The eighth Red Squadron story.  Set after the TV series, and a little
time after the events of "Heroes & Victims."
LESSONS
By Tice Leonard

     Captain Det held his Viper in a lazy circle, trying not to
appear to orbit the gravity well.
     "What do you see, Cadet Blanken?"  Det asked.
     During the long delay, CORA brought up the scan telemetry from
Red Probe Two, the cadet's Viper.  Det was disappointed, but not
surprised by what CORA was feeding him.  "Switch from combat scanners
to navigational equipment."
     Det watched the telemetry go from active combat to the
navigational sweeps.  It only took three microns for Blanken to
pinpoint the gravity well and turn on a new course.  Less than a
centon later, the two ships were within a few million metrons of the
well.  
     "Cadet, what were you doing using combat scans?"  Det asked.
     "I was scanning for hostile targets, sir," said Blanken.
     "The primary purpose of advance patrols is to locate the gravity
wells between the star systems so the fleet can plan the next jump
through hyper space," said Det, entering lecture mode.  "Your
navigation equipment will switch automatically to combat scanning if
it detects a possibly hostile target." Det let those words sink in
before he delivered his final crush.  "And, if we did encounter a
Cylon patrol, there is no way I would engage them with a cadet on my
wing."
     "I'm sorry, sir," said Blanken.  "I got excited.  It won't
happen again."
     Det was sorry he had been forced to tongue-lash the cadet like
that, but combat flying and patrols in particular were of the utmost
importance.  Getting excited was not a good enough excuse for
breeching standard procedure in that way.  
     Det had taken a personal interest in Blanken's training ever
since he had watched him in the combat simulators.  Blanken was the
top of the class.  He had a problem of getting excited, and breeching
protocols.
     Det was, however, satisfied that this particular mistake would
never be repeated.
     "Lock the coordinates and let's get back," said Det.  "Follow in
the tight-drop position.  Keep it tight, Cadet."
     "Yes, sir," said Blanken.  He drew up alongside Det's fighter,
with his nose just a metron from Det's right wing.  Together, the
ships blasted back toward the Galactica.  Blanken kept it tight.

     Of course Dietra had been in Colonel Tigh's office before.  But,
she had never been called in for a solo meeting with the colonel.  Her
heart was racing, but only because she had no idea what to expect.
     Tigh smiled as she entered.  "Lieutenant, come in."
     Dietra found the seat opposite the colonel's desk.  She sat, and
passed Dietra a small docket of papers.  "I was impressed by your
actions during your patrol three quartons ago."
     "Thank you, sir," said Dietra.
     "You took command of Red Squadron when the three of you were
forced down by the Cylon shock weapon," said Tigh.  "You were faced
with a terrible decision, sending one of your pilots to die."
     "It was the only way to save the others, and the refugees-"
     "You're right," said Tigh.  "That is the price a commander will
have to face repeatedly in war.  Sending this warrior to die so the
war can be won."
     "Yes, sir," said Dietra.  She had never felt quite the same way
about her squadron mates, particularly Brie and Cree since that day. 
Before, combat had been somewhat of a game; flying those hot ships
against the tin-head navy.  Now, it was something more, something more
real and much more horrible.  It was a high-risk battle of wills.  The
Cylons' will to destroy humankind, and the humans' will to survive.
     "You made the decision, and even though you found a better way
to solve the problem, you had your first brush with a life-or-death
decision," said Tigh.
     Dietra shifted in her chair.
     "Have you heard of Yellow Squadron?"  Tigh asked.
     "Yes, sir," said Dietra.  "It's the Fleet Defense Squadron. 
Vipers spread out among our civilian ships, piloted by civilians.  In
the event that the Galactica is ever forced to leave the fleet again,
there will be a protection force in place."
     "Precisely," said Tigh.  "As you may know, the project was the
brain-child of Wing Sergeant Ortega, and he was the only command-grade
warrior with 'jump-off' experience."
     "'Jump-off',sir?"
     "Our civilian ships do not have launch tubes, so the fighters
will be mounted in special housings on the outer hulls of the vessels
- much like our merchant marine vessels did during the final yahrens
before the Destruction," said Tigh.
     "I don't have any experience with that," said Dietra.
     "No," said Tigh.  "But you do have the initiative to take
command, and I have watched you with the new Red cadets.  We are ready
to deploy Yellow Squadron, but we lack a commander." Tigh's features
lightened, and he almost smiled again.  "What do you say?"
     "Me?  Take command of a fighter unit?"
     Tigh nodded.
     Dietra was awash with emotions.  She wanted the challenge, and
she had liked being in command, even though the taste was bitter. 
Still, she didn't want to leave her friends and live on a "civvy"
vessel.
     Tigh sensed her uneasiness.  "Why don't you take two days to
think about it.  I don't want to rush you, but the commander is
anxious to deploy Yellow."
     "I understand, sir," said Dietra.  "I will let you know in two
days."
     "Very well," said Tigh.  He stood, and shook Dietra's hand.  She
stood, and turned to leave.  Tigh stopped her with his voice as she
activated the door switch.
     "May I ask...which pilot you were going to send to knock down
the tanker over the planet?"
     Dietra's eyes grew distant, and she remembered that tragic
moment when her mind had been made up.  She remembered the storm she
had watched build over the horizon, and the unspeakable relief she had
felt to see both pilots back on the landing deck after it was over.
     "I would, respectfully, like to keep that to myself," said
Dietra.
     "I quite understand," said Tigh.  "And I wasn't trying to second
guess you.  I just wondered how you resolved the problem."
     Dietra nodded and left the office.

     "...patrol in this direction," said Brie as Dietra entered the
pilot's ready area adjacent to the flight deck.  She was giving a crew
of cadets a mock briefing, getting them ready for a simulated patrol.
     Brie flashed Dietra a bright look as she took a seat at the back
of the room.  Dietra felt sick to her stomach.
     "Now, we've programmed the simulator to throw certain...
obstacles into the mix, so how you handle the in-flight problems will
be part of your grade."  Brie gave the cadets a moment, then called
for questions.  
     There were none, so Brie directed them toward the simulators. 
As they left, she strode up to Dietra.  "How did it go with the
colonel?"
     "Fine.  He wants me to take command of Yellow Squadron."
     Brie's mouth dropped open in a huge grin, and her eyes were so
wide it almost made Dietra laugh.  Almost.
     "That's so wonderful!  I can't believe it!  Do you need a second
in command?"
     "I haven't accepted...yet," said Dietra.
     "Oh, but you will," said Brie.  "Right?"
     "I don't know," said Dietra.  "There's a lot you don't know."
     "Oh," said Brie.  "You can handle it.  Take it.  You will be
great!"
     Dietra's eyes drifted to Det's office door.  Cadet Blanken
opened it, and left, quietly.  He slammed the wall with his elbow as
he passed through the ready room toward the corridor.
     "What's with him?"  Dietra asked.
     "He and Det were on patrol, and it didn't go well," said Brie.
     "I thought Blanken was his favorite."
     "I think he WAS," said Brie.  "What can I do to convince you to
take command?"
     Dietra looked through the open door and down the hall after
Blanken.  She could only imagine what Det had to say to the man.  He
had a way of devastating a warrior with his words.  He was gentle, and
polite, but the underlying tone showed through.  
     The cockpit of a Viper was the most dangerous place in the
universe.  Wars may be fought by generals and commanders in huge C&C
centers in the bellies of battlestars, but wars are won and lost on
the lines, by trained warriors putting their lives on the line to win. 
Things have to go a certain way.  The rules and procedures are there
for a reason.  That reason is to keep young warriors alive.
     She hoped Blanken could understand that.

     Lieutenant Cree turned his ship back along the return course
toward the Galactica.  Flight Sergeant Ajax and the two cadets formed
a diamond formation.  Cree's Viper was on the point.
     It was getting annoying to Cree that his navigational scanners
were constantly flickering between normal and combat.  The problem had
to be that they were detecting something.  There had been no other
contacts, so Cree was sure he was getting a reflection of another
patrol.
     Still, it did pay to be thorough.  Cree eased the throttle up,
and closed on the contact.  The mysterious blips on his scanners then
turned slightly to the right.  
     Intrigued, Cree began to let his fighter drift left.  As he had
hoped, the strange contacts turned back slightly, shadowing Cree's
Viper flight.  Cree let them come.
     Then, Cree turned hard into the contact, hitting his turbos.  It
worked.  He clicked off the metrons between his patrol and the mystery
ships.
     His warbook computer activated, and identified the ships.
     "Galactica bridge, this is patrol 3.  We have made contact with
a pair of Delphian blackships," radioed Cree.  "Now attempting radio
communication with their patrol."
     "Understood patrol 3," came Omega's reply.
     "Delphian patrol, this is Lt. Cree of the Battlestar Galactica.
Greetings."
     The two ships continued on their evasive course.  As Cree's
radioed hail faded, they entered a turn that would sweep them around
and bring them back in line with Cree's patrol.
     "That's more like it," said Ajax.
     "I don't know," said Cree.  "Their speed is awful high."
     "What?"  Ajax asked.
     "Cadets, hit your turbos and get your astrums back to the
Galactica NOW!"  said Cree.  "Ajax, when I count three, hit your
turbos and break straight up."
     "Up, sir?"
     "Do it."
     Cree watched the ships arc back toward him.  There was nothing
hostile about their maneuver, except for the tremendous speed.  Cree
counted down the microns.
     "One, two, three!" 
     Cree's Viper spiraled straight down, while Ajax pulled straight
up.  Delphian fire erupted through the empty space where the Vipers
had just been.  Cree rolled, and whipped his fighter back up on one of
the blackships, which was now beginning to slow.
     Cree found it hard to get a target lock.  The skin of the
blackship deflected scan energy, and helped to hide the ship from
attackers.
     "Galactica bridge, we are under attack," said Cree.  "Two
Delphian blackships have opened fire on my patrol."
     
     Colonel Tigh took the news with a grave expression.  "Stand by
the ready squadron.  Prepare to launch."
     Rigel barely turned in her chair at Core Systems, "We have the
vectors.  Plotted and programmed."
     "Transfer vectors to intercept craft," said Tigh.
     "Core Systems transferring vectors," said Rigel.
     "Who's up?"  Tigh asked.
     Omega toggled a switch on his computer to get the answer. 
"Captain Det and Lt. Dietra."
     "Good," said Tigh.  "Have Blue Squadron standing by.  The last
time we met the Delphians, things got ugly."
     "Launch the alert craft," said Tigh.
     "Control transferred, fighters launching," said Rigel.

     Det and Dietra shot clear of the launch tubes.  CORA pulled the
Viper out along the vectors set by Core Command.  Dietra matched Det
move-for-move.
     "CORA," said Det off his microphone.  "My eyes are still a bit
fuzzy."
     "I understand," said CORA.  "I will feed all target information
audibly."
     "I would appreciate it."
     "Maybe I could handle the maneuvering?..."
     "Not this time," said Det.  He rubbed his eyes.  Dr. Salik had
cleared him for flight because Det had managed to felger his way
through the eye exam.  His eyes had been bothering him ever since the
shot he took on the Pathmain's landing bay.  He was on regular
medication to clear his vision, but secretly, he was still not back to
full.
     "Now tracking targets," said CORA.  "Two Delphians engaged with
our two Vipers."
     "Bring us in," said Det.
     "Now scanning four more blackships," said CORA.  "To the left,
increasing speed to engage."
     "Frak," muttered Det.  Now he was beginning to feel the slight
vibrations in his sensor suit.  The suit was attached by cable to the
Viper's scanners, and relayed a tingling sensation to Det's body when
a scanner contact was made.  The pulsing on his chest was the two
Delphians in front, engaged with Cree and Ajax.  The feeling of
tapping on his left shoulder was no doubt the new flight closing in.
     It was strange getting used to the contact suit again.  They had
been common use before the Destruction, but the high maintenance and
sometimes unreliable suits had fallen out of use during the exodus to
the stars.  Now, engineer Branna had worked out several of the bugs,
and they had been reissued to the Viper units.  
     "Delphian fighters," said Det broadcasting over all known
frequencies, "this is Captain Det of the Battlestar Galactica.  Please
cease attack.  We mean no harm."
     "Human Det?"  asked a voice over one isolated channel.
     CORA switched to that frequency, and signaled for Det to
continue.
     "This is Det."
     "My apologies," said the voice.  "I have ordered my fighters to
slow, and join your formation."
     Det checked his scanner. Sure enough, the two ships which had
engaged Cree were now parked along side the two Vipers, in a friendly
posture.
     "I am sorry for the attack," said the voice.  "I am Flight
Commander Forfo.  We were in pursuit of a squadron of fighters which
had attacked our outpost on Hejoga.  I regret this incident."
     "No harm done," said Det.  
     "I suspect your Commander Adama will have some questions for
us," said Forfo.  "I am prepared to answer those questions aboard you
battlestar."
     "Very well," said Det.  "Fall into line, and we will escort you
back to the Galactica."
     Det switched off the mic, and asked CORA, "Are there any other
contacts?"
     "Nothing that I see," said CORA.  "Are you suspicious of the
Delphians?"
     "They are our allies," said Det.  "They saved us from the Cylons
once.  They have extended every courtesy and hospitality we could ask
for."
     "But you're still suspicious?"
     "It pays to be," said Det.  He switched to Beta channel to
contact the Galactica.  He asked, and received permission to bring the
blackships back to the fleet.  The Delphian cruiser had just made
itself known to the Fleet, and was on a rendezvous course even now. 
The commander's even feel for this situation eased Det's mind.

     As the mixed fighter wing approached the Fleet, Det could not
help but be awed by the size of the Delphian cruiser.  It had only
been a few quartons since he had seen Commander Vort's ship, but it
was still impressive.  If a race that had been displaced by the Cylons
could build these massive ships, what could the human fleet create?
     The Vipers and blackships set down in Beta Bay.  Det jumped out
of his fighter, and made for Forfo's ship.  He extended his hand, out
of courtesy, and was received with a warm welcome.
     "Welcome aboard the Galactica," said Det.  
     "Thank you," said Forfo, with a bit more of a Delphian accent
than he had shown during the flight.  "It is a pleasure to be here."
     Det tapped the pilot on the shoulder, and gently guided him
toward the elevator.  "You said you were in pursuit of a fighter
squadron?"
     "Yes," said Forfo.  "The Gaa have been attacking our settlements
during the last few sectons.  It all started about the time your Fleet
first found our ships at Benday."
     "Yes," said Det as he stepped into the lift car.  "I think I
remember Commander Vort mentioning them."
     "Nasty fighters," said Forfo.  "You really can't imagine the
power they wield."
     "I hope you don't mind if we try and avoid them," said Det.

     Forfo was greeted warmly on the bridge.  He shook hands with
Commander Adama, and Colonel Tigh, then gave polite nods to others at
their work stations.  He returned his gaze to Adama.
     "I wonder how your quest has progressed; your search for Earth?" 
Forfo asked.
     "We have come by some new information," said Adama, referring to
the strange co-ordinates they had received from the Ship of Lights
following the Count Iblis affair.  "But we have not seen much evidence
of the Thirteenth Tribe in quite some time."
     "That is too bad," said Forfo.  "I wish you continued good luck
in your search."
     Adama nodded his thanks.
     "Commander," said Omega gently, trying to be efficient, yet not
interrupt.  "Patrol Four is checking in.  They have made contact with
unknown craft."
     Adama turned to Forfo and asked, "More of your patrols?"
     Forfo fidgeted.  Adama had seen that look on warriors' faces
before; including his own son's.  This man wanted to be out there
fighting, not cooped up on the bridge of a command ship.
     "No, Commander," said Forfo.  "Our ships are all accounted for
on our cruiser or on the Galactica."
     The commander's face fell grim.  He picked up his headset and
listened in on the Viper pilots' transmissions.
     Lieutenant Greenbean and Sergeant Jolly were locked in mortal
combat with two ships that fired first and asked no questions.
     "I've got him, Jolly."
     "Look at him move!"
     "How did-...?  He's on MY tail."
     "Break right!  He's-"
     "Jolly!  Jolly!  Galac-"
     Adama sought input from Rigel.
     She turned and shook her head as her console told her that there
was no long range marker beacon from either ship.  The blips
indicating Vipers Blue Five and Six vanished from the tactical map.
     A hush hung over the bridge.
     Adama felt a rage inside, and he stepped toward the Delphian
warrior.  He unceremoniously ripped the headset off, and passed it to
Tigh.  That look of anticipation he had seen on Forfo's face had not
been the look of an anxious warrior.  It had been the look of one who
knew what was to come and would do nothing about it.
     "You knew that was going to happen," said Adama.
     The Delphian nodded.  "I knew you had a patrol headed for the
flight we were pursuing."
     "You knew of their power, and you failed to warn us," said
Adama.
     Again, the Delphian nodded.
     "WHY?"  Adama asked.  Most of the bridge crew had seen Adama
close to angry before.  This went way beyond that.  Adama held his
face right up to Forfo's, and asked him twice more why.
     "My people know of your power," said the Delphian.  "We know you
have the technology to beat the Gaa, and we know that if we came to
you and asked for your help, you would have refused."
     "We can't get involved with your war," said Tigh.  "We have to
defend the entire human race."
     "So you do," said Forfo.  "And it is your war now.  You have
been spotted in their space, and they have no doubt seen our cruiser
in formation with your fleet."
     Adama held his tongue.  He cast a side-on glance to Tigh, and
flailed his hand as he left the bridge.
     "Captain Det," said Tigh.  "Escort this pilot to the landing
bay.  See that he gets the hell off this ship."
     Det nodded.  The Delphian offered no resistance as he was
shuffled into the corridor and down below.

     Mess Hall Silver was abuzz with loud, angry conversation. 
Dietra and Brie sat quietly in the corner.  Brie sadly watched several
pilots from Blue Squadron discussing what had happened just a few
centars ago.
     Starbuck slammed his utensil down on his plate and began tossing
angry words at Boomer.  Boomer responded by holding his hands up in a
surrender fashion.  Apollo put his hand on Starbuck's shoulder.
     "I'm sorry," said Starbuck.  He shoved his plate toward the
center of the table, and folded his arms across his chest.
     "It's okay, Buddy," said Boomer.  "I'd love to get my hands on
those shastoks myself."
     "That makes three of us," said Apollo.
     Brie looked away, and back to her food.  She didn't feel like
eating just now.  It was one thing to lose a friend, even two, in
combat, but when they had been lost like this...just to draw the human
fleet into a war was sickening.
     "Make that FOUR, of us," muttered Dietra.
     "Five," said Brie.  "I'd like to just reach out, grab that pilot
by the ears and-"
     "Stop," said Dietra.  She forced a bite of nama root into her
mouth, chewed it twice, and swallowed the mass.  "We've got to keep
our heads clear about this.  The Gaa could be back at any moment."
     "I expected you to be a little more moved by this," said Brie. 
"You're usually the one who flies off the handle about felgercarb like
this."
     "I've been working on my self control," said Dietra.  "Don't
think I don't want to saw off that Delphian's head and spit down his
ugly neck, but there are more important things right now."
     Brie nodded.  She gored a piece of meat with her fork, but could
not eat it.
     Dietra pushed her plate away, and said, "I don't feel much like
eating.  Let's get to the simulator bay.  I've got a session."
     "You're pulling sim time?"
     "No," said Dietra.  "I'm running a series of drills for the new
cadets."
     "You're taking that awful seriously," said Brie.
     "I want to make sure those cadets have a chance when they get
out there," said Dietra.  "Especially if we just ran into someone more
powerful than the Cylons."
     Brie nodded.  "Can I go with you?"
     "I hoped you would," said Dietra.  "I have something special
planned."
     "Sounds like fun."
     "Positively evil," said Dietra.

     "Commander," said Omega.  He stopped short after the one word. 
That silent signal tipped Adama off that there was something the
bridge officer did not want to be generally heard.
     Adama climbed the steps to the scanning turret, and waited for
the report.  Omega only pointed to the screen.  There was an incoming
message from the Delphian cruiser.  They were requesting a conference
with the commander.
     "I'll be in my quarters," said Adama.  He lowered his voice so
that only Omega could hear.  "Patch it to me in there."
     
     Cadet Blanken pulled up, and slipped across his wingman's nose. 
His lasers fired repeatedly, missing the Cylon Raider by an ever-
decreasing amount.  Then, suddenly, the Raider popped up, and rolled
away from him.
     "Frak!" screamed Blanken.  He slammed his ship down to pursue,
but the laser fire from behind ripped his Viper apart.
     The simulation ended, leaving Blanken to ponder what had gone
wrong this time.
     Brie was standing over the simulator cockpit as Blanken climbed
out.  She smiled with a wicked little twist to her mouth.  Blanken
took that to mean that she had fired the fatal shot on him.
     "Cadet," said Dietra.  "That was terrible."
     "I did everything I knew," said Blanken.
     "No, you didn't," said Dietra.  "What about wingman tactics?"
     "I had the shot, and I went for it," said Blanken.
     "You had what shot?"  Dietra asked.  "You fired eleven times at
my exposed rear, and failed to hit me once."
     "I-"
     "You forgot to utilize your wingman," said Dietra.  "I tell you
what.  I'll make a little wager with you.  Are you a wagerer?"
     "I can be," said Blanken.
     "Good," said Dietra.  "You and Kell get back in there, and we'll
give you computerized wingmen.  Brie and I will fly against you. 
Winner gets...twenty cubits?"
     "For thirty it's a deal."
     Dietra shook his hand.
     Brie could only manage a faint laugh.  She donned her helmet,
and climbed into the sim cockpit.  Dietra set the parameters for the
simulation, and then made for her cockpit.
     No sooner had the white lighting of the simulator room faded,
then the alert klaxon sounded.  Automatically, the simulation ended,
and Brie and Dietra jumped out.
     Blanken and Kell tried to run toward the tram with them.  Dietra
slammed her hand to his chest and held him back.  "No way, Flyboy. 
Hang back and wait."
     "You're not getting out of the bet that easy!" said Blanken as
the two women ran for the tram.  "We'll pick this up when you get
back!"
     
     Det sat anxiously in his cockpit.  CORA was feeding a real time
update of the attack vectors from Core Command.  The attacking force
was coming from the Galactica's left flank.  They were coming in fast. 
The Cylons certainly were not subtle.
     "Core Systems transferring control to intercept craft.  Launch
when ready."
     Det fired off, and blew his way down the launch tube.  He
immediately cut back along the vector, and swung his squadron out
toward the threat.
     CORA was quick to relay what she knew. "Approaching vehicles are
not of Cylon configuration."
     "Get a good scan," said Det.  "We've already seen the Cylons
using weapons we have never seen before."
     "Scanning life signs aboard the approaching fighters," said
CORA.
     "Life signs?"
     "Unidentified," said CORA.  "No matches found in the
xenobiological index."
     "This is Captain Det of the-"  the greeting was cut short by
three flashes of blinding light from one of the ships.  The volley cut
through the squadron's Vee wedge formation, missing everything, but
scaring the felger out of them.
     "Shall I initiate evasive maneuvers?"  CORA asked.
     "I got it," said Det.  He rolled his Viper, and spiraled in on
the formation.  He cut left, and right, presenting a terribly erratic
pattern.  He watched as one of the cube-like ships pulled off after
him.  It fired a maneuvering rocket from one of the cube corners, and
cut straight up.  It spun in a fashion a Viper could never hope to,
and was squarely on Det's nose.
     Det pulled up, and hit the reverse thrust as the second volley
ripped the night in front of him.  As Det tried to regain his
bearings, the ship side slipped away from him, and resumed its assault
on the Viper squadrons.
     "Silver Spar Leader to all Viper commanders," came Sheba's
voice.  "These things can outmaneuver us.  I suggest we go in twos. 
Don't stop firing 'til you rip them apart!"
     As if on cue, Sheba blasted one of the nasty cubes to pieces.
     "Red Leader to Red Squadron," said Det.  "You heard the captain. 
Wingmen, cover your leader."
     Cree tucked in tight on Det's flank.  Together, they bore down
on one of the cubes, firing like there was no tomorrow.  The ship
blasted straight down, slipping under the Vipers as the rocketed
forward.
     "Two point break NOW!" hollered Det.
     Cree pulled right, Det left.  The cube was confused for just a
micron, then resumed his chase on Det.
     "Hold fast, Red Leader," said Cree.  "I've got...him!"
     Cree let fly with a massive volley of laser fire.  The shots
pelted the cube, first tearing off the thin metal around the left
maneuvering rocket, and then cutting hard into the critical areas of
the fighter.  The ship seemed to burn in slow motion as Cree passed
over it.
     Det reversed back onto yet another ship.  "Can we safely assume
these are the Gaa?"
     "Based on available information," said CORA, "I believe we may."
     "Frak."
     Dietra picked one from Brie's tail, and rolled away from one
herself.
     "They're leaving," said Apollo.
     Det had never been so relieved in his life.  The ships didn't
seem that tough, but they were so maneuverable.  It was even money
that if they came back in sufficient numbers, the Fleet was doomed.

     "They're toying with us," said Adama.  His voice was quiet, and
directed so that only Tigh could hear his words.
     The colonel examined the replay of the battle.  The ships had
rushed in, engaged the defending fighters, exchanged fire, and left. 
It had been nothing but an intelligence gathering run.
     Worse, maybe.  The attackers showed a callous disregard for the
losses they had taken.  Four of their fighters had been shot from the
sky, and they didn't seem to care.
     "They'll be back," said Tigh.
     "And wipe us out," muttered Adama.
     "We should run for the gravity well," said Tigh.  "Breakneck
speed.  Save the ships we can-"
     "No," said Adama.  "Their carrier ship is blocking the entry."
     Tigh looked back to the tape.  The fighters had pulled off on a
course toward the stellar system.  They had not run for the well.
     "How do you know?"  With just a bit more thought, Tigh added.
"Commander."
     "I have been in communication with the Delphian commander.  He
told me.  They need the exact same gravity well in order to get home."
     "Do you trust him?"  Tigh asked.
     "I don't believe we have a choice.  The Gaa could rip us to
shreds at their leisure.  Maybe with the Delphians' help..."
     "You're not suggesting that we work with them?"  Tigh asked.
     The conversation, though muffled, was beginning to draw the
attention of various bridge officers.  Adama was suddenly conscious of
this, and motioned for Tigh to follow him to his chambers.

     Blanken was on hand when Brie and Dietra landed.  He reached up
to help Dietra from her ship.  She was slightly amused by his
offering, but accepted non-the-less.
     "That wager in the sim will have to wait," said Dietra.  "The
captain's called a squadron meeting.  We've got to discuss the new
threat we just found."
     "Can we come?"  Blanken asked.  He indicated Kell with his hand.
     "Yeah," said Dietra.  "You might as well.  If you make warrior,
you might end up nose-to-nose with one of those things."
     Blanken clenched his fist in a display of triumph.
     Dietra watched, and let her face go grim.  "You might feel
differently when you see what those things can do.  We are out of our
league here."
     "Teach me what you know, Lieutenant," said Blanken.  "We can
take them."
     Youth and exuberance were really annoying to Dietra.

     "Work with the Delphians," repeated Tigh.  "Work WITH the
Delphians."
     Adama let Tigh work it out.
     As for the colonel, he was not used to questioning Adama's
discussions.  Sometimes, he didn't understand, but he would follow the
commander through Hades in search of a drop of water.  Usually.
     This blew him away.
     "Do they have a plan?"  Tigh finally asked.
     "Yes," said Adama.  "A combined force hits the carrier, while a
smaller force hits a fighter base within the system."
     "Those fighter that came after us came from the planet?"
     "I believe so," answered Adama.
     Tigh weighed it in his mind.  The situation was too distasteful
for him to ponder without feeling the anger that had swept through the
Viper squadrons below.  He had already confined several pilots to
quarters for disorderly conduct.  Maybe he should confine himself.
     "Will our warriors go for it?"
     "They have to, Tigh," said Adama.  "Or we've lost."
     That was more distasteful than working side-by-side with the
very people who had betrayed Jolly and Greenbean.  Tigh felt his heart
melt, and he went totally numb.  "I hope the warriors see it your
way."
     "Our way," said Adama.  For the first time ever, Tigh heard a
bit of doubt in the commander's voice.  The two words had sounded like
an affirmation, but Tigh knew too well that they had formed a
question.  Adama was looking to Tigh for support.  Tigh felt the
immense burden that Adama had carried for the yahren since Cimtar.  He
offered the only measure of support he could for his one friend.
     "Our way."

     Det took the podium at the front of the squadron room.  Behind
him was a picture of a Gaa cube fighter.  The captain was visibly
shaken.
     The ship was a gray cube, fairly devoid of surface detail.  It
flew with one of its corners facing forward.  That corner had three
triangular windows which formed the cockpit.  directly opposite that,
was a single propulsion engine.  It was capped with a lattice work
that completed the cube's shape.  The three vertices closest to the
cockpit held laser emitters, and the three furthest from the cockpit
were topped with maneuvering thrusters.  Those three rockets gave the
Gaa fighter its incredible maneuverability.  While blasting forward in
a combat charge, the pilot could fire off one of them and seemingly at
will alter his course so as to attack a Viper at an odd angle.
     The Vipers' maneuvering thrusters were merely thrust vectoring
devices deep inside the engines.  They were clumsy and inefficient
compared to the Gaa system.  
     "Those of you who were out there saw this," he indicated the
ship.  "Those of you who weren't, will.  It's a Gaa fighter, and it
can outgun, outrun, and out turn a Viper."
     No one dared say anything.  Det's voice was flat as he
continued.  "We don't know anything else about them."
     The image of the fighter that was projected behind Det began to
fade, and it was replaced by a movie file that was quickly recognized
as Viper telemetry.  Det began to speak again.  "These images were
recorded from Sergeant Barton during the attack.  We haven't even been
able to analyze them yet.  Watch."
     Barton swooped down out of the black sky at a single slow moving
Gaa ship.  Barton fired twice, with each shot absorbed neatly by the
Gaa cube.  Barton put on his turbos to get away as the cube turned on
him.
     As Barton broke left, the cube barely turned, following him
without breaking speed.  It let fly with its three lasers, missing
Barton, but forcing him to break harder.  
     The Viper was spinning out of control as the Gaa closed in. 
Barton fired his turbos, to blow himself out of the way, as another
barrage of Gaa fire erupted around him.  He pulled up, and looped back
on the ship.  Barton's guns were aligned for a perfect shot.
     Det felt the tension level in the room increase as they knew
what was coming - a perfect kill shot.
     They were right, but it was the Gaa that delivered it.  It
rotated slightly, elevating the guns to the same line as Barton's
flight path.  Two rounds of the triple fire let fly from the forward
corners of the cube, and Barton's fighter vanished.  The imagery
ended.
     "That Viper was flying at the extreme end of its performance
envelope," said Det.  "As far as anyone can tell, the Gaa pilot never
cracked a sweat."
     Det scanned for questions.
     "If you are out there, and you get a clean shot, fire.  Do not
hesitate.  Do not wait for the computer to get a positive lock.  Fire
six or seven bursts.  Two will not do it," said Det.
     "Captain," Dietra asked, "how can they take that much firepower
and be unaffected?"
     "Nothing we have can take the hit Barton gave that fighter and
survive," said Det.  "But it's possible they have regenerative armor,
or powered shields."
     "How can we compete against that?"  Cree asked.
     "Either system has to use power," said Det.  "Since we're not
relying on such for protection, keep you speed up."
     "But, sir," said Dietra.  "That didn't help Barton."
     "He relied too much on his guns," said Det.  "With our speed
high, they will have to increase their's in order to keep up.  That
draws power from the armor system."
     "If that's what they're using," said Cree.
     "Do you have another suggestion?"  Det asked.
     "No, sir," said Cree, shaking his head.
     "Too bad," said Det.  "I was hoping you did."  He shifted gears
as he went to a tactics discussion.  "We have already divided the
squadron into three flights.  From now on, we will deploy in ALL
combat engagements in our flight formations.  Are the flights ready?"
     Cree nodded.  "Talon Flight is ready.  We've been in simulators
for the last two sectons, but we can handle it."
     Dietra was less sure.  "Dagger Flight is assembled, but we need
more training."
     "Get down to the sims now.  Use every centon to get your group
ready," said Det.  "The Gaa could be back any micron."
     Dietra nodded as she and her warriors stood and left.
     Det concluded the meeting by saying only that he had every
confidence in his people, and that his prayers went with them every
time they launched.
     It was only moments later that he, Apollo, and Sheba were paged
to the commander's conference room.

     Dietra leveled out.  Her flight fell in behind her.  She counted
down to her contact with the target.
     "Six, Eight, and Ten, break!  Mop up the stragglers."
     Three of her Vipers broke from the crisp five ship wedge, and
took a position high above Dietra and Brie's Vipers.  The two ships
burst forward, into the attacking Cylon phalanx, guns blazing.  Less
than four microns later, the high ships roared through, pelting the
Cylons with everything they had. 
     In one fatal swoop, the twelve attackers had been cut to five. 
Even odds had always played to the Colonials' advantage.
     Dietra swung back.  The Cylons were regrouping, turning on her
position.  She passed back through the enemy force, taking one as she
shot by.  Her contact suit told her that they were turning to pursue.
     Perfect.
     Her three ships in the lag position rushed through a mere six
microns later, making short work of the fighters as they turned for a
shot on Dietra and Brie.
     The simulation ended, and Dietra sprang from her craft.  "Okay,
we don't have much data on the Gaa tactics, but we have yet to see
them fire in multiple directions.  With our flight using the
thrust/lag attack, we can hope to get at least one unit behind them,
and kick the pogees out of them."
     Blanken stood by the computer that monitored the simulator.  He
was anxious for a shot in the sim.  Dietra strolled over to the cadet,
and offered him her helmet.
     "I believe we have a bet?"
     "We do," said Blanken.
     "Suit up, and be ready to pay up."  Dietra's tone was cold, a
pale imitation of Det's flat-tone.
     Blanken took the helmet and ran to one of the vacant simulator
cockpits.
     Dietra turned to the operator.  "Give us each a wingman, and set
for two-on-two combat."
     The man nodded as Dietra retook her position in the sim cockpit.

     
     Det was the first to arrive for the closed meeting.  He took a
seat near the stand where Col. Tigh would speak.  His body was idle,
but his mind was anything else.  He had never seen, nor heard of a
closed meeting for squadron commanders only.  There had been plenty of
wing meetings, where any warrior could attend, but never one like
this.
     His anticipation lasted only a few centons before Sheba and
Apollo came in.
     "Do YOU have any idea what this is about?"  Sheba asked.
     "Not a clue," said Det.
     "It's something big," said Apollo.  "Father won't even tell me."
     Sheba sat between Apollo and Det.
     The room was silent again.
     There was a muffled cough outside the door.  That was expected. 
Tigh was in the habit of doing such before entering a meeting, to warn
those gathered that he was about to enter.
     The response was automatic as he stepped into the conference
room.
     Apollo sprang to his feet, "Colonel on deck."
     The three captains stood at attention as Tigh took his spot
behind the podium.  Adama slipped in behind him, and took a seat in
the corner.  Tigh looked haggard.  They all were, but he was showing
the worst.
     "At ease," said Tigh as he tapped the podium twice. 
     The captains sat.
     "We have brought you here to inform you of our plans regarding
the Delphians and the Gaa," said Tigh.  "This morning, the commander
of the Delphian cruiser contacted Commander Adama regarding the Gaa
fleet strengths and deployment, and outlining a plan that will allow
us to reach the gravity well.  They suggested a combined military
action against the Gaa forces, where by we could both escape this star
system."
     "A combined strike!" exclaimed Sheba.  "Are they out of their
minds?"
     Tigh was unflustered by Sheba's outburst.  "In light of the
recent attack by Gaa fighters, and our own technical and tactical
difficulties against them, the commander has seen fit to accept the
Delphian proposal."
     "What?!?" asked Apollo as he jumped out of his seat.  He turned
his address to Adama.  "Father, you can't be serious."
     Adama said nothing, but looked to Tigh.
     "They let Jolly and Greenbean run right into that Gaa patrol,"
protected Apollo.  "We can't trust them."
     "We can trust that we cannot defend ourselves from the Gaa, nor
can the Delphians take out the Gaa ship and get home," countered Tigh. 
"If our forces do not work together, both will be hunted down and
killed."
     "But what if this is another ploy?"  Sheba asked.  "Send us off
to die against the Gaa while they slip away down the gravity well."
     "There will be no 'slipping away,'" said Tigh.  "The Gaa have
taken a defensive position near the gravity well.  Neither we nor the
Delphians will be able to get to it."
     "How are we working together, sir?"  Det asked.  "Do they mean
to just throw our squadrons at that ship and pray to the Lords that we
can kill it?"
     "The plan involves two forces," said Tigh.  "A combined unit of
four Delphian squadrons and two of ours will attack the Gaa ship. 
Those forces will be ferried to the battle by the Delphian cruiser. 
The second force will launch from the Galactica, and hit a fighter
base on the third planet."
     "What's there?"  Det asked.
     "Reinforcements," said Tigh.  "The Delphians estimate one
hundred fighters."
     "One squadron against 100 fighters?"  Sheba protested.
     "Catch 'em on the ground," said Det.  "We'll use camouflage
screens to get in."  He looked back to the colonel.  "It's still a
long shot."
     "Our only shot," said Tigh.
     Apollo cast one last look to Adama, to be sure his mind was set
on this.  All things satisfied, he positioned himself for the job he
wanted.  "I'll have Chief Engineer Branna break out the camscreens."
     "Good," said Adama.  His voice was rough, like he had been
arguing, or maybe like he hadn't been spoken in quite some time. 
"Have him install the screens on the Vipers in Red Squadron."
     "Red?"  questioned Apollo.
     "Red?"  mouthed Det.
     "Apollo," said Adama.  "I need you for a more important task. 
Not only must you lead our units in the raid, you must be an example
to them."
     Apollo's face drained.
     "I know of the ill will that has developed since Jolly and
Greenbean were lost.  I know most of our warriors would go out right
now and smash the Delphian ship into so much space dust if I so
ordered, and do so happily."  Adama paused and stood.  "I need my
senior pilot to work with the Delphians.  To insist that his fellow
warriors - his friends - do the same."
     "I don't know if I can," said Apollo.
     Sheba rested her hand on his shoulder.
     "I need you to, My Son," said Adama.
     Apollo sank back into his seat.  "I will do my best."
     "That is all I can ask," said Adama.
     Tigh spoke.  "Captain Det, the information we have from the
Delphians will be sent to you.  I need you battle plan submitted to me
within the centar."
     "Yes, sir," said Det.
     "If there are no further questions then," said Tigh. 
"Dismissed."
     The warriors shuffled out, and Tigh made his way to Adama. 
"Apollo seems very insistent about not working with the Delphians."
     "Yes," said Adama.  "But I need him now."
     Tigh fidgeted.  "I know it's important to you that he agrees
with you, but..."
     "But why did I make it a point of order that HE lead the strike
force?"  Adama finished.  "Tigh, neither of us is getting any younger. 
We both know that someday Apollo will lead the Fleet."
     Tigh nodded.
     "Sometimes a commander has to make choices that are
uncomfortable personally," said Adama.
     "Like working with the Delphians?"  Tigh suggested.
     "Exactly," said Adama.  "I'd like to strangle the man who told
that pilot to stand on my bridge and let our patrol get destroyed.  It
was their plan all along that we get drawn into their war - to force
us to be their allies in their struggle."
     "And now you're forced to help them."
     "And Apollo may face a similar personal challenge at some
point," said Adama.  "Then he will have to put aside his personal
feelings, and do what is necessary for the Fleet."
     "That's a hard lesson to learn," said Tigh.
     "But so important to the survival of our people," said Adama.

     Dietra was impressed by what Blanken had learned.  He had his
computer wingman set to watch his back, and when it warned him of
Dietra or Brie moving in behind, he broke of and fought them off.
     Still, Dietra had the upper hand. She faked an thrust toward
Kell, got his wingman to turn back on her, and shot forward on Kell. 
Kell broke low, trying to twist back on her.  Brie shot like a missile
up on the wingman even as he bore down on Dietra.  Brie fired, and
killed the computer warrior.
     Kell rolled and ran, trying to link up with Blanken.
     Unfortunately, Dietra's real attack was on the favorite cadet. 
The two exchanged laser fire, with Dietra scraping Blanken's tail as
she raked through his flight path.  Blanken's wingman bore down on
Brie, who rolled to escape.
     Dietra swung wide, locked onto the wingman, and removed him from
play.  Blanken swallowed hard as Brie blasted him a second time.
     His helmet speakers relayed Dietra's final message as the
simulation ended.  "I believe that's thirty credits, Flyboy."
     Blanken hung his head.  He had survived a lot longer in this
battle than he had in any other engagement against the Red pilots.  He
was grateful to Dietra for what she had taught him, but he still
cursed himself for losing, again.  He wasn't used to that.  He was the
top of the class, and he knew it.
     He was very disheartened to see Det standing by the computer
console as the light returned.  The Captain's verbal lashing was still
stinging his pride from earlier.  Now the Captain had seen him lose a
four ship flight to two Vipers.
     "Frak," he muttered.
     But, Det was not interested in Blanken right now.  He made for
Dietra, and congratulated her on the win.  His voice was low, but
Blanken could still hear the conversation on his helmet speakers.
     "I just came from a meeting with the colonel," said Det.  "We're
attacking a Gaa base in the planetary system."
     "We're attacking?" Dietra asked.
     "Yes," said Det.  "I need fifteen warriors for the strike."
     "We've only got thirteen active pilots," said Dietra.  He head
turned, unconsciously toward Kell and Blanken.
     "That's right," said Det.  "Are they ready?"
     "Sir, I can't say they're ready..."
     Blanken drooped some more.  He felt bad that he was
eavesdropping, but he also felt bad that Dietra refused to sign him
off.
     Det nodded.  "I need two pilots to fill my ranks.  If Blanken
and Kell aren't ready, I'll call on the commander to pull two more out
of the reserves."
     "Reserves?"  protested Dietra.  "Half of them haven't sat in a
Viper in sectons."
     "But they are trained," said Det.
     "Maybe they can handle it," said Dietra.  "Let me take them. 
Give me another day-"
     "You have twelve centars," said Det.  "Blue and Silver Spar
Squadrons are launching right now to take their spots on the Delphian
ship.  They will hit the Gaa carrier while we hit the base."
     "Working with the Delphians..."
     "I don't like it, either," said Det.  "But we do what we have to
do to survive.  Remember, it was the Gaa who killed our warriors."
     Dietra dared not argue the point with Det.  That was always a
losing proposition.  Instead, she nodded and made her solemn vow. 
"Kell and Blanken will be ready in twelve centars."
     Det knew what a promise from Dietra was worth.  She would get
the job done, or she would die in the attempt.  There was very little
probability of her dying while training two cadets in the classroom,
so he was satisfied that fifteen Red Vipers would be ready to hit the
Gaa base twelve centars hence.
     
     Apollo felt his anger against the Delphians burn as the two
squadrons closed on the Delphian cruiser.  The huge ship was a
stinger's nest of activity.  Blackships and heavier assault fighters
swarmed around the ship, preparing for the upcoming battle.  Despite
himself, the captain could not help but admire the Delphian ships.
     "Silver Spar Squadron, prepare to land," said Apollo.  As he
watched, the ships in Sheba's squadron turned and made for the landing
bay.  Blue Squadron continued to orbit in defensive mode while they
put down.
     Starbuck cut in over Apollo's radio on the private scrambled
channel.  "Are you okay, Buddy?"
     "I will be," said Apollo.  "How are you?"
     "I hate this," said Starbuck.  "I'm not sure who I'd rather be
going after."
     "Me too," said Apollo.  He switched to Alpha Channel.  "Blue
Squadron, let's put down."

     Again, Det found himself standing before his warriors.  The
squadron room was dark, with only a simulation of the strike running
on the view screen behind him.  He stopped the sim in mid frame.
     "This is the critical moment," Det said.  "As we cross this
canyon ridge, the planet's curvature will no longer hide us from the
fighter base's ground-based detection systems."
     "What if they have satellites?"  Cree asked.
     "According to the Delphians, they don't."
     "Can we trust them?"  Cree asked.
     "I think so," said Det.  "they need this to work as much as we
do."
     Cree nodded.
     "At this point," said Det, returning to the simulation, "Blood
Flight will cut power to the camouflage screens, and begin the
attack."
     "Did the Delphians give us good intelligence on the terrain?" 
asked Pactor.  "I would hate for us to be running through there and
meet a hillside."
     "The scans are detailed, but keep your eyes open," answered Det. 
"we'll only be fifteen microns from the base when we cross the north
ridge.  After that, we lock onto the fighter drome, and kill it."
     "Are we using bombs or torpedoes?"  Pactor asked.
     "We can't risk being engaged with fighters if we're dragging
bombs under our wings, so we'll carry a second laser pump," said Det. 
"Keep the power turned down so the recharge time will be fast."
     "Will CORA be jamming for us?"  Cree asked.
     "Not until after we drop the cam screens," said Det.
     Pactor looked around.  "Is anyone else bothered by all the
electronic gadgets we're using this time?  Second laser pumps,
camscreens, contact suits...what if that felgercarb fails?"
     Det looked into the warrior's eyes, and thought 'then you will
die far from home on some alien world for nothing.' "All systems have
been checked and double-checked.  Everything will be fine."
     Dietra spoke.  "Talon and Dagger flights only need to keep the
fighters off your backs until you hit the base, right?"
     "Keep them BUSY," said Det.  "They'll be able to see us from
space, even while the base is blind to us.  If they're infighting with
you, we may have a chance."
     Dietra nodded.

     Landing operations on the Delphian ship differed quite a bit
from those the Colonial warriors were used to.  Higher ranking pilots
landed first, and continued down the ladder until the lowliest pilot
put down.  This practice made it quite difficult for some of the
middle tier lieutenants of Blue and Silver Spar Squadrons to mesh out
the landing order.
     It was finally up to Apollo to randomly throw out landing
priorities the attack force.  One-by-one they put down, parking their
ships on the landing bay floor to be refueled.
     Forfo made his way uneasily toward the captain.  Apollo visibly
tensed at his approach, but to his credit, remained composed.
     "I welcome you to my people's flagship."
     "Thank you," said Apollo coldly.
     "It is good that you arrived early.  We have grave news."
     Apollo cocked his head, ready to hear the Delphian's words.
     "Our outer patrol has detected several Gaa patrol ships that
could not have come from the carrier guarding the gravity well, nor
from the planet," said Forfo.
     "Another carrier?"  Apollo asked.
     "Yes," said Forfo.  "It could be here anytime, but if they
follow standard Gaa procedure, they will make a wide sweep of the star
system, looking for this ship and the Galactica."
     "Then we need to attack the carrier now," said Apollo.
     "Yes," nodded Forfo.  "Before the two carriers can converge.  We
would not be able to defeat TWO such ships."
     "I will need to contact the Galactica," said Apollo.  "Commander
Adama will need to know to launch Red Squadron early."
     "Your battlestar is too far from the planet to launch now.  It
will have to leave the Fleet to launch the strike.  Your fleet will be
unprotected."
     "We're all dead if they don't launch on time."
     Forfo was thoughtful.  "Perhaps...one of your squadrons should
return - to defend the fleet against the second carrier."
     "No," said Apollo.  "We'll carry out the strike as planned.  I
think Father will come up with another plan."
     "Very well," said Forfo.  He lead Apollo to the communications
booth.  "I will gather my pilots together.  We should launch within
the centar."
     "We'll be ready," said Apollo.

     Adama considered the news, all the while watching his son's face
on the viewer.  He seemed to be handling the situation, his bad
feeling toward the Delphians well.  Adama allowed himself an inward
smile.
     "That makes thing difficult.  We are out of fighter range.  Our
fighters would run out of fuel before they could get back."
     "Then maybe...the Galactica will have to leave the Fleet,"
suggested Apollo.
     "I agree," said Adama.  "But that second Gaa carrier had me
worried.  I believe we will leave the reserve squadron behind, just in
case."
     "I wish they had a commander," said Apollo.
     "Yes," said Adama.  His eye slid from his son to his daughter,
sitting at her post.  She wasn't the most experienced Viper pilot, but
she was able to fly, and she was command grade.  She would do
temporarily, until Colonel Tigh could assign a real commander to
Yellow Squadron
     Athena sensed the commander's eyes on her.  She looked up with a
questioning look.
     "I've got to get the strike launched," said Adama, returning his
eyes to Apollo's image.  "If you don't hear anymore from us, you can
assume all is well."
     "Very well," said Apollo as the transmission faded.
     Adama stepped down into the operational center of the bridge and
told his plan to Athena.  She stood, left the bridge, and suited up in
her old tan warrior outfit.

     The squadron briefing was just breaking up when Det felt the
deck rattle beneath him.  The Galactica was in a tight turn, and her
engines were powering up.  Anticipating the page from the bridge, Det
stepped closer to the telecom on the wall.
     He was quick to answer it when it beeped.
     "Captain Det.  Go ahead."
     "Captain," came Colonel Tigh's voice.  "We have received new
information.  A second Gaa ship is in the system.  We are launching
the strike early."
     "The Galactica is moving away from the Fleet?"  det asked.
     "correct," said the colonel.
     "Who's staying behind to guard the civilian ships?"  Det asked.
     "Our reserve warriors," said Tigh.  "Lieutenant Athena will be
in command of the escort."
     Det nodded.
     "Galactica will be in strike launch range in thirty centons,"
said Tigh.
     Det did some quick computation.  The battlestar would have to be
moving near lightspeed to get to the launch position in thirty
centons.
     "We'll be ready," said Det.  He closed the channel only after he
heard the click indicating that Tigh had already done so.  He turned
back to face his pilots.
     They had all expected a few more centars of rest before the
attack.  Now it was down to twenty-nine centons.
     "Dietra," said Det.  "Get the squadron ready, and assemble on
the flight bay floor.  I'll be right back."
     Det left the squadron room in nearly a run.
     Dietra did as she was instructed.  She sent the warriors off to
get their contact suits on, and to grab their gear.  She went out to
check the equipment installation on the fighters.
     Most of the ships were finished, parked neatly on the launch
rails.  Only three were still being modified, and those were now
teeming with mechs and technicians who no doubt were just as surprised
as the pilots regarding the new attack schedule.

     Det made it to his billit and grabbed a plaque from his wall. 
As he turned to leave, an odd bookend caught his eye.  It had once
been more than a bookend; it had been his flight helmet from the
Orion's Blood Squadron.
     The ornamentation on the front was different from the Great Bird
that adorned the Galactica's helmets.  An intricate carving of the
hunter Orion with his bow drawn stared back at Det from the shelf.  So
fine was the detail, that the bowstring was cast in a piece of metal
no thicker than a human hair.
     In that moment, and while still lost in the memory of his time
aboard the Orion, Det grabbed the helmet and made back for the launch
tubes.  How strange it was that the once familiar Orion decoration
seemed odd compared to the Galactica's Bird.
     Det sprinted back as fast as he could.

     Cree wasn't sure what it was that seemed to pull at his jacket
and lead him toward the small personnel left that came from the
catwalk to the launch bay floor, but he followed the tug just the
same.  He was startled when the lift began to move.  He wasn't
expecting Det to return from up there.  He stepped back and looked up.
     It wasn't Det.  He was looking up at a long-haired female
warrior.  His brain went into over drive, trying to identify the
warrior.  It was Athena.
     "Lieutenant?"  said Cree as he all but gawked at her tan
fatigues.  "What are...where are you going?"
     "I'm going to lead the Viper escort while the Galactica ferries
you to your launch point," she said.
     "You?"
     Athena ignored Cree's question as Det's mech chief ran up to her
and handed her a flight helmet.  "Viper Nineteen is ready for you."
     "Thank you, Drill," said Athena as she turned from Cree and
proceeded down the row of waiting Vipers.  The steam was being piped
into the launch tubes now for the massive launching that was about to
take place.  There was a feeling of pressure all through the tube.
     "I didn't mean that," said Cree as he ran to catch up to Athena. 
"I just meant...I don't know."
     Athena put her helmet on as much to block Cree's words as to get
reacquainted with the feel of it.  It was heavy.  More so than she
remembered.
     "I meant, good luck," said Cree.  
     "Thank you," said Athena as she climbed into her ship.  She sat,
and closed the canopy.  She never looked back at Cree as she began
receiving the coordinates from Core Command.
     Cree stood by her ship as Athena continued the countdown.  Then,
he backed away as he heard the engines whir to life.  In a moment,
Athena was gone.
     The steam and other hot gasses had barely begun to dissipate
when Cree heard Det calling him back to the assembly point on the
landing bay floor.
     "Sometime, today, Lieutenant."
     Cree gave one last look down the launch tube before sprinting
back down for the squadron meeting.
     Det waited quietly while Cree took his spot, then began to
speak.  He held a wood and gold plaque in his right hand, and held it
up for the others to see.
     "This is the speech that my father, Colonel Deere, gave before
he assumed the executive officer job aboard the Battlestar Cerberus. 
Later, my uncle, Commander Heron, gave the same speech when he took
command of the Gunstar Orion.  It eventually became the official creed
of the Third Fleet, and I wanted to share it with you now, before we
launch on this mission."
     Det began to read: "This day, I dedicate my life to those who
serve under me.  And together, we dedicate our lives to those we
serve.  May The Colonies be forever blessed with peace, prosperity,
and freedom.  May our cause be ever just, and our strength
everlasting.  May God give us the courage, the honor, and the
privilege to serve our people to the best of our abilities from this
day forward.  Should we fall, let it be with honor, and should we
prevail, let it be with dignity.  This we swear on our life blood, for
all time."
     Drill came to Det and took the plaque away.  Det had instructed
him to set it on the desk in his office.  That way, should he not
return from this strike, the words his father had spoken those yahrens
ago would be remembered, and they could provide inspiration to
whomever may take his place as squadron commander.
     Blanken involuntarily wiped his palms on his pants as Det gave
the order to board their ships.  His heart was racing, and his mind
was strangely focused.  He saw nothing in his brain except for the
procedure to lit up the engines, and launch from the battlestar.
     Despite the clarity in his thoughts, he was barely away of the
messages from the bridge.  The only words he really heard were Det's.
"Red Squadron, launch."
     It was almost like a dream.  Blanken felt like he was floating. 
He was aware of the pounding in his chest, and his shortness of breath
as he began the ride he had waited his whole life for.

     Apollo would have been awed had he been able to see his entire
assault force as the headed toward the Gaa carrier.  Blue Squadron was
deployed in a long descending ladder formation, with Silver Spar
similarly deployed blow and behind them.  The Delphian ships, three
squadrons, were in vertical wall formations behind the Colonial
fighters.  
     The captain's attention was elsewhere.  He was checking his
forward scanners and rereading the Delphians' tactical report.  The
Gaa had a super weapon at their disposal.  It was similar to the shock
weapon the Cylons had used recently against the Fleet.
     If the Gaa could deploy six of their fighters around the main
carrier so that each formed the corner of a perfect cube, they could
send out a shock blast that would cripple all of the fighters in the
attack force.  This weapon was far superior to the Cylons' pale copy. 
The Gaa fighter were immune to the effect.  They could render the
entire force ineffective, and pick them off at will.
     Silver Spar squadron had been given the task of killing any
fighter that attempted to form a vertex.  Any Gaa ship that took a
position near the cube corners was to be their primary target.  
     Blue Squadron, and the Delphian Gh'ottish group would focus on
the carrier, trying to inflict such damage that they would have to
move off.
     It would be no easy battle, Apollo knew that.  He had seventy-
nine ships under his command.  According to the Delphians, the Gaa
carrier sported some fifty-two fighters.  Even so, the overwhelming
superiority of the Gaa ships concerned him.
     Boomer was the first to chime in.  "Scanner contact.  Gaa
sentinel ships dead ahead."
     So it began.
     "Captain Apollo to assault force, go."
     Apollo tapped his thrusters, and barreled headlong into the two
Gaa ships.  The two Delphian groups that were assigned to take out
fighters shot past him, still in their sheer wall formation.  Apollo
was once again impressed by the speed and grace of the Delphian ships. 
They blanketed the space around the Gaa craft with laser fire,
eventually killing the outward craft.
     "Incoming fighters from the carrier," said Sheba over the
comline.  "Silver Spar, advance!"
     "Blue Squadron, tighten up," said Apollo.  "Flights two and
three lock onto primary targets.  May the Lords of Kobol bless us
all."
     It was not a micron later that the sky erupted in a blinding
fury of laser fire and ship explosions.
     Apollo pulled his Viper in on the carrier.  Two Gaa ships passed
in front of him.  It was tempting for him to break off and give chase,
but he had to complete his objective.  A trio of blackships tore
passed him, after the Gaa cubes.
     The comline was full of babble now.  Apollo did his best to
follow what was being said.  It was useless so he gave up.  His
targeting computer was lit up like a supernova.
     Laser fire came at him from the left side.  Apollo rolled
slightly to evade.  He rolled back to reacquire his target.
     He saw the Delphian ship rip the Gaa fighter to bits, and he saw
the three other Gaas blast his savior from the stars.
     A lot of good people were going to die today, that more might
live.  Apollo shoved that thought aside as he started his attack run.

     Elsewhere, Red Squadron clipped along in three five-ship wedge
formations.  Det headed the lead formation, and mentally prepared
himself for what was to come.  The inevitable losses were obvious. 
Now was not the time to worry about it.  He had to keep his head
clear.
     He switched his mind to automatic.  The change was recognizable
to the rest of his warriors, as his voice took on the "flat tone." 
Those who had been around long enough, knew that meant it was business
only from that point on.
     "Blanken, check your camscreen," said Det, flat tone.
     Blanken had the spot to Det's right.  He was in the flight that
was going to hit the planetside base.  His camouflage screen had to be
up, and it had to be one hundred percent, or he would be bright as a
stellar flare on the Gaas' scanners.  Worse, his visibility would give
away the position of the rest of Blood Flight.
     "It's getting power," said Blanken.  "Is it working now?"
     Det glanced at his scanner.  The three other Vipers in his
flight were masked from his scanner.  He had to crane his neck to
visually check their positions.  Blanken's reflective signal was
lighting up the imager on CORA's console so bright, Det could make out
the streaks from the recent polishing the ship had been given.
     "No," said Det.
     "Captain," came Dietra's voice.  "Send him back here.  Pactor
can do it."
     "Blanken," said Det.  "Get back and take Red 8's spot."
     "Sorry, sir," said Blanken as he drifted back.
     Det made a popping sound with his mouth to acknowledge the
message without having to respond.
     Pactor slipped in to Blood Flight.
     "Turn up your camscreen," said Det.
     "It's at full, Captain," said Pactor.  "I can't get anymore
power from the engines."
     Det said nothing.  Some of those older Vipers had energy output
problems.  Under normal, and even extreme combat conditions, they were
fine.  But, when flying the Viper on the outermost extremes of it's
abilities, they lagged sorely behind.  Det had spend quite some time
in such ships.  He would have Pactor's problems sorted out before they
hit the base.
     CORA chimed in, "We have reached the farthest extent of the Gaa
scanning ability."
     "That's it," said Det.  "Squadron break!"
     Cree pulled Talon Flight down into the atmosphere, leaving huge
trails of fire and smoke as his five ships ripped through the sky.  It
was sure to draw attention, and attract an armed response.
     That was the plan.
     Dietra and her "Daggers" hung back, providing back-up for the
Talons.  It was hard for her to wait, but she knew later she would
cherish the few moments of peace she was enjoying, even if it was
burned by her eager anticipation.
     Blood Flight dropped into the atmosphere slowly.  All the
internal systems in the five craft lowered themselves to minimum
power.  The ships knew how to hide themselves until the last micron. 
The warriors had to sit back and wait.
     Cree pulled the Talons up and away from the planet the very
micron his scanners showed twelve of those Gaa cube ships racing up at
them.  He turned, jinked and rolled as the first shots were fired. 
The shots missed long, but that was to be expected.
     Dietra turned her flight into the fray that was forming.
     "Wingmen, watch your lead's backside.  Blanken, you're with me,"
said Dietra.
     Blanken took his spot alongside and below Dietra, just on her
left.  He overshot her position as Dietra moved in on the Gaa ships. 
He tried to hang back, and slip back in, but Dietra left him behind.
     "AutoForm!"  hollered Dietra.
     Blanken tapped the switch that would activate his Automatic
Formation Device.  It momentarily took control of the ship, and
slapped it back in line with Dietra.  A micron later, when the
controls reverted to him, his alarm was going crazy.  There was a
burning in his right shoulder blade.
     "Gaa ships closing on the rear quarter," Blanken said.
     "Turn and bank on my mark," said Dietra.
     Blanken remembered the simulator.  He was ready and able to
perform the trick he had seen the lady warriors do only once.
     "MARK!"  hollered Dietra.
     As Dietra kicked off with her turbos to the right, Blanken
dropped behind her, and cut hard right.  He passed behind her, and
swung back on their pursuers.  The Gaa fired their maneuvering
rockets, and shot straight up.  The Viper attack was thwarted, but the
Gaa were on the defensive.
     Cree and Matthew descended on the fleeing ship, and pelted them
with laser torpedoes.
     "Nice shot, Three," said Dietra.
     Cree mimicked Det's popping sound.
     Blanken was overwhelmed by the various inputs he was receiving. 
His scanner suit tingled all over.  His scanner showed ten Vipers, and
nine Gaa ships.  They had worked the odds into their favor, but it was
far from over.
     "Dietra, you've got a pair on you," came Elish's voice.
     Dietra swung her fighter into a wide barrel roll, and moved over
the Gaa ships as they swooped in on her.  Blanken hung fast, until
Dietra hit her breaking flaps.  He overshot her like a missile fired
from under her wing.  He tried to loop back to her, but the intense
fire from the two Gaa ships had him pinned.
     "Break left," ordered Dietra.
     Blanken looked left even as he did as he was told.  The three
beams from one of the attacking ships was whistling by on the left. 
Blanken felt his blood freeze in his chest and arms as he nosed his
ship to the left.
     "Gone, and...gone," said Dietra.  Two more Gaa ships vanished
from Blanken's scope.  
     He made that pop with his mouth, and rejoined Dietra.
     As he looked for the targets his scanner said were slipping
behind him, he saw two Vipers vanish in a fiery flash.  He tried not
to think that, though he knew he would have nightmares about that
moment for the rest of his life.
     "Cut back," said Dietra.  "The second wave is coming."
     Blanken checked his scope.  Twenty more fighters were coming to
the enemy's aid.  
     The moment Blanken had dreamed about all his young life had
arrived.  He was engaged with the enemy in a do-or-die battle to the
death.  In his wildest fantasies, it had never been this intense.
     Still, all he could manage to do was say "Frak..."

     Det's force skimmed the planet's surface.
     "Pactor, cut your weapons back to sixty percent," Det ordered.
     "Cut weapons?"
     "You need the power for your camscreen," said Det.
     "But what about the base?"
     "You'll need the reserve power for when we finish," said Det. 
"The battle's not going well up there."
     Pactor felt his heart sink.  He reset the slider for his laser
generator, and gave the power to his screen.  His electronic signature
vanished from everyone's scanners.
     "Blood Flight," said Det as they crossed the canyon's south
ridge.  "Attack."

      Blanken slammed his fighter into an inverted dive as the laser
fire from yet another Gaa ship ripped the black vacuum in front of
him.  Even the pressure suit he was wearing could not compensate for
the massive G forces he was pulling as his ship rolled again and
again.  He held his breath and tightened the muscles in his gut and
back.  He felt like his temples were going to pop.
     Then, suddenly, the Gaa ship slid in front of him.  Though still
spinning madly, Blanken's Viper let fly with a barrage of laser fire
like he had never seen.  He hit the ship six times before the resident
energy of the laser torpedo was able to destroy it.  
     Blanken reached for the braking flaps, but was unable to move
his hands.  They weighed so much more than usual.  It was the G
forces.
     Instead, he tapped the reverse thruster button on his stick. 
The Viper spun one last time, and leveled out, flying at minimum
patrol speed.  As Blanken's vision returned, he powered up his
engines, and rejoined the battle.

     Cree was in front.  He bolted left, then right, the Gaa lasers
getting closer all the time.  The Gaa ship followed his evasive
maneuvers, albeit somewhat slowly.  Brie was in the back, squeezing
off burst after burst of laser fire to shake the Gaa loose.
     Cree cut left.  The latest round of Gaa fire shot past his ship,
just a few metrons to the right.  The Gaa turned left to pursue, and
Brie lined up for the shot.
     "Yes!"  screamed Brie as her targeting computer locked onto the
cubic death ship.  She fired again.
     No sooner had she fired, than a blast of laser fire flashed past
her own ship.  She slapped the stick to the right, pulling away from
the battle.  The Gaa ship chasing her stopped and executed one of
their snap spins.  It kept guns on Brie at every turn.
     The alarms in Brie's helmet were going crazy.  
     She pulled up.  She was still targeted.
     She rolled and went left.  She was still targeted.
     She did a zero lateral turn, and she was targeted.
     The Gaa ship fired.

     "Pop up on my mark," said Det as they made the final leg of
their attack run.
     The five ships raced in, some twenty metrons off the ground.  If
the information the Delphians had given them was correct, they would
reach the Gaa supply base in fifteen microns.  That meant they were
close enough that Det should be picking up some residual radiation
from the fighters' launch.
     There was very little background radiation on his scanner.
     "CORA...?"
     "Unable to confirm or deny the existence of the Gaa base," said
the computer.
     "Frak..."
     Then, a red flash erupted from the ground just ahead of them.
     "Laser fire," said Det.  "All ships hold fast."
     A second burst came straight at them.  This one hit Pactor's
ship head on, destroying it utterly.
     Det eased his flight down still lower.  He could see roads now,
all leading to a central location.  One just three microns ahead.
     Two.
     One.
     Det locked onto the space drome, and let his lasers go.  There
were massive explosions as his torpedoes hit their targets.  Then the
wave of secondaries touched off.  The fuel depot went up, then the
hangers, then the ships waiting to join the battle above.
     Det switched his camscreen off.  They were visually targeted,
and there was no point diverting the power to anything but the engines
now.  He pulled up, in a powerful vertical climb.
     His other three ships followed, lighting off their turbos one by
one as they climbed.
     CORA registered the progress of the fires on the surface as they
drew away.  The screen displayed the terrible destruction Blood Flight
had wrought.  Then, when the main power core caught fire, she
displayed the single explosion that sent debris from the fighter
hanger nearly 5000 metrons into the sky.
     Det breathed a sigh of relief as his flight made space.
     "Blood flight," he said.  "Reset your guns.  We're going into
combat."
     The cheers and whistles that came screaming from his helmet's
speakers; Det ignored them.

     Brie was out classed.  She was cornered at every turn.  Dietra
was too far away.  And although Cree had freed himself from his
pursuer, he was no where to be seen.  
     The young warrior rolled away from one more Gaa laser blast, but
it struck the underside of her Viper.  She felt the ship shudder, then
lose speed.  Her heart was sinking fast, like her chances of going
home.  
     One of her hydraulic lines ruptured, and sent the ship skidding
toward the planet.  Her only way out of this was to turn for the
planet, catch all the speed she could, and light up her turbos (if
they still worked).  The resultant speed should be enough to carry her
out of the planet's gravity, and into space.
     But that would mean she would have to quit evading the laser
shots, and that meant she was going to die.
     It was just at that last micron, when Brie knew all was lost,
that the sun's light reflected off something in the upper atmosphere. 
If it was more Gaa ships, what did that matter?  Brie was going to die
anyway.
     But, as the reflection turned and came toward her, she saw that
it was four Vipers, full turbo spread, and closing on the two ships
keeping her pinned.
     Brie snapped from infinite despair to infinite joy, as she
shipped her fighter in toward the planet.  She saw the reflected light
as Det and company picked off her tormenters, and turned into the
raging battle.
     "Thank you, Captain!"  Brie shouted into her mic as she picked
up speed.

     Det checked the status of the miniature war with CORA.  of
fifteen Vipers and thirty-two Gaa ships that had started the battle,
there were now eleven Vipers and sixteen Gaa cubes.  Det's heart was
at once lifted and sickened by the fantastic showing that they had
made against the "unbeatable" fighters and the loss of nearly a third
of his squadron.
     Coldly, Det shoved those thoughts away, and kicked Blood Flight
out into a vertical diamond attack pattern.  The four ships deployed
with Det at the top, one ship directly below him, and two ships
diagonally below Det.  Their firing pattern now more closely mimicked
the Gaa lasers.  
     CORA picked the targets that were closest, and easiest to pick
off.
     "Blood Flight, keep your AutoForms locked.  Stay in formation. 
The micron I give the order, though, be ready to break and pick the
runners off," said Det.
     Only popping sounds came back at him.
     "First target, bearing six oh one degrees," said CORA.  "Speed -
slow.  Weapons output - exhausted."
     Det inched his throttle up, and raced in on the damaged fighter. 
When he fired, his flight fired.  Eight bursts of laser torpedo fire
ripped the wounded ship apart.  The blast lit up the sky like a small
sun.
     Even as the fire raged, Det turned on a second ship.
     "...Speed - slow.  Weapons output - firing."
     Det held his breath as the fire swam past his flight.  With
callous disregard for the consequences, Det fired his guns again.  The
ship vanished in an unimpressive flare, and was gone.
     "Captain!"  came Cree's voice.  "They're leaving!"
     There was no standing order regarding pursuit of Gaa ships. 
There would be no recall order from the Galactica.  It was purely
Det's decision to pursue and destroy the nine Gaa ships that now fled
from his force.
     What a victory that would be!  To report that so many Gaa ships
had been wiped out!  To avenge Jolly and Greenbean's deaths in such a
spectacular manner.
     Then, level-headedness began to return.  He had only eleven
ships.  He had to return.  The Fleet had no need of heroes, or
revenge.  It needed warriors to protect them from the Gaa, and the
Cylons, should they ever show back up.
     "Red Squadron," said Det in words that ripped at his throat. 
"Form up.  We're going home."
     Blanken drifted back in on Dietra's wing.
     "You did good, kid," said Dietra.
     "Thank you, Lieutenant."
     "Hey, what say I give you one more shot at me in the simulator
when we get back?"
     "You're on, Lieutenant.  One on one?"
     "One on one."

     "Any word from Attack Force Red?"  Adama asked.
     "Negative," said Omega.
     Adama fixed his gaze back on the open view port before him.  If
all did not go as planned, the fighter reinforcements would overwhelm
the mixed force attacking the Gaa ship, and both the human fleet and
the Delphian cruiser would be lost.  Still, the Fleet had to move.
     "Omega,  bring the Fleet to speed.  Make for the gravity well."
     Tigh nearly protested.  If the fighter base was still up, the
losses would be total.  But, his faith in Adama had come to be just as
total.

     "One more should do it," said Apollo.  He rode just above the
top of the Gaa ship.  Starbuck was tucked in on his wing.
     "Let's go!"  shouted Apollo as he fired.  Both ships pulled out
with fiery blue turbo trails.  Their shots ripped the Gaa command pod
from its base, severing any command functions the attack ship could
perform.
     A whole flight of blackships followed the two, giving their
support by blasting the defensive laser turrets that were seeking the
Vipers.
     Suddenly, the Gaa cruiser listed heavily to one side.  She began
to run, but was unable.  Something blocked her way.
     "By all that's holy..." said Starbuck as he beheld the Delphian
cruiser.
     It bore down on the Gaa ship, firing all the while.  The Gaa
ship had nothing with which to respond.  The fighters, Gaa, Colonial,
and Delphian backed out and let the giants battle.
     It was a surprise when the Gaa ship let fly with one single
blindingly bright blast that slammed the Delphian ship back several
kilometrons.
     The fighters moved back in, raking the Gaa ship with laser fire. 
Her internal power died.  Her engines fell cold.  Her lasers went
silent.
     The Delphian ship again fired, ripping the Gaa in half.  The
pieces began to burn and break apart.  Victory was in hand.
     No one was happier than Apollo.  He slapped his ship into a
triple barrel roll, and called to his squadrons, "Form up and return
to the Galactica."
     The Fleet was moving up from the rear corner.  Apollo was glad
they had held out so long.  Any sooner, and the Gaa fighters might
have engaged the civilian ships so as to draw the Vipers away from the
battleship.
     Fortune was smiling on the humans for the first time in a long
time.

     As Det checked his ship for damage, he couldn't help but look
across the landing bay at the empty Viper berths.  Four of his
warriors were gone.  Two had been cadets he had personally called up
to active duty.
     He set his old Orion helmet down on the nose of his ship, and
walked the length of the landing bay, to clear his head.  He found
himself standing just metrons from the gaping open landing bay
entrance at the rear of the bay.  As he looked back on the ships, he
wondered if they knew, or wanted to know what had happened.
     They were no doubt relieved to know that (as the IFB would
report) "Colonial forces together with our new allies, the Delphians,
defeated the Gaa both in space and on a planetside base.  Colonial
losses. while heavy, were not as bad as they could have been."
     Det stood, for a very long time.  He felt the queasy feeling as
the Fleet slipped through the gravity well, and into the safety
beyond.  It was over, for now.  All he could take away from it was the
knowledge that his people had done their best, and were better
warriors for it.

     Blanken sprinted across the landing bay toward Det.  Dietra
caught his arm with her right hand, and nearly pulled the boy over. 
She held him firm as she asked, "What's the hurry, Cadet?"
     "I wanted to thank Captain Blood for taking me along; for having
the faith in me to carry out the mission."
     Dietra looked once to Det, then to Blanken.  "I don't think now
would be the best time for that.  And maybe you shouldn't call him
that, either."
     "But everyone calls him that."
     "I don't," said Dietra.  "You guys may think it's a cute name,
but he just lead fifteen of us into battle, and four of us died.  Do
you think he wants to be called Captain Blood?"
     "I never thought of that," said Blanken.  "I'm sorry."
     "I'll pass on what you said," said Dietra.  "about saying thank
you."
     Blanken nodded, and backed away slowly.
     Dietra looked back to the captain.  Squadron command had to be
very hard.  To personally bear the responsibility for fifteen warriors
and to feel each loss like the loss of a brother...that was almost too
much.  
     Brie was only now climbing from her shot-up Viper.  There was
the upside.  Knowing that those fifteen warriors depended so heavily
on you.  Their very lives were in the commander's hands every time
they launched.  It was up to the commander to save them.
     Dietra knew what she was going to do about the colonel's offer. 
She left the bay, and left a message with Tigh's aid.  After that, she
went to the warriors' billet, and packed.

This story is a work of fan fiction, and is not intended to infringe
on the copyrights of Universal, ABC, Glen Larson Studios, or any other
corporations involved with Battlestar Galactica. It is intended solely
for distribution on the Internet, and the enjoyment of those BSG fans
who read it. 
Please direct feedback to me at TiCeL@aol.com
I hope you enjoyed it.