PHD #025: EVENT - Breadcrumbs - Air Engagement
Breadcrumbs - Part 1.
Summary: The Cerberus' Air Wing attempts to punch a hole through the defense field around Parnassus Anchorage.
Date: 23.03.41
Related Logs: Breadcrumbs-Recon
Arkat Aziza Bannik Daphne Demos Evandreus Kulko Lunair Marko Oberlin Quinn Rojas Sabien Sitka Stavrian Trask NPC 
Ward Room - Deck 7 - Battlestar Cerberus
Post Holocaust Day: #25
A large oak table in the center that is surrounded by high-backed, black leather chairs, and is one of the few compartments that has carpeted floor dominates the Ward Room. There is a large LCD screen at one end of the room for presentations that faces the CO's position at the head of the table. At the other end of the room is a small counter for refreshments and has stacks of legal pads and writing utensils available for those that use the room. Nearest the hatch is a small screen set into the wall, which provides a readout for a customizable set of data. Along the starboard wall, stand the 12 flags of the colonies.
Condition Level: 3 - All Clear

Kulko is seated at the table with his customary folder of star charts in front of him. He shakes a cigarette out of a soft pack and ignites his Cerberus zippo on the side of his uniform trousers. "Wanna call in the techies, Ell-Tee?" he prods Oberlin.

Fiddling with the remote control, Oberlin is already here, glancing at the thing in annoyance as he pulls in its cord and points it at the LCD screen up on the wall. "Come /on/, come /on./" Kulko's jab is met with a withering glance, completely without malice. "Don't tell anyone, Ensign. /Please./" He sighs as he fiddles with the control some more until the screen actually pops on, with a map and a series of schematics displaying a space station.

Still wearing the blacks from guard duty somewhere or another, Sergeant Arkat Galyian steps into the ward room just in time to get a facefull of bright schematics in glistening 1080p. His "Lieutenant." of greeting is cut a little short by a quick "Gah!" in reaction to the screen. He coughs. Nothing happened, let it go.

Kulko takes his sweet time lighting the cigarette. After his first drag, he lifts a finger to his lips in a 'shhh' gesture. "That's awful pretty. We gonna blow it up?"

Stavrian is dressed for their forward work, in those ugly olive-and-red fatigues with the blaring red brassard. His kit is loaded and strapped securely at his hip, with another small pack on the leg left for quick grabs of their most common supplies. Arms are folded until he gets far enough into the room where it becomes a protocol breach, unlocking at that point into a formal salute to the one superior in the room. "Lieutenant, sir." Once dropped, he nods to the others in the room, then his attention's yanked to the screen.

Da da da~ Raise the black banner~ But it's kind of scary really. Poor Lunair is meandering in, holding a can of juice and looking lost. She's deep in thought, purple eyes wide. She almost runs into poor Arkat. "Ooooh, pretty-" Moving screen- CRACK- She does neatly clothesline herself on the table, not having stopped walking after passing Arkat. The LTJG's eyes water painfully. She's dressed for duty, but wheezes softly. It's probably a good thing she is not a man or she'd be a eunuch or something. "Hello sirs," She croaks after a little bit.

Sabien plods in behind Stavrian, like a pack mule who was brought as an afterthought. He wears a similar outfit and carries a similar medic bag as Stavrian, marking him as one of the lackies. Pulling in behind his CO, he draws up a salute when prudent, perfecting that imitation of a shadow. When he falls back, he finds a convenient slice of wall to lean on while he studies the others as much as he studies what they're presented with.

"Don't take me as anything other than a an information dump." Oberlin says, returning greetings and salutes mildly, and shrugging shoulders. "A pretty toxic one. And, nah. We're not doing anything of the kind, I'd /hope/." He says at first to Kulko, before turning to point at the screen. "This will be brief, because we don't have a lot of tactical information to go on for whatever's aboard the Anchorage. This is just a delcaration of objectives." He clicks again, jumping through various images on the LCD. "This is Parnassus Anchorage. She was used as an emergency supply and research base back here on the edge of the Red Line. There's not a lot out here. Or so we thought. Our mission is as follows - secure the station." He edges towards the wall and clicks a few more times, zooming in on the station's floor plan. "With me so far?"

Stavrian glances at Sabien as the PO shows up, giving the slightly older medic a little nod. His arms fold again and his blue eyes turn back to Oberlin. "Will take you for nothing more, sir," the JG replies, agreeably dry. The LCD screen has his interest then as the Lieutenant starts to explain the issue.

After nearly clotheslining herself, Lunair pulls herself upright and into a more officerly pose. She claims one of the chairs to listen in though. She smiles at Oberlin then winces. She tilts her head. "So far, sir," She remarks quietly, listening to Ober so far. The purple eyed woman's head turns as more enter. She seems a bit like she might be hosting a butterfly convention in her stomach. Apparently the people in CIC are like heroes to the dorky Marine Officer.

Aziza shows up a little late to the briefing, and tries to stealth her way into an out-of-the-way spot at one of the walls. At least she's stowed the chewing gum, today. For now.

Shifting from foot to foot, Arkat settles for his shoulder against a wall as the appropriate way of hearing the briefing. Also his outfit rustles a lot if he sits. Hate to be a bother. "That's it?" He asks, eyes mostly focused on the LCD display showing off what it is they have to take. "We're just securing for now?" The tone of 'No engineers scampering around to get shot in the face' breaks through even his most business-like attempts at speech.

Stepping into the room, Demos glances around the room. Her gaze lingers a moment on Stavrian, then flicker up to the display. Walking softly, the MP claims a nearby chair. Sitting up straight, her posture finishing-school perfect, hands clasped in her lap, she becomes a study in attentitive listening. (Painting by Whistler, to be hung in a gallery next to his mother.)

Sabien gives a little chin-up nod to Stavrian as he's noticed, one of those 'I got your back, bro' gestures. As Aziza slides in late and tucks up next to the wall where the other lackies are hiding (namely him) he leans over slightly and mutters something quietly.

"Basically, that's our objective." Oberlin repeats, clicking through and jimmying the remote control. "Well, good." He continues dumping his information. "You all will be ferried by transport Raptors to survey and hopefully secure the station. Now, for the bad news — there are enemy forces aboard. We don't know their size or disposition, but they are not supported by capital ships. In addition, there are," he blinks, shaking his head a little as he zooms out. "reports of low-level radiation signatures throughout the station. Not enough to indicate immediate danger, but they are anomalous. You will be deployed with a standard ration of anti-rad meds, just in case. Just like hanging out here at Uram without the creepy glow." He shoots an equally creepy smile around the room. It fades, shortly afterwards. "We hope to secure it for purposes of salvage and resupply, for one. Second — here's where things get tricky. This mission is classified, level three-Constellation. Simply put, there are things here that do not add up. I won't lie to you, something was going on here. As you all know, ever since the Cassandra incident, mines were illegal under intercolonial law even prior to the Articles of Colonization. There are spaceborne mines out there, that our pilots will be compensating for. In addition, the Cerberus and her support ships will aid in sweeping those defenses. Fortunately, the boarding party won't have to worry about those."

Stavrian's attention shifts to Demos as she comes in. For reason it stays there quite a while before he forces his attention back to Oberlin, a dark brow raising as the Lieutenant goes on. "Mines," he comments under his breath. "No shit." Mental note taken of the radiation dangers and all those extra signs they'll need to be watching for.

Aw shit, spotted. The tall Sergeant doing her best impression of a wallflower at the back, does a little double-take as Sabien leans over to mutter to her. Attention torn between the Intelligence Officer giving the briefing, and the medic, she mumbles a reply after a short pause to digest information.

That's fortunate. Purple eyes already got Lunair set on fire for being a witch /once/. She's not keen to add 'creepy glow' to the list of reasons to shove her down a well. She frowns a little. But she is listening. A wince at the mention of mines. Such a cruel way of fighting. She takes a deep breath. But the officer does listen patienntly. It seems to be something she's good at. For now, despite the Marines and others gathering, Oberlin has her attention. It's not a pleasant feeling when CIC tells you something isn't adding up.

Kulko watches Oberlin like a hawk. A hawk with ADHD, as the Ensign flits a glance to each of the Marines in turn. His free hand drums on the table, in between ash-sweeps. He smokes the cigarette so forcefully that the cherry sharpens to a point.

Arkat's eyes drift between the two sneaky chatterboxes, mouthing a few guessed sentences to himself as to what the conversation could be about while taking in what information he can gleam from between the lines. "Won't have to worry unless we fly into one." He deadpans. Not his problem, though. At least it'd be quick. That's the only input he has, however. No more questions!

"I guess this is the final 'any questions' bit. We're looking for intelligence on what's /on/ the station, too." Oberlin continues, looking rather glum. "But that's after securing it. If there are no further questions, I'd best be going."

Sabien quirks a brow at whatever Aziza said, but his attention goes back to the briefing before it becomes obvious he was distracted momentarily. He clicks a pen out of his pocket, hoists up his sleeve, and makes a few quick notations on his forearm. Not on his hand. That wouldn't be sanitary.

Demos offers Stavrian an almost shy smile, something clearly on her mind. The smile fades, however, as she looks up at the briefing once more. Her expression sobers and she nods in agreement with Stavrian's comment.

Aziza spots the writing of notes on arm, and rolls her eyes a little. She, herself, jots a few things down on the pad of paper she brought, but doesn't bother offering the medic a sheet. Nope, no questions from her. Get in, secure the perimeter, don't get shanked. A Marine's job is simple.

Lunair nods. She'll make an inward note. Take note of anything important for intelligence. Righto. "None here sir," She remarks quietly. She still looks kind of nervous though. Why could that be?

"Oh. One more thing. Ensign Kulko. You've been requested to join the Away team." Oberlin says, suddenly halting as he looks at the man, with a mischevious twitch of his lips. "It won't be the same without you in CIC."

Arkat would probably proceed to eat any paper he wrote down notes on, so whatever he's managed to remember with have to do. None of that fancy Officerial 'writing' nonsense. Enlisted do it simple. "If there's nothing else, Sir, we'd like to get armed." He jabs a thumb at the hatch. Apparently, it's business time.

Kulko's cigarette falls from his lips onto the table. "I /what/?" He picks it up, quickly, and stabs it out on the underside of his boot. "I mean… aye, /sir/." With a quick sweep of the ash onto the carpet - let the deckies clean it up - he's on his feet and saluting. With a sidelong glance to the Marines in their BDUs, of course. "Suppose I ought to change."

Stavrian smirks ever so slightly as that's sprung on the CIC Ensign. Sucker. He unfolds his arms, turning halfway around to Sabien and muttering to the other medic while they wait. Probably whatnot about their supplies.

"You're to assist Lt. Lunair in accquiring intelligence. Don't look at /me/, it was the Admiral's idea. Truth be told, I'm mildly jealous." Oberlin says, deadpan, as he walks over to scrape his foot against the ashed cigarette just to make /sure/ it's out before retrieving it. "Good hunting everyone and I'll see you when you get back." That thin smile flickers, and he lingers behind. "Dismissed, then."

(Editor's note - We segue over to the Air Wing's Ready Room to see what those pilots are up to.

Ready Room - Deck 7 - Battlestar Cerberus
Post Holocaust Day: #25
With the hatches at the rear of the room, the walkways on both sides slope down towards the dais at the front of the room. The stadium seating forms a partial semi-circle around the speaking podium and provides enough seats for all three hundred members of the Air Wing. The walls are adorned with the patches of each squadron aboard and their mottos stenciled in white lettering above each one. Behind the podium is a set of large LCD screens that can display any matter of material from reconnaissance to maps to gun camera footage.
Condition Level: 3 - All Clear

The Cerberus' Ready Room is in its usual state. A smattering of the familiar faces of Viper and Raptor pilots in their seats, all with varying degrees of anticipation visible. The LCD behind the podium flickers on standby. The scarred-faced Black Knights Lieutenant Dylan "Queenie" Rogers leans forward and snickers at something one of his compatriots said. He's not a pretty man, by any stretch. One of the reasons he got his unfortunate callsign. His broken-looking nose twitches and he reaches upward to scratch at his bald head. "You wouldn't /believe/ the shit I heard come down from Tactical on this one."

Quinn is hear early, as ever. Earlier than normal, even, now that the Captain is finally back on duty. Several days of being removed due to sleep deprivation and she's finally looking well enough to fly again, if humbled by the experience. She remains settled quietly in one of the chairs in the front row, her clip board beneath her hands.

"Hey, Bunny. Did you ever hear back from CIC with any of their findings on that hop yesterday?" Marko asks, taking a seat behind the big pilot and stuffing his notepad into his kneeboard, grabbing his pen and all the other 'getting ready for a brief' type movements.

The Petrels' flight suited Captain filters into the ready room not far behind Quinn, a few file folders shoved under one arm, with his nose stuck in another that's threatening to lose its structural integrity. And hey, guess what, looks like he got stuck on Last Minute Briefing Duty. Which might account for him trying to cram for it, on his way up to the podium. Flustered? Maybe a little.

Evandreus sits slouched in a seat second row from the back, pen in hand, flightsuited but for gloves and helmet, moving his pen over his lips in a motion that would come across all bibbledy if it were going any faster. As it is he just sort of sulks out his lower lip into the thoughtful tapping. When someone sits behind him, "Hm?" he answers. "No. Hopefully they'll have something for us now."

Daphne sits ramrod straight. Were you expecting anything else? Her clipboard is back to overflowing with an impossible number of sheets of paper connected to it, aligned perfectly. Nobody could possibly burn through what… 50 sheets of paper in a single briefing, but if it should come to that, Daphne is prepared. Her expression is 100 percent blank.

When Trask enters the room, anyone near him with working olfactory sensors would be able to discern that he just finished smoking. With his usual aplomb, he claims a seat next to Quinn. Looking straight ahead, apart from a single sidelong glance, he asks her with a mock potentially hitting on her tone, "Have we met somewhere before?"

His Captain's fluster explains why Rojas is trying to conceal the sound of small snickers from the back row, leaning against his chair like he owns the damn thing. Every paper-flip brings a whole new wave to conceal, until the Poor Ol' Ensign is forced to cover his mouth with a hand and stare intently at the floor.

Quinn remains quietly settled in. She gives Sitka a brief flash of a smile as if to reassure him he'd be okay. Of course… they tossed a cubit to see who got the lucky chance to do a debriefing and he lost. So there he is, belle of the ball, organizing papers as she watches him slip up front.

"Just hope our bird doesn't go haywire on us again." Marko sighs, settling back in his seat and decides to flip his notepad to a sheet that doesn't have too much scribbled on it. Carefully, he draws a thick line between the old notes and the new, noting the time and date.

Quinn also keeps her eyes straight forward, though Trask gets a bit of a smirk, she is NOT disrupting this debriefing by actually responding to the old and used pick up line.

The bald Viper pilot, 'Queenie,' just falls silent as he looks up at the podium, and the screen, rumbling a little bit. "Wonder what they're gonna send us after /now?/"

After flipping through a few pages of notes, most likely penned by the CAG, Shiv finishes ascending the slightly raised dais at the front, checks his watch briefly, and launches right in without any preamble, "So, uh, here's the low-down, folks. As a few of you already know, we've been doing some recon on the Parnassus Anchorage. It's a-" He consults his notes. "Space ballistics testing ground, out in the ass-end of nowhere, near the Red line. Well, was. The thing is, during our salvage in Virgon's orbit, I guess we found a set of jump coordinates for the station, which appears to be intact. So Command's taking us in for a closer look." He rests his hip against the podium, scratches nervously at the bridge of his nose, then continues. His eyes do not leave the stack of notes. "We've got a few things to worry about:" He ticks them off on his fingers, "first off, confirmed enemy signatures. Two, several automated turrets still online, and lacking IFF, which means they aren't going to recognise our transponders, and are going to be a pain in the ass for Cerberus and anything else slow-moving. Three, illegal Colonial mines in the vicinity of the turrets." Finally, his head lifts. "Questions so far?"

Sitka reaches over belatedly to flick the projector on, and after a bit of fiddling, images snapped by the raptor recon pop up. Ahem.

Spanner's hand seems to raise for a second, but it lowers quick enough that the back slaps against the empty chair next to him a little harder than he planned. You see? This is what happens when you think better of making a joke. Handpain. As an alternative, he just leans on the back of the chair in front, crossing arms so he can rest his chin atop them.

Daphne only marks a single word onto her sheet of paper "Deathtrap" — but she does it in cheerful block cartoon lettering and even draws a sun rising over the edge of the 'D'. It has a smiley face.

Technically, it hasn't started. That means that Trask props his left elbow down on his chair's desk and then nestles his cheek against his open palm, now staring at Quinn. Before he can issue a quip, the debriefing actually does start. So, Sitka ends up the on the receiving end of a facetious comment. Idly, he regards Shiv, shifting only so much that his chin now rests in his palm. "So, what's the bad news?"

Marko chews on his bottom lip for a moment before raising his hand. "So this is basically just a recon in force, sir?" he asks. "Nobody's looking to actually dock with or enter the station?" Okay, so it's a stupid question, it's still one he wants to be clear on.

Evandreus stops batting at his lower lip and sits up just a little straighter, elbows on the armrests and rendering up his attention to the front. He's seen the place, of course, so the basic premise draws no questions from him.

Sitka flickers a grin in Marko's direction. "I'm getting to that. But no, we'll be boarding the station." Trask's given a long look, but his 'question' as such goes unanswered. Shuffling through his notes, the Captain, aka unlucky sod who got stuck with this briefing, then moves onto the next part. "In terms of the mission specifics, the Harriers' job is going to be getting our ground crew and fireteams onto the station in one piece. Standard countermeasures loadout." His eyes flick up to Quinn briefly. She's undoubtedly already familiar with this part. "Black Knights and Petrels, this'll be a strike operation. Priority's on those turrets and mines, unless and until you spot unfriendlies. We'll fly by the seats of our pants, otherwise. Maggie— Captain Quinn will be in charge of the boarding operation. I'll, uh, be running the viper side of things." He releases a long breath. "I think that's all I had for you guys. Get suited up and hit the 'bay; any questions, grab me or Jugs before you mount up. Good hunting, all of you."

Quinn nods curtly to him, no surprise on her features. A bit of a smile comes as he slips with her name. "Sounds good, Shiv." She winks to him and unfolds from her chairs, looking back to Trask and the few other Harriers around. "Lets rock and roll, my dears." Her clipped accent explains smoothly, lingering a heartbeat or two for any questions.

Trask has no further questions, if ever he really had one. With a bit of a torso twist and a stretch, he then bounds to his feet. "I'll start pre-flight," the ECO tells Quinn.

Harrier 307 - Launch Bays - Lower Hangar Deck - Battlestar Cerberus
Post Holocaust Day: #25
The forward section contains the flight deck, with side-by-side seats for the pilot and ECO (who occupies the rear section of the vehicle during normal operations). This opens into the main body which contains bulkhead-mounted racks of electronics equipment and sensors. A large canopy provides good forward and side visibility for the crew if any, which is no doubt of considerable benefit during atmospheric flight.

[Harrier-307: Quinn] Maggie steps into her usual bird, relaxing a bit just to be back in it's familiar confines. "Miss me?" She finally tosses back at her ECO as she settles down into the pilot's chair and begins her quick pre-checks.

[Harrier-307: Trask] Being that he arrived before his pilot, Trask finishes his pre-flight before Quinn does. "Like Tauron misses flowers," is relayed with a boyish smirk.

[Harrier-307: Quinn] Quinn smirks to herself, finishing her own checks just a moment later and then smoothly launching them into space once permission is gained from the Cerberus. She shakes her head towards him… "I can't tell if that's a compliment or an insult."

[Harrier-307: Trask] "Both, maybe," Trask tells her. Who knows /why/ the Colony has no flowers? Can they not grow? Do the natives yank them out? "I like flowers, though, and Tauron doesn't have any." Beat. "Pre-nuclear annihilation Tauron, even." Not a comment that any of the Marines they'll be escorting are bound to appreciate, but since when does the Jig care about such things? Thankfully, for Quinn, they've yet to board.

[Harrier-303: Evandreus] Evan's in a different boat from his usual, today, but, settling into the front, he straps in and begins powering up systems, first tentatively, as if getting to know the critter, then with more assertiveness. "How're we looking back there, Flasher? Make sure to cross-check our slated Full Number against those who board. We want to make sure we bring the right number of ducklings home."

[Harrier-303: Evandreus] "And preferably the -right- ducklings, to boot."

[Harrier-303: Marko] Marko takes a seat ECO station and starts running through his pre-launch check lists, letting the diagnostics cycle themselves while he moves around in the rear some. "Everything looks good from here, Bunny." he reports, glancing at the screen. "I'm gonna go ahead and break out the toolkit and some anti-radiation meds. Just in case we run into the same issue as yesterday." he adds, nodding. "Copy that, wilco."

[Harrier-307: Quinn] A quiet smile is flashed in Kal's direction, that smile which says, on occasion, he's a sweetly decent guy. "…Missed you too, handsome." She mutters quietly, that comm definitely only meant for his ears. She gives a gentle cuff of his shoulder with her knuckles in half warm greeting before she settles back into her seat and waits for the marines to board.

[Harrier-307: Trask] "I know," Bootstrap scampishly replies. That said, he lets Jugs know, "Right-o. We're good to go, back here." As the boarding party starts to arrive, he adds, "Welcome to the Party Bus."

[Harrier-307: Quinn] Maggie's head turns, all her frizzy red hair kept down by the careful curve of her helmet above her shoulders. She smirks quietly as she hears Trask's words. "Don't listen to him, boys. Not a single party on this bus. We're all sober, quiet boring old folks here."

[Harrier-303: Evandreus] 303's hatch is opened out into ramp position, open and inviting for boarding with a minimum of clamoring about. The pilot's up front, the ECO in back, everything is more or less as it should be— just waiting on that full number as Evan goes through greening up systems, one by one.

[Harrier-307: Trask] Is that a scoff? Why, yes. Yes, it is. "Speak for yourself, Captain. I'm always sober but never quiet or boring."

[Harrier-307: Quinn] The older Captain shakes her head once more, beginning to do a fast count of those heads on her ship, ensuring that she's got everyone aboard who is supposed to be.

[Harrier-303: Stavrian] Wondertwin power… separate. Stavrian sends Sabien off to one Raptor and himself to the other, climbing up into the back of 303 with his gear. And his rifle. Both equally important at times like these.

[Harrier-307: Kulko] Kulko ambles up the ramp, double checking to make sure his sidearm is strapped to his thigh. He's visibly unsure of himself in the unfamiliar uniform, and remains perfectly silent.

[Harrier-307: Demos] As everyone is getting settled, Demos buckles her restraints, then checks her armor and weapons one more time. Can't be too careful.

[Harrier-307: Lunair] Lunair looks nervous, like there's a butterfly convention in her stomach. She's lingering near Kulko though and looking around, as if internally repeatedly taking headcount. Moving heads are good. Her purple eyes are wide as saucers. She follows along though and is herded up the ramp. She buckles herself in. Check … check again.

[Harrier-307: Sabien] Sabien shuffles in among the last personnel after they sort out which medic will be riding with which section of marines. He's not the very talkative sort, merely grunting in lieu of 'yo' as he settles down into a jumpseat in the back of the crowded Raptor and straps himself in. "Please don't puke." He mutters towards Lunair, sensing her apprehension.

[Harrier-307: Quinn] Quinn gets ready for their jump with all the routine of making coffee and eggs in the morning. It doesn't worry her any longer — she makes jumps so regularly these days it feels like breathing. It's a Raptor's job. "Double check your coordinates against mine, Boots, and we'll be ready to go." She flickers a gaze to the Marine's, just a moment. "…I swear I don't bite," the middle-aged Captain quips to them.

[Harrier-307: Kulko] "Not even if I ask nicely, sir?" Kulko quips back, though his face is devoid of the good humor his voice carries. His eyes are glued to the viewscreen. One doesn't get this up close and personal with space in the gator head.

[Harrier-303: Aziza] Once she's settled, strapped in, and checked the safety on her rifle, Aziza leans her head against her seatback and closes her eyes. The gum chewing does not cease, though she does murmur a soft prayer in Gemenese as the pilots get things locked up and moving.

[Harrier-303: Evandreus] 303 drifts out of Cerberus' no-wake perimeter after 307, then turns to fly in formation with her in preparation for the advance.

[Harrier-307: Trask] It could just be an extension of his facetious nature, but Trask looks quite calm and composed. The rush of heading into an impending frak attack is what prevents him from being blasŽ. "Buckle-up, kids," he tells the passengers, adding to Kulko, "Yes, but you're a bit young for that, son." Poor Quinn. To the others, "Nah, it's cool. Puke all you want. Just don't remove your helmets." The important stuff out of the way, the ECO concludes with, "Checking… matched… lock 'n' load."

[Harrier-303: Stavrian] Stavrian is pretty quiet through this, letting the pilots do their thing. Either he trusts them, or he's back there praying silently. Or both.

[Hoopty-607: Tucana] That familiar world-breaking, reality-shifting sensation hits and the FTL drives on the Battlestar, spooled up, ignite, and send the craft clear across the stars, to a very different section of Colonial space. But what do they see? Space. They arrive safely in what appears to the Parnassus sector. The Bey system. The massive, thin-ringed gas giant "Reza" crackles a sickly red-brown as its stormy surface glistens in the vaccuum of space. Samir, a dense, icy rock with a barren, toxic atmosphere is not too far away. On the left side of Samir is what is clearly a man-made structure. A mid-sized space station, not as large as the Anchorages used to defend the Armistice line but large enough to be clearly self-sufficient for months if not years with a full staff floats there, silent, and apparently intact at first glance. In fact, this would look like quite a familiar site to Evandreus and Marko, but to the rest of you, it's new territory. Only seen in briefing photos.

[Harrier-307: Lunair] Mentioning it sometimes makes it worse. Lunair's eyes cross at Sabien. "I won't," She promises meekly. Which just means poor Sabien's shoes are her first target should the awful, terrible, no good thing happen. She smiles a little at Kulko's quip though and the not biting remark. "That's good… I'm kind of tough and stringy anyway." And Marine flavored to boot. Ew! Lunair goes quiet, to pray now. She is content to watch and sit for now, while the butterflies enact Flutterers Gone Wild: Marines in Space edition in her guts. Be brave, be brave. Black banner. What would her historic heroes say? A deep breath as she watches.

[TAC3] The comms officer broadcasts over the tactical channel after the capital ships jump in. "All ships, Cerberus-CIC. You are cleared for launch. Good hunting and Godspeed. We have you covered."

[Harrier-307: Demos] Demos tries a smile at the Captain, "Sir." She sidles Kulko an amused glance, then lets her glance travel down the length of the ship. Clearing her throat, "Listen, all. I know I'm not senior, so excuse me talking out of turn. But, I've been up against Cylons already. Maybe others here have. In case we see them, you all should know. Concentrate fire. It works best. Have someone in the squad pick targets and call them out."

[TAC3] "Shiv" Sitka says, "Copy that, Cerberus. Jugs, could you send me your trajectory to the station once we get up there? We'll see what we can do about clearing a path for you."

[Hoopty-607: Tucana] As the ships launch, the scene is relatively tranquil. Between the air wing and the the station is a field of automated, intact defense turrets. And small objects which were indicated to be mines. Lots of mines. Also notable are bits of a pair of Cylon Raiders, blown to bits. Also in the 'bits' department are pieces of Colonial craft drifting into the small planet in a decaying orbit. Just one Battlestar, some Vipers and raptors, and transports. So far, there is no live ship activity.

[TAC3] "Bunny" Evandreus says, "Jugs, Bunny; I'm with you. Where did you want us to park, Captain?"

[TAC3] "Jugs" Quinn says, "Close enough to spit at them without smellin' what they had for breakfast."

[Harrier-307: Demos] After considering a moment, Demos adds, "They are crafty frakkers, so expect them to behave the way any other combatant would. Don't underestimate them just because they are machines."

[Harrier-307: Sabien] Sabien shifts his pack into his lap, maybe so he's at the ready or maybe so he has one more barrier between him and the potentially puking Lunair. "If you're going to blow chunks, then try not to aspirate. I don't take kindly to giving mouth to mouth with your lunch." Teasing? Maybe. But he looks awfully grumpy behind that faceplate.

[Harrier-307: Trask] Now comes the 'fun' part: navigating with only passive DRADIS. The trajectory Shiv wants is what Bootstrap goes about calculating.

[TAC3] "Jugs" Quinn says, "Sure thing, Shiv… I'll get Bootstrap to get you an exact reading the moment we get that. Copy, Boots?"

[Petrel-647: Sitka] Shiv's Mark II fighter is one of the first out of the tubes, as soon as the launch order's given. He lights all three engines once the inertia from the magrail's bled off, and arcs away from the capital ship while visually scanning the minefield between them and the station.

[Harrier-303: Evandreus] Bunny easily swipes the advance path from Jugs' Raptor and plots one identical but transposed. 'Cause crashing into your Captain's Raptor is bad, m'kay? He pauses a moment at the answer that comes over comms, furrowing his brow. Was that for him? Better be sure. He switches on access to comms transmission again.

[Harrier-307: Kulko] Kulko's hand drifts inadvertently to the revolver at his side as Demos speaks, eyes rapt on the Marine. "Full disclosure, Sergeant. If'n we make contact, this'll be the first time I've ever shot at something that shoots back." As in, not paper or quadruped.

[TAC3] "Shiv" Sitka says, "Click, you'll take, uh, Spanner's wing. Goose, you're with me."

[TAC3] "Bootstrap" Trask says, "Yeah, yeah. Copy. Patience is a virtue and all that rot, so try to be a bit virtuous, k?"

[TAC3] "Bunny" Evandreus says, "Jugs, Bunny, I meant to ask where we were going to be setting down on the outpost. Did you have a particular bay marked?"

[Harrier-303: Marko] Marko settles down into 'uber serious' mode as he tracks the twirling display of his DRADIS screen. "We're looking good, Bunny. Screen's nice and clear," he calls reassuringly. "Negative hot contacts on my board."

[Harrier-307: Lunair] Lunair almost shuckles at poor Sabien. At least she's a gentle, good natured officer so far. Urk. She looks a little green. "Promise." She even holds up a pinky and sticks a tonguetip out. Nyah. it helps take her mind off her nerves though. She takes a deep breath and looks to Demos. GASP. An officer who listens to NCOs. That's crazy talk and Lunair's underpants probably freeze over for her sins. She nods. "That sounds very wise. Is there anyone you suggest?"

[TAC3] "Jugs" Quinn says, " I think after sitting next to you all these years that's an impossible task. And Bunny, let's go for the one furthest from the rad signatures. I'd prefer not to fry our Marines if we can help it."

[Harrier-307: Quinn] Better late than never, Margaret Quinn spills out of the launch bay smooth as silk, flying with her usual professional, tranquil style and immediately settling into her plotted trajectory.

[Petrel-648: Rojas] Spanner's Mark II is close behind Petrel lead's, letting out a sigh of relief as all three engines flare up at once to send the craft arguing against inertia with all of it's might to settle into a suitable spot for a loose formation.

[TAC3] "Bunny" Evandreus says, "Jugs, Bunny, I hear you."

[Harrier-307: Demos] Demos turns a nod to Kulko, a quirk of a smile on her lips though it is grim in the extreme, "Pretend it is full on paintball, sir. The pellets are smaller and your target is mobile." She does not mention that the 'target' will kill them dead, for that is obvious. Her gaze flickers to Lunair, "As far as I know you're the highest ranking officer here, sir. That makes it your job unless you delegate."

[Harrier-303: Evandreus] Evan switches off transmissions and calls back to his backseat, "Flasher, get us a reading on the landing bays. Find the one least likely to turn our ducklings into bacon bits, and send me up the coordinates."

[TAC3] "Spanner" Rojas says, "Shiv, You're so kind. We're with you."

[TAC3] (from "Shiv" Sitka) After a few moments, the Petrels' Captain's voice crackles over the comms again, "Actually, scratch that. Click, you're with me. Goose, you're on Spanner's wing. Jugs, appreciate it if you could keep those jamming suites active. Might help us out against the turrets." After a pause, "Let's do this."

[Hoopty-607: Tucana] As you clear the Cerberus' launch systems, those two planets glitter in space like silent guardians of a dead station. The Praetorian and Corsair are deployed in staggered formation behind the Cerberus, as she brings up the rear behind the small craft. As you all clear the space, it is obvious that you will need to clear obstacle course between yourselves and the Anchorage. At least somewhat. At first, nothing happens. These things are clearly short-range.

[TAC3] "Jugs" Quinn says, "Flasher, Bootstrap. You heard the Captain. Let's get the jamming frequencies up and running now. Keep some heat off our ass if we're lucky."

[TAC3] "Spanner" Rojas says, "Suuuure. Jus' like the last time you gave me a woman. Snatch 'er for yourself."

[Harrier-303: Marko] "I'm on it," Marko replies, and starts using his passive DRADIS skills to pick out a nice, safe landing bay. "Looks like the mid-level's our best bet. Closer to the guts of the place, but far enough away from the irradiated section of the spindle," he replies. "Call it, bay twelve. Enough room for both of the Raptors to park side by side."

[Harrier-303: Evandreus] "Calling it, Flasher," Evan calls back. Then, switching to comms.

[TAC3] "Bunny" Evandreus says, "Jugs, Bunny, Flasher's calling us a parking spot on deck 12. Sending you along the coordinates. How's it look to you guys?"

[Petrel-647: Sitka] After maintaining a loose formation at some distance from the minefield, Shiv finally rolls his red and white fighter to port, and begins angling in on the erstwhile obstacle course.

[TAC3] (from "Bootstrap" Trask) "Slacker," Trask tsks in response to Quinn's comment, then adds, "Come on, now. Even meat shields get anti-rads." Beat. Two. Three. "Right?" The question for the Marines sounds cheekily uncertain. In-flight commentary is the trade-off for flying with this ECO.

[TAC3] "Bunny" Evandreus says, "Jugs, Bunny, Flasher's calling us a parking spot in bay 12. Sending you along the coordinates. How's it look to you guys?"

[TAC3] "Flasher" Marko says, " Jugs, Flasher, copy wilco."

[Harrier-307: Lunair] Blink. Ohright. Lunair fidgets, looking uncomfortable. cough. "Well… I - just appreciate experienced voices…" … That is NOT a good admission right now. Hmmm. Delegating time. Or: Passing the buck and covering your ass at the same time. Officers everywhere would be proud. But oh wow, they are /so/ boned. Her mouth falls into a little o shape as she thinks. A look to Arkat. Well, he looks tough. "How about you?" She asks quietly. "I mean, yes. You." Totally. Gonna get this officer thing /down/. Be brave! Be brave. Lift that black banner and … order someone to charge! She goes quiet to await reactions.

[TAC3] "Shiv" Sitka says, "Vipers, let's stay in tight formation. Weapons free, focus fire on one turret at a time and follow my lead. You spot any hostiles, sing out."

[TAC3] "All ships, Cerberus-CIC. We are reading no ships on DRADIS so far. Some forty-odd defense turrets, in accordance with intel reports. Those warheads will tax our point-defense guns, but they are armed, just in case."

Kulko looks askance at Lunair beside him, a wry grin creeping across his features. Finally. Maybe all it took was to take his eyes off the starfield. He cracks the knuckles on each hand in turn through his gloves, then pats her armored knee reassuringly.

[Harrier-303: Marko] On the Captain's order, Marko fires up the Raptor's ECM suite. "Radiating," he calls to Bunny.

[Harrier-307: Kulko] Kulko looks askance at Lunair beside him, a wry grin creeping across his features. Finally. Maybe all it took was to take his eyes off the starfield. He cracks the knuckles on each hand in turn through his gloves, then pats her armored knee reassuringly.

[TAC3] "Bootstrap" Trask says, "Bunny, Bootstrap. Nothin' beyond the crap in the report… so far, anyway."

[Petrel-648: Rojas] Spanner follow's Shiv's lead, formed-up yet seperated enough so as to not cause any sudden wing-issues lest a mine get grumpy. It's possible, thanks to his wingman, that the pilot is just repeatedly chancing 'Goosey Goosey Goosey' over and over to keep concentration.

[TAC3] "Jugs" Quinn says, "Active sensors are fine. I think they're going to see us no matter what and I'd rather the warning as soon as possible when it's time for us to act, boys. So go ahead."

<FS3> Quinn rolls Raptors: Success.
<FS3> Sitka rolls Vipers: Good Success.
<FS3> Rojas rolls Vipers: Failure.
<FS3> Evandreus rolls Raptors: Good Success.

[TAC3] "Jugs" Quinn says, "Bay 12 looks good to me, free and clear. Room for both of us to land and release the boys and girls, hopefully?"

[TAC3] "Bunny" Evandreus says, "That's an affirmative, Jugs. Ready to lay in a course on your mark."

[Harrier-307: Sabien] Sabien is merely smirking now, arms folded on top of his pack. Man, they are all so screwed. The medic stays quiet, sitting tight while they figure out the ins and outs of this mission around him. He's just here to make sure no one bleeds out.

[TAC3] "Jugs" Quinn says, "Mark. We've got your back, Bunny."

[TAC3] "Bunny" Evandreus says, "Adjusting course bearings and initiating… now. Shiv, Bunny, we've got our course set on a heading to land in Bay 12. Sending you our heading."

Lunair looks to Kulko and blinks at his wry grin. She smiles at him. See? Totally an officer. A little blush at the pat though and she nods. Right! They got this! Totally. She offers a little thumbsup. "Just stick close, we'll try to keep you safe. But ummmm. In advance… He will pick targets and move forward," Point to Arkat. "And umm. We're like… so going to move in smaller groups because one big clump is totally grenade bait and one fellow with a trigger finger might pick a lot of us off okay?" She's /trying/. "It works for schools of fishes, but we're not really fishes. So … Think about if you want in front or back for now."

[TAC3] "Shiv" Sitka says, "Copy, Bunny. Coordinates received. We'll see what we can do to clear a path for you."

[TAC3] "Bunny" Evandreus says, "Shiv, Bunny, much obliged, sir."

[Harrier-303: Evandreus] It's not -much- of a course correction, but it's visible, at least, to someone watching from without. 303 takes the lead of the two Raptors and begins heading for the station under Viper escort.

[TAC3] A new voice transmits over the comms. "Strike team, Praetorian-Actual. When that missile grid gets hot, we've affixed a firing solution on those turrets. They're not terribly affective due to point-defense fire but it may make your job easier. Make sure you are broadcasting active signals to avoid friendly fire."

Demos flickers a glance back at Lunair, nodding. Her gaze flickers to Arkat and she gives him a thumbs up. "On your mark, Sarge." When they get that far an' all. Kulko then gets her attention and she leans back, "Ensign. Take advantage of whatever cover your group has available to it. Pay attention to anything that will explode near Cylons. If you can hit something that will blow them up without blowing us up too? That is all to the good. Did you run any sims for ground combat at all?"

[Harrier-307: Quinn] 307 hangs back just a bit, letting Bunny get on his way before she takes up the rear, keeping an eye on most everything she can without being an ECO herself. So, well… she's watching their course and eyeballing outside, otherwise.

[TAC3] "Flasher" Marko says, " Jugs, Flasher, did you copy Praetorian? Maybe we oughta shut down our active systems. Don't want to get blown up by our own side."

Kulko listens to Lunair's impromptu briefing. "Yeah, well. My job is to recognize whatever's 'not right' about this joint when I see it. Suppose I oughtn't be too far back." Demos is the next recipient of his rapt attention. "Cover. Shit that blows up. Got it. Yeah, I've run sims, but not a whole lot. And sure as hell not against any toasters."

<FS3> Tucana rolls 7 + 2: Success.

Sergeant Galyian just stares. He stares at the Lunair who just gave that burst of… something that may have been orders? Maybe. Who knows. Gloves drum along the rails of his rifle. When Demos finally snaps him out of it with a call and the thumb, he just nods. Back to looking at Lunair. "Less 'Um's next time." … "Sir."

<FS3> Tucana rolls 4: Failure.

Silas stares at her boots, her hands locked on her seat restraints. She's been like that the whole ride, perhaps a little tense about being inside a raptor again. She mouths, to herself, 'totally grenade bait', but is quite silent about it.

Demos nods to Kulko, her expression somewhat distant. "Do not let what I tell you make you miss anything you need for your mission. Unless getting the whatever it is means putting yourself into danger. Oh." She sidles a glance over to Arkat, then adds, "In case the Cylons learn from the past, pay attention to the walls and ceilings as well. Galyian here and Maragos got the drop on some of the Cylons by walking the walls and ceilings with their magnetic boots. Very clever move. But, as long as we are wearing them, the fight is in 3D."

[Hoopty-607: Tucana] As the small craft make their way across the blackness of space, and continue on course, each ship is carefully arranged to make a less obvious or tempting target for the makeshift defense grid. Due to the crisscrossing arrangement of the turrets, though, mistakes and little imperfections can be made on the fly, and that is exactly what happens to two of the Viper pilots - Rojas and Daphne. Several of the turrets whirr and there is that familiar "thunk thunk" of the DRADIS console as they affix to the Vipers' position, and start firing off pairs of small warheads, trailing in arcs as though leading the targets. The rest of you are have not been affixed yet.

Lunair is finally pulling herself together, even if she's prepared to go all Linda Blair on poor Sabien's shoes. "Oh! We've two medics, right?" Awesome. We love medics. We love them and hug them and provide booze for them. "There can be one in a forward or side group and another closer to the rear. But even in front please don't expose yourself to fire. I'd feel kind of bad." It's true. She's a softy and really does seem to give a damn. But she might knit them a nice hat if they get shot. She takes a deep breath. "So, if you have a definite preference on group, tell me now or I get to pick for you. Just keep your eyes open, head down. It'll be alright," she promises. "I will probably linger towards the front or middle myself." She looks to Silas then to Kulko. "And um, if you need to look at something, just let me know ok?" And yes, totally grenade bait. Grenades suck. Remember, children, a wise Austrian noble once said: Rarely is it the bullet with your name on it, but the shrapnel marked 'To Whom It may Concern'. Or the gaping holes into space. Either or. A blink at Demos. Apparently there's a newfound respect. Right! "Right."

<FS3> Tucana rolls 7: Good Success.

At all the ums and the realization that the person saying them is the ranking marine, Trask chimes in, "What the frak do they teach you officers?" By you, he means Marines and, specifically, Lunair.

[TAC3] The Cerberus' comms officer oh-so-helpfully states the obvious. "This is Cerberus-CIC. We are reading turrets entering active mode."

<FS3> Rojas rolls Vipers: Success.

[TAC3] "Shiv" Sitka says, "Shit.. Spanner, Click, you've got incoming. The rest of you, engage, and watch for friendly fire. Cerberus… that is affirmative. Er, acknowledged."

"You eat the shrimp with the tiny fork, if'n I remember right," Kulko notes Trask's way. "Never sit before a lady. Wash your teeth for three minutes or they'll fall out a'fore your hair does."

[Harrier-303: Marko] "DRADIS contact! Multiple DRADIS contacts, missiles fired, approximate bearing two-five-two carom one six seven. "Nothing targeting us, but two of the Vipers have vampires inbound."

[TAC3] "Jugs" Quinn says, "Everyone in one piece over there?"

[TAC3] "Jugs" Quinn says, "Shite. Flasher, Bootstrap, get on those jamming frequencies -now-. Straight at the bogies… get them off our boys' backs."

[Petrel-647: Sitka] Rolling his viper around as his wingman's targeted by one of the turrets, Shiv strafes out to line up his shot, and jams his weapons. His guns loose several volleys of rounds at the incoming missile bound for Daphne.

[TAC3] "Flasher" Marko says, " Jugs, Flasher. Copy, Wilco. Jamming now."

[Harrier-303: Evandreus] "They see them, Flasher," Evan relates calmly back to his backseat. "You've got your jamming suites ready to go, yah? Feed 'em on up," he encourages the guy, keeping as casual as possible while staying on course the meanwhile.

[Harrier-303: Marko] "I'm on it, Bunny," Marko replies, tracking his ECM suite towards the missiles and unleashing as much electronic noise as the Raptor can pump out towards their targeting systems. "This oughta confuse 'em nicely."

[Hoopty-607: Tucana] Fortunately, Daphne remembered how to handle unguided firing arcs in flight school, and rolls her Viper sharp to port as the warheads streak harmlessly past. They all fire in a straight arc. As this happens, the rest of you are getting closer and closer to the field. It's going to be one obvious solution to this mess. Shoot your way through.

[Petrel-648: Rojas] Spanner's avionics light up with the warnings of active tracking. His Mark Two Barrels, Goose breaking under a snapped local order of "What the hell are these? My parents are older than this crap!" Apparently, he's not impressed by the things chasing him. With a snap, the rolling barrel switches directions. The missiles don't. The rush past harmlessly, spiraling out instead of regaining a lock.

Demos realizes belatedly that telling them the fight is in 3D is probably stupid, "Er. 360 degrees not 3D." A pause and she glances around a bit sheepishly, "You know what I mean." She nods to the officer, then looks over to Trask, her expression vaguely amused, "Various theories of leadership, I expect. The difference between a waltz and a tango…? But, until you have experience, the training is just theory. It is different for those who grew up in the service."

[TAC3] "Jugs" Quinn says, "Jamming… is clearly not working. There isn't any guidance on those boys. Let's try chaffing them before they hit anything vital, Bunny, okay? Ready for some fast manueuvers?"

[TAC3] "Spanner" Rojas says, "Shiv, Spanner. I'm clear. That was better than coffee."

"Plenty. And he's right! You start with the outside fork and move in. The water bowl is for your fingers," And there it is. Lunair is finally pulling herself together. She's afraid because she genuinely /cares/ about her squad. It's a weakness that's slowly being overcome. She folds her arms and nods. "That's the plan. Try not to get shot. I will not leave anyone behind and I do not think you want to be tossed over someone's shoulder. And try not to let yourself get surrounded or fall behind. Let someone know if you get slowed down." That's one tactic she remembers from class at least. "I just … don't want to screw up, so I try to pay attention to NCOs and people with more experience." She's a bit nervous is all. But there's plenty of willingness, at least, and she listens. Blink. "Hey, I think something is going on."

<FS3> Trask rolls Ecm: Success / Success / Success

<FS3> Marko rolls ECM: Success / Failure / Success.

<FS3> Quinn rolls Raptors: Good Success / Good Success / Good Success

<FS3> Evandreus rolls Raptors: Success / Good Success / Success

<FS3> Sitka rolls Vipers: Success / Great Success / Success.
<FS3> Sitka rolls Gunnery: Success / Success / Success

<FS3> Rojas rolls Vipers: Success / Success / Success
<FS3> Rojas rolls Gunnery: Great Success / Success / Success

Demos darts the officer a quick smile, "And we do appreciate it that you listen." The smile fades, however, and she lowers her head a little to concentrate on what is happening outside the raptor.

[TAC3] "Shiv" Sitka says, "Good flying, guys. Let's get this show on the road. Keep your distance, and light up a few of those mines. I'm hoping it might have a domino effect.. if it doesn't bite us in the ass. But we can't sit around here pussyfooting through the tulips."

"So, basically, they drum out all the useful jarhead badassness to make room for utterly idiotic crap," Trask responds to Kulko. "I'll stick with grunts, thanks." As Demos pipes in, he adds, "Oh. Leadership." The eyeroll is audible in his voice. All the while, the ECO does ECO type foo at the console. "Swingin' the scythe, Jugs."

[TAC3] "Bunny" Evandreus says, "Jugs, Bunny, I hear you. Flasher, on chaff. I'm ready to head through, Captain."

<FS3> Tucana rolls 7: Success.
<FS3> Tucana rolls 4: Failure.

[TAC3] "Jugs" Quinn says, "Cleared to head through, Bunny, when your way is clear. Go for it."

Arkat just mutters to himself. "MOCS. Make Obvious Comments/Statements." Oh. That's what they learn. Speaking of the officer, he finally loses his polite tone. "Thank you very much, sir, but you're just repeating what every single one of us had to memorise before we even got to wear our fancy little badges." He's trying to stay away from the 'talking to a child' tone, but it's slipping. Fast. Luckily, he's distracted by what's going on outside. That gets Lunair reprieve. "Heads up. Get ready." As if they didn't know.

Kulko looks to Trask with unabashed interest at his ECO-type goodness. "I'onno what the frak they do at the CMC Academy," says the Naval ensign. "Your guess is as good as mine." He even rises from his seat and magneto-clomps to the ECM station to watch over the LTJG's shoulder. He's trained to do the same thing, after all, just on bigger arrays.

There may or may not be a noise from Sabien that sounds like a snerk, covered up cleverly by his gloved hands fiddling with his helmet. By the time they land, they're going to be ready to murder each other, let alone the Toasters.

[Harrier-307: Quinn] Quinn's flying is pinpoint and straight as ever. Straight towards one of those missiles. She cuts across the darkness, playing chicken with the thing until they are almost too close. Onlookers might be ready to scream at them over the comms when she suddenly cuts up and out of its way, letting Trask fire out the drones, hopefully just in time to catch it.

A lifted eyebrow at Trask. Hmph. "Just because you're a badass doesn't mean you have to act like an ass," Lunair points out. "I was nervous, I misspoke. I'm sorry that's forever tainted your impression of me as I am sure I could learn a lot from you," she grunts. "I acknowledge my lack of experience by comparison. But that's no excuse for not listening to people around me or making sure people who aren't Marines know or that no one has forgotten." So there. She tries not to let the nerves get hit and goes quiet. Right. She can do this. Ignore any jabs. Gotta earn the respect. Demos gets a polite smile and nod. But for now, Lunair's expression is more cold and distant. To her credit, the Marine is damned good at holding her temper. For now, she is quiet, to listen.

Demos reaches up to grab Kulko's wrist as he passes, "Please, sir. Get back in your seat and buckle in. When he said he is swinging the scythe, that means a lot of crazy flying. If you are not tied down, you are a potential projectile." Her tone is urgent, her grip firm, though she does not unbuckle.

[Petrel-648: Rojas] An order to blow up basically immobile targets, you say? Spanner is on that with a vacuum-muffled cackle of glee, with Goose being stuck following as if he's attached by a tow-rope. With one pass, a mine explodes, setting off another two but not a full cascade. Other direction? Rounds slam into the Anchorage, turrets being battered and bruised by the fire. The Piece De Resistance would be one of those missiles that's trying to hit gods-only-know what. It's unlikely anyone will ever know, what with the last thing going through it's computerised head being another burst of surprisingly accurate KEW fire. Missle-Kaboom!

Silas sinks down a little bit in her seat, already small body made smaller by the hunch. She shoves a hand into a pocket for a piece of gum, shoves that into her mouth, then goes back to death-gripping her seat restraints.

[Petrel-647: Sitka] Leading the charge through the minefield are Cerberus' vipers, of course. Sitka's red and white fighter is somewhere in the mix, all three engines burning at full power as he cuts, dodges, strafes and wheels through the network of charges and hunks of wreckage. His objective: play connect the dots with the missile turrets, guns lancing off salvo after salvo of rounds and letting his wingman help finish them off. As another rocket snags his signature and streaks off after him, he executes a balls-to-the-wall, last ditch maneuver as he streaks within spitting distance of another turret— and lets the missile do all the work.

[Harrier-307: Trask] Trask has an impeccable sense of timing, and not just when it comes to smart-ass remarks. "And that is why we are the most awesome of the awesome," he jovially notes, hitting each and every one of his intended targets, just as Quinn demonstrates some supa sweet flying. To Kulko, then, "What she said, Ensign. Park it. You can fanboy over me later."

[Harrier-303: Evandreus] Evan, for his part, doesn't play games with the missiles, diverting from course enough to give them a decent berth. That very caution becomes problematic as the Raptor glides along to port, brushing closer to some of its recently deployed chaff pods and getting a little charred along the side of the boat for his troubles. Nothing more than superficial, but nonetheless Evan grimaces a little. "They're gonna make me paint over that on deck," he murmurs, shuffling back toward his original flightline.

[TAC3] (from "Shiv" Sitka) Sitka's voice crackles over the comms a few minutes later, "Jugs, this is Shiv. Think you're good to park your buses, now. We'll stay up here in case any hostiles come knocking."

[Hoopty-607: Tucana] Daphne proceeds to play proverbial chicken as well, lightning up a couple missiles and brings her Viper hard around to shoot a cluster of mines which were laid uncomfortably close to a pair of offending turrets, the KEW rounds streaking out through space, and setting off a bloom of light in an explosion which destroys both the hazards. It's a turkey shoot.

As all this happens, enterprising pilots will hear the 'dink dink' of a DRADIS console. Three sections of unknown, fighter sized targets appear as their forms launch from the anchorage's hangars. They show up as 'unknown' but it's a sure bet they're not friendly. Examination will confirm one thing - they match that of Cylon Raiders, mass-wise. They are not broadcasting any kind of residual signal, however. They come streaking away from the station towards the defense field, looking for blood, one would assume. They're flying on a straight vector towards the Colonial forces. Another, larger signature appears too. Not much larger, but it matches what you've all seen before - Heavy Raiders.

[TAC3] "Spanner" Rojas says, "Hahahaha! Told you these things were old and busted, Shi-…t."

"You've told us what to do, Sir." Arkat attempts to delegate. He's a Marine. It won't come easy. Especially not when talking to Lunair. "It's our job to know how to do it." He's got a hand on a hold thanks to the CRAZY WOMAN flying, but he seems pretty chill, all things considered. "Silas! Beady-eyes on point. Demos, you… Do what you do. Rent-a-Cop." It's in jest, but his head tilts at the non-mariney companeros they have, Air-Wing not included. She handles them better than he.

"Hey, Officer Um," Trask tells Lunair, "Just like the ensign needs to park it and wait to fanboy, save the drama llama 'zOMG you hate me, woe I shall nobly suffer' hurt feelings speech for when I can dedicate more attention to a suitably snarky reply. Right now, though? Busy keeping all our asses safe."

[TAC3] (from "Shiv" Sitka) "Shit. Jugs, belay that… I'm reading hostiles. Uh… three. Three hostiles. Vipers, move out and protect the raptors. Full combat spread."

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry. You got it." Kulko affirms to Demos, only a little sheepish as he retakes his seat and buckles himself back in. Then he's right back to fanboy. "That is some fancy frakkin' jamming, though. Specially on a small array like this. I'da just drowned the lot of em with an area-of-effect blanket."

"If the information is not relevant or applicable, do not take it under consideration. However, I felt it wise to let others know we aren't moving in a giant clump with people moving forward willy nilly. That gets people /shot/." A quiet reminder of last time. Lunair wrinkles her nose. "Wait, what? Who's drama llamaing?" She seems genuinely confused by Trask's response. "I - … wasn't, it was more a statement and an apology for being unable to communicate properly - but - who's suffering?" Eh, she gives up. "Well, try not to think too hard, your hair might catch fire and while there's nothing important to you, I don't want to be on fire." She jabs back. She resists the urge to stick her tongue out. "… good luck," she finally offers quietly, more solemn now. At least she has some faith in Trask. Kind of. Sorta. She smiles at Kulko. Daw. For now, she goes silent.

[TAC3] Cerberus calls out, "All ships, We're reading six, no, 7 small hostile Bogeys at three-two-nine by eight-one, carom one-niner. They're heading straight for you. Wait. /Straight/ for you."

[Harrier-307: Quinn] Quinn has been rather dead quiet this whole time, just flying, keeping her eyes on the monitors before her and her bird right on course. It's not her job to play mother to Marines. She swears gently herself, however, shaking her head as she hears the reports.

There's finally a mutter from the little marine. "My eyes ain't beady, Sarge," Silas replies, voice soft, and barely a blip from under her helmet. Snap, her gum pops.

"It's called finesse, Ensign. Don't worry, though. We'll be gangbangin' 'em before curfew." Speaking of which, Trask asks his pilot, "Can we go after the Heavy Raiders? I like 'em thick like that."

[TAC3] "Bunny" Evandreus says, "Jugs, Bunny, I'm still on course, here. We still have to go to park?"

[Harrier-303: Marko] "Ah shit…" Marko grumbles as the Raptor strikes the pod. "Boots'll never let me hear the end of th…" he begins to say when his DRADIS console starts singing at him. "DRADIS contact, multiple DRADIS contacts, three flights of unidentified craft, no IFF squawk. Definitely fast movers. Three flights emanating from bearing one four three carom two one one. One of 'em's not acting like a fast mover, Bunny. Not sure what this one is, maybe one of the Heavies I've been hearing about?"

Demos releases Kulko's wrist once he returns to his seat. For her money, he can fanboy all he wants. Her hand moves to grip the strap to keep her steady as the Raptor obeys the commands of its crazy-good pilot and ECO. She nods to Arkat, "Yes, sir. Ensign?" Her gaze flickers to Kulko, "You're with me, please. That means you'll stay back as I'm taking the rear guard." She looks for the other engineering person and lifts her chin, "You too, please."

"Zeus' frakkin' balls…" Dominic Sabien mutters beneath his breath, tilting his head back until his helmet connects with the bulkhead. There's nothing he can do about the war about to rage outside, he's just along for the ride until someone gets a booboo.

Quinn just momentarily shoots Trask a GLARE: "And what do you expect to go after them WITH? Your smart ass? We get our Marines onto the ship and then stand by for EVA. Let the little birds do the fancy flying."

"Oh, I dunno," Bootstrap glibly replies, "Maybe something like, say, jamming systems. Go figure, what with me being electronic countermeasures."

[Harrier-303: Evandreus] "I don't know, Flasher," Evan replies, distracted. Just angling for the bay, trying to get in out of the rain. Err. Fire. He's ready to peel off if the word comes from Juggles, but for now he's still making a break for it.

"Fine by me," Kulko acknowledges, cracking his knuckles again. "You get us home in one piece and the first round's on me… Hell, maybe even the second." Quinn and Trask's banter earns a jaunty grin.

"Please let them be fancy." Arkat mutters. Now's one of those times where it's better for him to shut up, think about what's ahead, and… possibly ponder placing bets.

[TAC3] "Shiv" Sitka says, "Copy… copy that, Cerberus. Jugs, if you and Bunny can make it to the bay, we'll try to keep these things off your asses."

[TAC3] "Bootstrap" Trask says, "Shiv, Bootstrap. You keep us covered an' Flasher and I will return the favor."

Well, they COULD launch the Marine officer if they ever run out of torpedoes? Lunair hopes it doesn't come to that. Snark or not, there is respect for Trask. And especially Quinn. The pilot gets a grateful glance. She takes a deep breath. She does not interfere with Demos, giving full trust. "They are really good." She seems grateful to be on the Raptor about now. Really. She takes a deep breath. And it's an odd transformation. Lunair looks almost - regal, finally becoming comfortable in the heat of fear. She's an officer, dammit. No time to be scared. None. Snark or not, let it roll off one's back as water. She looks to Kulko and the others. "We'll be fine. We've got a good ship with good pilots," Lunair is /finally/ appearing officerly, a stately appearance. "It'll be a toaster roast."

[TAC3] "Flasher" Marko says, "Bootstrap, Flasher. Got about seven contacts. Wanna split the difference?"

[TAC3] "Bootstrap" Trask says, "Flasher, Bootstrap. I call dibs on Big Bertha."

[TAC3] "Jugs" Quinn says, "You always did go after the fat girls, didn't you, Kal."

[TAC3] "Flasher" Marko says, "Bootstrap, Flasher… She's all yours."

"Sir." Arkat is quiet, and his eyes close as he rests the back of his helmet against his seat, rifle resting over his lap. "With all due respect, stop talking for five minutes."

[Hoopty-607: Tucana] And the flight of Cylon fighters starts streaking through space towards their chosen targets, not changing course and flying in staggered formation, with the big hulk of the Heavy Raider bringing up the rear. They begin to get closer, and closer. Just then, DRADIS flashes, and four more Raiders emerge, some distance away. They're flying the same way. There's something odd about all this. As they get closer, they do not veer off course. All of them are like this. All of them.

"Orrah," mutters young Private Trista.

[TAC3] "Bootstrap" Trask says, "The bigger the cushion, the sweeter the pushin', Jugs."

Demos hangs onto her straps, her head leaning back until her helmet rests against the back of her seat. "This is always the hard part, sir." That, apparently aimed at Lunair. Within her helmet, her complexion goes a bit grey, though catching some of the banter, she begins to laugh, "Oh… goodness."

[TAC3] "Spanner" Rojas says, "You got the fatbird protected, Shiv. We'll hassle the others."

[TAC3] And yet another voice comes up. "All ships, Corsair-Actual. We are reading Four. Count them. Four more DRADIS contacts. We're going to attempt to take some heat off you, but it will take several minutes to get in position." And another. "Copy that, Corsair. This is Cerberus CIC. We are going to maneuver around the field to spread out and provide diversion. We can take them. Praetorian will triangulate on the defense grid once our birds are through."

Sigh. Lunair gives Arkat a sidelong look. So much for attempting proper leadership. Nod. She'll concede that much for now. Her expression is eerily … regal. Stately. Calm. Accepting. "Of course." Respect is a two way street and she is willing to grant requests. A blink at the banter. Her eyebrows lift. "Wow. Between this, the handcuffs and the gag…" Pilots are weird, she trails off quietly and lets it go at that. Hey, she's well mannered!

[TAC3] "Shiv" Sitka says, "Copy, Cerberus. We're just trying to keep the heat off the raptors, so they can get in and park. Let us know if we've got any friendly fire coming our way."

[TAC3] "Jugs" Quinn says, "We're trying to get in as fast as we can. Keep you updated as we go, Cerberus."

[Harrier-303: Evandreus] Evan draws his eyes into a squint as all he gets from his Captain is some stuff on Boots' preferences. But he picks up on Sitka's sort-of-confirmation of go on landing, and takes that for what it is.

[Petrel-648: Rojas] Raptors contain fleshy insides. Thus, they are deserving of protection. Whether or not it's crossed Spanner's mind that Viper pilots are also pretty squishy is unknown as he and Goose burn their way on an intercept.

[Harrier-307: Trask] Pwnd. Pwnd. Pwnd. Pwnd. Pwnd. Bootstrap: 5, Raiders: 0. The ECO preps for Round Two of ECM.

[Harrier-303: Marko] "Hang on, folks," Marko calls to the Marines. "This is where it gets interesting." And with that, he's cranking out every watt of power he can from the Raptor's ECM suite, fighting to maintain a lock on as many hostiles as he can get with his emitters of electronic death noise.

[TAC3] "Jugs" Quinn says, "Shiv, talk to us. Still listening out there? Hold on tight and we'll drop these boys off and come right back for you, I promise."

[Hoopty-607: Tucana] Fire is traded throughout the battlefield as Cylon guns blaze. Just then, something interesting happens. Daphne takes some shrapnel as he brings her bird around but is largely unscathed. Another Raider has more success with Shiv. However, that same triumphant Cylon just carelessly sails through some of the remainder of the mines. Into one. OH DAMN. It erupts. These Raiders definitely aren't flying right. In fact, the chain reaction from the blast also takes out the nearest bogey.

[Harrier-307: Quinn] Maggie flies her best, as ever, dodging smoothly out of the raider fire that is coming in her direction.

[Harrier-303: Evandreus] 303 goes jerking to one side as it gets pounded to starboard, stricken portside dipping down quickly into a spiral. Evan goes with the impetus, however, letting the armored side of the Raptor bear the lightened brunt of the attack at the expense, perhaps, of the stomachs of those within, if there are any with weak constitutions.

[TAC3] "Spanner" Rojas says, "Hoshitthatain'tpretty. Shiv! You good? Goose! Save our own asses after the Raptors are clear."

This IS a hard part. Lunair is quietly cheering their pilots on, and the ECO peeps too. Her eyes are intent as she watches best as she can. C'mon. You can do it. Go team! Mercifully, she's also quiet and grateful for the talent.

[Hoopty-607: Tucana] In addition, that Heavy Raider gets rocked a bit in the blast. It keeps coming too.

[TAC3] (from "Shiv" Sitka) Shiv's comms are filled with the roar of engines, and the distinct sound of something getting hit. Hard. He cuts out briefly, then crackles over his radio link, "—ine. I'm fine. Keep moving, we're covering you. Keep moving."

[TAC3] "Bunny" Evandreus says, "Shiv, Bunny, acknowledged. We're almost there."

Sabien just sits there, rocking with the motion of the Raptor with his eyes momentarily closed. Maybe he's the one getting nauseous now. Or he's fallen asleep in the midst of battle.

[Petrel-648: Rojas] Spanner's Viper rolls to chase down the Raider gunning for Quinn and her Cargo, KEW rounds bouncing off into space as he screws up the angle. He's probably mid-curse when a sharp dent appears right in front of his cockpit. Hell, he probably screams like a girl, all things considered. Raider first, manly appearance second.

Demos remembers to breathe in nice, even rhythm that keeps her focused. Her gaze flies to the pilot, then slips askance to the ECo. Swallowing carefully, she tightens her hold on the straps. As an aside, she speaks to Kulko. "Eyes front or closed, breathe evenly and you'll be fine." Her words might also be for the officer back there.

[Petrel-647: Sitka] There's no sound out in space, but if there was, there'd certainly be a sickening CRUNCH as one of the raiders actually collides bodily with Sitka's red and white fighter. It spins him off course briefly, and shorts out his systems, requiring a frantic fumbling of gloved hands over switches and dials to get the computers restarted. Once everything's lit up again, he swoops out and switches targets, gunning for the raider that's still on the Harrier Captain's ass.

Kulko taps out a tune with his gloved fingers on the side of his holster. A tune only he can hear. "Frak you, Calvin. You hear me? Frak you." He doesn't respond to Demos, well-intentioned as she is. His eyes are already closed.

[Harrier-307: Quinn] Smooth as silk, that really does describe Maggie's flying. She twists and turns 307 in evasive maneuvers that look almost too tight for a Raptor to pull off. It's the sort of flying that comes with YEARS upon years of experience, and she does it without breaking a sweat. She's right on Bunny's tail, too, perhaps a bit too close for comfort since she's rushing to get out of the combat zone, but she makes it free and towards the deck.

[Harrier-307: Trask] Pwnage x 5 (part deux). Bootstrap: 10, Raiders: 0.

Now Lunair can return the favor. In her credit, she's a stately, calm presence amidst the storm. This time she gently pats his knee. It'll be ok. They got a good ship. Right? Right. She smiles a little at Demos. Nod. Eyes ahead. Breathe. Even CMC officers miiiiiiight need oxygen. Kind of. She is still quiet though.

[Harrier-303: Marko] "Okay… this is getting less fun by the minute," Marko comments, trying to fix his concentration on his panel and his job, and not the Raptor's wild gyrations as Bunny does his very best to keep the Raiders from chewing them to pieces. "Remember that joke I told when we left about the in flight movie?" he calls to anyone listening. "Thinking that one really wasn't very funny in hindsight."

[Harrier-303: Evandreus] 303 comes out of its loopy spin just in time to dip aft south-carom and engage reverse thrust to line it up for a proper, if expedited, entry into Bay 12. And out of the line of fire. "Alright, we're golden. Coming to deck."

[Hoopty-607: Tucana] One of the remaining turrets, littering the little field with debris, strikes another one of the Raiders, leaving an ugly mess. Evandreus' tail is now clear. The berserk Raiders keep on coming, messing with the remaining Viper pilots. The remains of the makeshift defense grid are as much of a danger to them as they are the Colonial forces. In the meantime, more Raiders have launched, and then — that's it. Silence. The Anchorage's hangars remain silent and calm.

The Capital ships are spreading out to engage various threats now, as the Corsair pulls up to the far side of the planet, drawing some Raider fire and lighting up its flak barrage. Lighting up Raiders. Praetorian and Cerberus remain a bit closer, fanning out.

[Hoopty-607: Tucana] The remains of the fighter engagement start to dwindle as the Vipers fight their way out of the little trap they're in.

[TAC3] "Shiv" Sitka says, "*crackle* -ugs, Bunny, careful of those mines on your way in. Vipers, watch the capitals' flak ring. Kolettis… frak, Click, you've still got a tail. Coming around to help you out."

[TAC3] "All points, this is Corsair. We have this. Firing Solution trained on the Raiders. They seem to be content to come right for us."

[TAC3] (from "Spanner" Rojas) Spanner's voice sounds different for a second, but it's definitely him. Yessir. "That counts! Turret might as well be terrain!"

[TAC3] "Jugs" Quinn says, "Sounds good, Corsair. We're about to come in for a landing."

As the Raptor leaves the battle behind and the bumpy ride finally smoothes out, Demos swallows once more and sits up a bit straighter. "Fan'frakin'tastic." The comment is quietly spoken, perhaps part praise for the pilot/ECO pair and part prayer to which ever Lords are listening.

[Petrel-647: Sitka] Sitka's fighter, still bearing the buckle- and char-marks of the raider that half collided with him, strafes in about as smoothly as it can manage on Daphne's six. The instant her bandit registers in his crosshairs, he jams his trigger.

[Harrier-303: Marko] "Bunny, recommend we do a hard DRADIS scan of this area. Find out if we've got any company out there," Marko suggests. "If they're launching Raiders…" he adds, letting his voice trail off.

[Hoopty-607: Tucana] As the Raptors pull up to the Anchorage, it appears that indeed their hangars are intact, and generally empty of intact Colonial Forces. However, something is interesting. There are several ships present, parked there, and lying in wait. There is strangely wreckage here. Amidst the wreckage of several small Colonial vessels, there are three shot-up Cylon Raiders, which are lying there in pieces. Two Heavy Raiders too. One so badly damaged its own mama wouldn't know it. And the other? Well - it's pretty much intact. They're just sitting there. Chilling. The airlocks remain closed.

[Petrel-648: Rojas] Spanner has a little unwanted assistance against his prey. The Raider targeting Raptor-303 gets nailed in the wing by the Viper pilot, then nailed in the face by one of the Anchorage's turrets. Damn killstealer. Spanner flares the engines after complaining, then loops hard to catch up with the Raider chasing his wingman.

[Harrier-307: Quinn] Maggie slows down as she begins to approach the inside of the hangar bay and there is a wariness almost to her flying. She keeps close to Evan, covering him as much as he is covering her, as they move to set down.

[TAC3] "Jugs" Quinn says, "Are we getting any energy signatures from any of those craft?"

Trask rolls Ecm: Success.
Marko rolls ECM: Success.

[Hoopty-607: Tucana] The remaining three Cylon craft continue their single minded death march towards Cylon Valhalla as another one gets busted all to frak and back. The Heavy Raider fires a series of erratic gun bursts as it luckily clears the holes in the minefield and cruises on towards its eventual demise, in the form of the Cerberus. It's heading straight for the Battlestar. What a joke.

[Harrier-303: Evandreus] Well. Yes. This is awkward. Harrier-303 settles down on deck just across from the party of accumulated Raiders with the trepidation of a gentleman who's gone to a restaurant with a date only to be seated a table away from an ex-girlfriend. He clears his throat. "Any readings from those things, Flasher?"

[TAC3] "Shiv" Sitka says, "Easy does it, guys. Easy does it… watch that flak ring, Goose!"

[Hoopty-607: Tucana] When the landing party makes it out of their ships, they will encounter something interesting. The hangar airlock is not open. In fact, it's been systematically sealed. Sealed, and reinforced with something that will probably take some careful application of demolitions and heavy duty industrial tools to get open. And a bit of time.

Kulko opens his eyes, looks around the Raptor, and, noting the inky starfield gone and everyone else still in one piece, unbuckles his seatbelt. "Y'all do that on the regular? Gods bless."

[Harrier-303: Marko] "Running sweeps now, Bunny," Marko replies, keying the appropriate command and waiting for the data to bounce back. "Negative… The heavy's got no, repeat, no power. Just sitting there like a slug," he replies.

[TAC3] "Flasher" Marko says, "Jugs, Bootstrap, Flasher. I'm not getting any power signature from the Heavy down here. Doesn't even look like its reactor's hot."

[Petrel-647: Sitka] Shiv's guns, trained on that hapless raider on his wingman's tail, manage to smack the everloving shit out of the unsuspecting fighter. It's not quite enough to take it out of the fight, and so he grits his teeth and wheels in again for another try, all the while trying to keep Cerberus and Corsair in his peripheral vision. Something's short-circuited in his craft, meanwhile, and his attention's distracted between trying to gain a firing solution— and slapping at the sparking wires with a gloved hand occasionally. Down, boy.

[TAC3] "Jugs" Quinn says, "Thank frakking gods. I think we're going to have to crank this open like a tin can."

[TAC3] "Bunny" Evandreus says, "Jugs, Bunny; want us to try getting a towline on that thing for when we head out?"

[TAC3] "Bootstrap" Trask says, "Flasher, Bootstrap. Affirmative. For whatever reason, it's off-line. Not sure why it's parked there, though, other than bad reasons for us."

Demos reaches out once more to lightly touch Kulko's shoulder, "Don't unstrap, sir. Not until the pilot and ECO give the all clear. If they have to make a quick take off, you could be paste on the windshield. That makes it hard for the pilot to see…"

"Quinn. If you intend to tow it, let me take a look," Trask tells her. "See if there are any transmitters." The man /does/ have a background in electrical and aerospace engineering.

[TAC3] "Flasher" Marko says, "Bootstrap, Flasher. The only kind of news the Cylons have had for us so far's been 'Bad' and 'Horrific'."

Lunair is grateful for her NCOs, even if she can't say so. She did promise 5 minutes after all. There's a look cast Demos' way. For now, she is quietly listening.

[Petrel-648: Rojas] Old men in Vipers. It's a beautiful thing. Possibly calendar worthy. Spanner's guns tear jagged holes in one end and out the other through Goose's smaller tail, sending it splitting in half in a mess of organic goop and pretty explosions. Right as he celebrates, a Raider he completely failed to notice punches a hole in the nose. Oh, the cursing. The cursing is spectacular. "I JUS' GOT THE DENTS OUTTA THAT YOU SAUCY TIN-CANNED MOTHERFRAKKER! I'M GONNA STICK M'HANDIN YER FACE AN' TEAR OUT YOUR…" So on, and so forth.

Arkat just spends the entire time watching through the windshield, attentive as all get out about the scene he's seeing. "This…" He doesn't sound pleased. "This will take a while."

[TAC3] "Jugs" Quinn says, "Bootstrap, do your thing. I think we should take some souvenirs back home, though."

[TAC3] "Jugs" Quinn says, "Bunny… if you can get a tow line around it, yeah. Though let Bootstrap check it out first. It feels like a trap. Too damn easy."

[Hoopty-607: Tucana] As the Heavy Raider streaks by, on a suicide run towards Cerberus, it starts to get close to her point-defense AA guns, with predictable results. Very predictable. It blows apart and we have four Vipers, two damaged Raiders. And they're getting shredded, even though they never alter their tactics once.

[Petrel-648: Rojas] The Raider didn't like Spanner's non-transmitted words. Maybe it has really, really good hearing, because hoo-boy does it get the better of him in a head-on pass. Spanner. Raider. Right at each other with KEW fire from both sides spraying wildly. And swears from Rojas, of course. The Raider takes some hits to the wing. Spanner takes a LOT of hits to the body. The swearing doesn't let up. He might actually be flipping it the bird as he loops his craft around for another pass.

[TAC3] That familiar voice comes across the comms. "This is Cerberus-CIC. We appear to have the airspace surrounding the Anchorage almost under control. You have orders to isolate the enemy technology for now until we know more. Repeat. Isolate enemy assets. We'll have to get another team down there."

[TAC3] "Jugs" Quinn says, "Copy, Cerberus. You heard him, boys… let's see what we can find, get it separated, and then move on. Bunny, do your best to get that tow line so we can pull the stuff out of the way, at least."

[TAC3] "Jugs" Quinn says, "And Spanner? Language."

[TAC3] "Shiv" Sitka says, "Nice- *grunts* -shots, Spanner. You've got one on your six, though."

[TAC3] (from "Spanner" Rojas) There's staticy silence as Spanner thumbs the button on his comms for a few seconds without words, then comes the disgruntled and quiet "Yes, mother." She scolded him in a dogfight! Not cool. Although it may well be to Shiv. Who knows.

[Petrel-647: Sitka] Aaaaand no dice. Shiv's shots are wide, possibly owing to the small electrical fire he's trying to tame inside his cockpit, and he barrels out of his pursuit curve before rolling back in for yet another try. Can't be much holding that bucket of bolts together, at this point. And the raider, too.

[Hoopty-607: Tucana] Pew, pew, ploof. One down. And the last, pathetic Raider limps through the sky, waiting for someone to ruin its final day in the universe. Any takers?

[Petrel-647: Sitka] Oh, there's takers all right. Shiv, however, peels away to establish a bit of battlefield re-assessment rather than getting in on that clusterfrak; three Colonials on one raider is more than enough.

[Petrel-648: Rojas] Spanner takes more hits. His Viper whines like a lame horse that just fell over a fence, complaining even louder with each of the rounds he fires into the enemy raider that Just. Keeps. Going. Somewhere, this got very, very personal. Probably when it shot him. That'd do it.


[Hoopty-607: Tucana] And that was all she wrote, folks. What a mess. The last Raider continues its single-minded staredown with Rojas, and fire is exchanged. Rojas' guns literally rip that Raider to shreds. /Shreds/. It comes apart in a flash and leaves little Cylon-guts littered across the stars. They glitter. It's quite pretty. And — nothing else comes. Anywhere. The space outside is nothing but colonial ships, some more mines and a few turrets. And junk. Meanwhile, what's over at the station? The landing party will likely still be mulling that over for some time.

[TAC3] Cerberus transmits, "All points, Cerberus-CIC. Reading no contacts, save those defense turrets. We're going to get a CAP and an additional strike team to contain those turrets. Once those birds are in the air, all Vipers return to base."

This log continues in Breadcrumbs - Ground.

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