The Rescue

By VStarTraveler

Summary:

Two Colonial Warriors on a long range recon mission detect a seemingly ancient building on a small moon. They investigate but encounter an unexpected & very unwelcome surprise. When they don't return as expected, a special team is sent to bring the Warriors home, but all may not be as it seems….

This story fits in my timeline about six sectars after the events in the Naransay system in my story WARRIOR WITH A BADGE, or a little over two and a half yahrens after the Exodus from the Colonies and the events of my story SAFE-TY SYS-TEM.

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Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction, written entirely for fun and not for profit. This interpretation of the world of Battlestar Galactica is entirely my own, and Battlestar Galactica and all of its various components remain the property of their respective owners.

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Prologue:

Approximately 220 ships capable of interstellar flight came together to form the rag-tag fleet that began the journey across the stars to find the lost thirteenth colony known as Earth. There were many types of ships, from a Battlestar to luxury liners, from freighters to research ships, and from specialty ships to industrial barges.

Most of these ships were modified as time and material allowed to better serve the needs of the crush of humanity that was forced to board them to escape from the Colonies.

One of the simplest modifications, made on nearly every ship in the fleet, was to convert unused space, and in particular, cargo bay space, into dormitories for the shipboard refugees. With the addition of bunks manufactured primarily from materials that had been in transit aboard a couple of the freighters that became part of the fleet, most people were eventually able to find a place to lay their head during their assigned sleep shift, though this didn't always lead to good sleep.

The noise in the dormitories, even during the relative quiet of the assigned sleep shift, was quite distracting for most. In addition, many bunks were assigned to a different person each shift, and the thin air mattresses that substituted for real mattresses and pillows, in many cases, were still not exactly known for their comfort. Then there were the issues of bathroom facilities, kitchens, and exercise areas, among many others, that compounded the problems.

However, due to their particular nature, a few ships could not be easily modified and still perform their primary functions.

One of these was Rashemon Industries Foundry Ship 4, a heavy industrial ship that was largely automated with only a limited human crew. Its usual task was to park in very low stationary orbit around an ore rich asteroid, dispatch its mining craft to the surface to begin gathering ore, and then send its collapsible ore crates down to be filled.

Once on the surface, the ore crates were erected, filled with ore, and then returned to the mothership by a small lift shuttle. Each of the crates was then fastened to the foundry ship's flat deck to be refined into usable materials such as carbon, silicon, iron, nickel, and manganese, but many other trace metals such as copper, silver, gold, and duridium. If properly selected and utilized, very little of an asteroid would be wasted; what little was abandoned was sometimes left on a designated waste asteroid with few useable minerals.

The crates were often stacked many crates high aboard the ship, depending on the processing rate. As crates were emptied, they were collapsed and returned to the asteroid surface or kept in place in storage, awaiting the next mining location. As materials were smelted and converted into usable raw materials, they were often transferred to an accompanying forge ship for manufacture into items used by the Colonies, often in the production of new space ships.

Rashemon Industries Foundry 4 was commonly known within the fleet as the Foundry Ship since it was the only one that survived the Cylon attack, just as Caprica Mining Venture's Vulcan Forge 11 became known within the fleet as the Forge Ship. Though the two ships weren't complimentary models, it didn't take Forge Master Karkarian and the other engineers on the Forge Ship too long to design and make needed modifications so the two ships could link within a system and essentially operate as continuous unit.

Raw ore entered the Foundry Ship, was crushed, initially separated, and smelted, and the various metals were then separated again so the result was various types of pure metals. With these available, varying amounts of metals were used, heated together, and high strength or specialty metals were then created as basic materials in raw block form. These blocks were transferred to the Forge Ship where usable products were made using the multitude of processes available within the ship's giant factory. Other materials were routed to the appropriate ship for use. When complete, the finished products were then shipped to the various ships of the fleet to be used as needed.

Unfortunately, when there were no raw materials available, the Foundry ship essentially shut down with its collapsible crates laid flat, secured to the deck, and the equipment became idle, unused and silent, because it was just too complicated and expensive to be used for other purposes.

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Chapter 1:

Our little ship shakes violently as it drops toward the surface. Even being tightly harnessed to the seat, it's all I can do to hold on, to keep from being thrown against the straps or maybe even across the compartment. My knuckles are white from gripping the seat rails so tightly. At least, I think they are white. The enviro-gauntlets on my hands and the red mission light overhead keep me from seeing them anyway.

Oh! Please! Stop with the shaking!

They told us in the mission briefing that the approach might be rough, that this fuzzball's atmosphere might give us some trouble, that we might feel a little queasy before we hit the drop.

They GROSSLY under exaggerated!

Several of my fellow Warriors have already lost their dinner, and mine's felt like it was about to go several times. I'm hoping we'll be down soon before—

Oh, another shake—frack! Number One watches me intently then laughs heartily as I join the ranks of the lost supper club. Fortunately, I am able to get the barf bag open and dispense the contents of my stomach mostly into it, unlike Number Three, who looks so ill that he doesn't seem to care that he has it all over his legs and boots. The crew aboard the Galactica will really love us when we return from this mission. Hopefully, a little vomit is all they'll have to clean up.

Number One is still sneaking peeks at me, grinning as he does, and it doesn't look like the turbulence is bothering him in the least. Oh! I really do hate him sometimes!

There are six of us in the back of a small drop ship, a special shuttle capable of carrying up to twelve personnel plus the two pilots and a pair of weaponsmasters who can lay down heavy rates of fire in almost all directions as well as operating the onboard missile systems. It's a phenomenally capable ship, but like most things in the Colonial Fleet, we don't have nearly enough of them.

I wipe my face as the ship shakes violently once again. Concentrating as we've been taught, I steel myself against the turbulence, against the fear of what we will face. I need that badly since this is my first assault mission.

We've been assigned to go in and rescue two Warriors who were captured a cycle or two ago while scoping out an ancient building—a factory, they think due to some strange equipment they saw—of some type found on a small moon in our current system, the name of which I can't even remember. Timora-something? Whatever. Anyway, our Warriors were able to send out word that they'd run into some stiff opposition - Cylons, apparently - but we were told that they couldn't see them and that the firepower and tactics being used were extremely advanced for Cylons.

We believe they ended up getting captured, but that, like so much of the story we've heard, really can't be confirmed, so we're not sure what we're going to face. I'm half scared to death and would feel so much better about this if Captain Apollo or Lieutenant Starbuck was here, but they seemed to think Number One was the right person for the job. If only he'd quit looking at me!

The mission briefers on the Galactica told us that our Warriors could well be dead, and that the Cylon/captor guys could have been the ones to have activated the emergency beacon, but we're sure hoping that's not the case. We want to bring our guys home alive. Captain Apollo then told us that multiple shots against these guys had supposedly proved less effective than usual, so the armorers were making special modifications to all of our rifles, blasters, and hand mines just before we left so we'll have a better chance versus them.

The Captain also said that the equipment may prove to be VERY important since it's so old and probably of alien origin, so we were to be very careful and avoid damaging it. He rolled his eyes when he gave that order, since he's told us no telling how many times in training sessions in the past how important it is not to be too constrained when we're going into a fight. Lieutenant Starbuck usually says it even better, putting it in terms everyone can understand, saying something like, "Kill what needs to be killed and break what needs to be broken to save every human life possible. Things can be repaired or replaced over time, but people—well, that's different."

I think I was the only one to pick up on how different this was than what the Captain and Lieutenant Starbuck have said in the past, but I did notice Wally nodding his head like he knew just what Captain Apollo meant. Or maybe he was just brownnosing. He does that occasionally.

Captain Apollo also said that our boys, in the only message they got out, also indicated that they were pinned down and unable to move. We've learned that doing that is the kiss of death versus Cylons or just about any other creature that uses weapons. Since this is my first time, I'm scared to death but am desperately trying to remain calm since two brave Warriors are depending on us to rescue them and bring them home alive. We just hope that they are still alive and that we'll be there in time for them.

I'm dressed in rather ill-fitting Colonial Marine-issue heavy assault armor since I haven't yet been fitted for the similar Colonial Warrior version. Lieutenant Starbuck had to help find some of the pieces in a storage closet. At least the stupid gauntlets fit right! The lieutenant promised me that I'll be fitted for new armor as soon as we have the resources to make more.

I wipe the last little gobbet from my suit and see Number One grinning at me. I wrinkle my nose at him, partially from the smell but mostly because I want to, and give him the tip of my tongue for just a millimicron, being careful that no one catches me since, technically, we're not supposed to be on a mission together. When you're dating, that's supposed to be a huge no-no! Still, we've seen it happen a few times, so we haven't told anyone yet.

Number One is now up, speaking with the pilots, and he's turning back to us. He activates his comm unit so we all hear him in our earpieces, "Okay, Warriors! It's that time! We've got some friends to rescue. Let's bring them home! Affix helmets and check your breathing mix. The atmosphere at the landing pad will be low, and we're not sure about inside the old building. Test when you're locked down."

I get the helmet in place, activate the lock, and start the air flow. It looks good, so I key the sequence so the little green light activates. A moment later, we're all ready. Number One's voice comes in again, "We'll be down in less than 90 microns…60 microns…30 microns, weapons in arms…15 microns, activate weapons…five, four, three, two, one—GO! GO! GO!"

I jump out the open door of the drop ship and run five metrons in the assigned direction before dropping and covering the factory ahead.

The lights of the drop ship are blinding, even from behind me, but they make it easy to see a dome shaped building ahead of me, with a vertical wall on the front and some large tanks off to the right. Everything else is dark; even the stars in the sky above the moon are obscured, either by the clouds or by the brightness of all the lights.

The ground is covered with steel plates with projections, so it's a dangerous run. We sure don't want to fall, crack a faceplate, and die of asphyxiation in whatever toxic atmosphere this Lords forsaken place has. Number One is giving orders; within microns, we hit the assigned door and enter the building.

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I have my Mark 4 plasma assault rifle at the ready as I move in and dodge to the left side. I'm sweeping up and ahead, but not seeing anything in my sights. I make it to some of that all-fire special alien equipment. Maybe we aren't supposed to damage it, but I'm not going to go without cover if I have this stuff available. Hmm, it's weird, it doesn't look all that alien—

Before I can even finish my thought, all Hades breaks loose just ahead and to the right of me! There's fire from what appears to be a catwalk over and ahead, fire from the right and fire from behind something dead ahead.

I see someone, Six, I think, take a shot to the chest and pitch backward. The Number Six comm link on my head's up display goes dead. Frack!

I see flashes of silver where the firing is coming from the catwalk thing, so I train my sights there and take a shot at what I now see is definitely a Cylon Centurion. I follow up with a second shot as we've been trained.

Holy Lords! I'm a good shot, probably better than anyone here except my boyfriend, and I see that I hit it, hard. That shot should have blown its arm off and probably killed it, but, no! The mission briefers were right, these guys are very tough! It's still firing as if my plasma blast didn't even affect it in the least.

I hear Number One ordering suppression fire as Two and Three run forward. I'm blasting away at Catwalk Bastard, hitting him several more times without apparent effect, so I switch up, alternating pairs of shots at him with shots at Ground Guy in front of us, hoping that something works and that the rounds distract them enough that the guys can advance to cover as planned. It will be my turn in a moment.

Suddenly, I see Two take a blast from off to the left and go sprawling, just before he reached cover, and then his comm link blipped out on the HUD, too.

NO! Not another one!

I switch aim to the left and fire off several rapid shots, trying to find the source of the new fire, but like an idiot, I realize now that I've given the new assailant my location without locating him first. Now, it's too late. Suddenly, streaks are coming in at me from the left, from overhead, from straight ahead, and from Rightie Robot.

I take what cover I can, but then realize I've violated another basic tenant of our training. I'm completely pinned down with nowhere to go, and can't even take a shot without being hit. I do the only thing I can, the unexpected, rolling to the right while firing ahead at Ground Guy since that's the only target I might even possibly hit.

I hear Number One screaming at me to "ROLL ROLL ROLL, NUMBER FOUR!"

He's ordering suppressing fire but with only three Warriors laying it down and far too many targets, it's only a matter of time.

Just before I reach the group, I see a blinding flash from above and left, an entirely new location, and then I feel it hit me in the chest. It's a pain unlike anything I've ever felt and I'm unable to move further, unable to breathe, barely able to think.

Lying on the factory floor looking up the side of a piece of equipment, as consciousness begins to depart and the cold blackness of death starts to envelop me, my brain briefly registers something and I only have time to think "HOLY FRACK! NOOO!" before I die.

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