources for a hundred lightyears.
“Sound action stations, prepare to launch Vipers,” Byrne ordered crisply as her eyes returned to the DRADIS. “I’d prefer a more formal report, Major.”
“Yes, sorry, Sir,” McCreary replied, recovering himself somewhat. “Third contact is significantly larger than the other two, by some measure.”
Byrne frowned; the three contacts had jumped in some distance away from the Boneyard and the Fleet so they did not yet have a firm ID on the vessels, but if the third contact was larger than the other two, were they dealing with some sort of Super Basestar?
“Commander!” McCreary burst suddenly. “We’re receiving Colonial transponders!”
“Confirm that,” Colonel Rutledge snapped immediately, as he joined his command in looking up at the DRADIS intently.
McCreary was silent for a long moment before responding.
“Confirmed, Sir, I’m reading the Acheron, the larger contact is apparently designated as Black Wolf, and…” McCreary replied before suddenly stopping, obviously shocked. “The third contact, the second of the other two is reading as the Battlestar Galactica.”
The low murmur of conversation within the CIC, as the officers and enlisted crewmen quietly got about their duties whilst the command staff worked out what was going on, went silent at McCreary’s words. All eyes went to their Commander, who watched on the DRADIS display as each of the three contacts updated with their identity as the transponder information was accepted and the displays updated accordingly. It didn’t seem possible, at last report the Galactica had fled the colonies along with a fleet of civilian ships, apparently unaware that there had been other survivors and that the Colonies were only occupied rather than entirely annihilated. It was easy to see how such a conclusion had been drawn, given that communications in those early days had been dire before almost immediately being cut off as the Cylons had systematically destroyed the bulk of the Colonial Fleet. It stood to reason that there had been another Galactica due to enter the fleet shortly after the older ship’s commissioning, given the prestige of the ship’s name and its service during the First Cylon War.
“Receiving a message from Acheron-Actual. The Admiral is ordering all Commanders report aboard the Black Wolf, it is accessible by Raptor.”
“I’m sure he is,” Byrne commented wryly, glancing at Rutledge. “Well, I had best go find out what is going on, you have the ship, XO.”
It only took her a few minutes to reach the port flight pod, by which point there was already a Raptor waiting for her and ready to go, and she was soon stood between the two pilots watching out the front of the cockpit as they began to approach the small cluster of Colonial warships that were approaching the fleet. Or rather, what she had assumed to be a cluster of ships, but as they closed the distance it became apparent that the third ship, the Black Wolf, was not actually a ship as it was far larger. The second ship was significantly larger than the Acheron, her lines much sleeker but her closest physical resemblance being to the Battlestar Ares rather than the Majestica or Acheron. It was a ship of the Nova-Class, which tracked with its name as it stood to reason that the old Galactica would have been replaced by the newest, most powerful, and most advanced design.
The Black Wolf, Byrne was soon able to identify as they closed, was one of three Olympus-Class forward shipyards that the Colonial Fleet had operated; FTL-capable and well-armed that was intended to support an advance, repair ships and fabricate parts. In short, it was perhaps the single most useful military asset that the Admiral could have found; it had been assumed that all three of them had been destroyed by the Cylons as they were easily top-level targets. Presumably it had jumped away during the attack, doubtless screened by the new Galactica which had probably been under construction at the Black Wolf Shipyard rather than at the Scorpion Fleet Yards, which now proved to be a strategically fortuitous decision. How the Admiral had found them, or even known of their existence, remained to be seen but it was a strategic coup to say the least.
“Fair play, Spence,” Byrne murmured to himself. “How long until we land, Lieutenant?”
“I’ve never landed on one of these things before, Sir, but if that’s the flight deck up there then it shouldn’t be more than five minutes," The Pilot replied. “We’ve got half a dozen of our own Raptors, and a few Laudian shuttles, on approach, so it may take a little longer to get us all organised.”
“Do what you can, Lieutenant,” Byrne smiled. “I’ll content myself with gawking over the Galactica.”
