| How Sweet, Vengeance |
| Summary: | The ferryman must be paid. |
| Date: | 8 May 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | Continued from Get Some. Concurrent with the events in The Promise of Science. Continued from 99999 and Lambs to the Slaughter. Aftermath in Ain't Time to Pay the Ferryman Yet |
| Players: |
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| Mountain Bunker — CFAS Anadyomene — Leonis |
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| The builders of CFAS Anadyomene spared no expense. Cut deep into and under the ridgeline, its bunkered hangers extend as far as a battlestar's massive flight pod, carved by countless workers to create a tremendous man-made cavern. Reinforced iron girders criss-cross the ceiling to support the weight of the mountain about, inoperative lights and air recirculators hanging lifelessly from thick lateral I-beams. Pitch black darkness renders invisible those pieces of collapsed concrete that have fallen from the ceiling — and, at least initially, the bodies. Twenty, forty, fifty — the numbers climb the further in one goes: fuel monkeys with purple armbands, armaments specialists in red, mechanics in yellow, and pilots in their flightsuits' deep olive-brown. |
| Two rows of Vipers run the length of the cavern, twenty on each side — unused and, from the looks of it, undamaged, though some are still occupied by their dead pilots — well-preserved thanks to the airtight hard-seals around their neck and joints. Trucks loaded with live missiles and Viper ammunition sit fallow on the taxiway leading up to the surface, a few of them overturned on the floor. A single hatch leading deeper into the complex is visible on the right-hand path of what once was a fork, though that left passage is blocked by several tons of rubble. It's been welded shut from the inside, its locks shot to pieces for good measure. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #71 |
"Rifles up, eyes open," Shiv commands, a little more brusquely than usual, to the Ensign and deck crew accompanying him inside. He draws the faceplate on his helmet down in an effort to block out the worst of the stench, the odd fractured beam of light slipping across his bulky frame as he creeps further inside. "I count thirty, maybe fourty units," he tells the technician nearest him. "What do you figure, two to a bird? Looks like we've even got a few missile racks."
The smell. Ye blackened and rotten gods, the /smell/. Tisiphone recoils at the blown-open threshhold as if from a physical presence, breath refusing to move between nose and lungs for a small eternity of seconds. She looks back toward the pitched battle for a moment, then coughs thickly and presses onward as ordered, eyes widened at the brief glimpses of bunker afforded her by the deckies' blinding-bright torches.
Taking up position at the doors, with cover still provided, Kai is not about to leave the pilots defenseless within the building. Gun ready, body ready, she? Ready. Ready to take on death if needs be. "Lieutenant, orders?" Ok, she'll go by superior's orders, if need be.
Kulko flattens himself against the massive doorframe opposite Kai, pulling back the bolt on his rifle to break in the new mag. "How straight can you shoot at range? Still got our people out there, and if they take the Eidolon we're stuck on this rock." Someone never vacationed on Leonis.
Alessandra comes in at as near of a dead-run as she can while also trying to stay low, it taking her a bit longer to get inside thanks to the half-crouch she assumes at the same time. Once inside she straightens and then slows to a jog as she passes by the bodies; this time she doesn't gag or retch but it's clear that the sight's troubling her on a different level now.
Lunair grunts, "I don't know. I'm not bad-" She winces at the smell and sights. She's trying not to gag or flinch. Can't show the worry and sadness. "Support the pilots and deck crew for now. Blast what needs to be blasted."
Tisiphone is some small way ahead, following Captain Sitka and the swarm of gear-laden deckies into the dead and rotting belly of the beast. Rifle up, eyes open, as ordered.
Sitka, Tisiphone, and several of Cerberus' deck crew are holding just inside the massive blast doors. Rifle up, the Captain's doing a quick visual sweep of the area before proceeding further inside. For reasons probably best left unexplained, the putrefying smell doesn't seem to be triggering his gag reflex like it is a few others'. His faceplate, though, is down in an effort to block most of it.
The pilots' rearming and reloading retreat nevertheless gives the Cylons room to breathe after their initial onslaught fell short. Scattered so as to make it impossible to take two of them out at a time, they begin to set up the stationary firing tripods from which their portable missiles must be launched. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
"Straight shooter, Lieutenanet Kulko, but those frakkers are moving faster than I've seen." Certainly didn't move that fast on the ship. "And I sure as hells am not leaving crew to die. I got their backs, Lieutenant." And if he does too? All the merrier. The stench of bodies does not disturb this fatalist lass, more likely than not having experience somewhere in there with dead bodies and rot.
"Belay that," Kulko snaps Lunair's way, still peeking out the door every few seconds with clear apprehension. "Everyone not needed on the Vipers, take your firing positions. Focus fire, left to right until we've got them all. That ship right there is our only ticket out and I am /not/ fixin' to live out my days here. Frakkin /open fire/."
Rojas barrels his way through the doorway, not even giving his eyes time to adjust to the shift in light (Or the rest of him to adjust to the smell) before he's calling out. "Shiv! Whatch'ne-awgoodlordsthehellistha-" Gag. He caught the smell. "Somethin' 'caught fire an' died in somethin' else's ass." Find cover. Find a view. "Y'folks want my spanner or m'gun?"
Daphne's movement is better classed as a crouching run-for-her-life than anything else. The pilot zips in, in no mood to dwadle and, truthfully, is that really an option? Rifle reloaded and ready. she comes in as close to Laskaris as she can manage, keeping sight of her squadron leader and, perhaps, still thinking of herself as his wingmate who needs to keep an eye on him.
Kulko tosses back over his shoulder, "Captains, you know your boys better'n I do. Everyone worth their weight on the Deck get those Vipers airborne; the rest of you hold the line." With that, he sights in and lets loose a burst.
A nod at Kulko. "Your call, sir," This to Rojas. Lunair looks duly corrected and nods. She's staying with Kulko. "Right, keep things safe until the deck crew gets things going," Lunair grunts.
Polaris: The pilots retreat, and then the Marines — joining the deck crew who are already prepping birds for launch. Now it's just Major Bartholomew, silhouetted against the daylight with her rifle prepped, alone against the Heavy Raider whose six turrets now turn to face her down. But before they have a chance to fire, a massive crack echoes in the air — it's a Raptor! Quinn's, to be precise, whose missiles are already armed and ready to fire. Just like that, Fat Boy turns, DRADIS seeking ever for that deadly missile lock…
Sitka jerks his head around at the sound of that familiar voice from the entryway, and beckons Rojas nearer. "I need you loading metal into these babies," he calls over. Tisiphone's shoulder is firmly grasped to gain her attention for a moment. "You too. Come on." Rifle slung across his back, he turns and begins hoofing it toward the nearest viper. Which, unfortunately, still has a pilot attached to it. "Lasher, Lucky, Kolettis, let's go. The rest of you, cover us." Barking orders isn't so much his thing, but you do what you gotta do.
Lasher, for his part, doesn't seem to be in any hurry to reengage the Cylons. His skills are likely better put to use in getting the Vipers prepped. His rifle is slung over his shoulders and he hustles off with the deckies towards the birds. "Kolettis, you're on the line," he says to his shadow. Don't worry, he'll be fine. "Rojas! C'mon with me, lad," he calls out to the former mechanic. "Let's help get these blighters ready to fly."
"Yessir," Quiet words, but then, it isn't as if Kulko's waiting for Kai to speak, let alone needing her to speak loudly, their persons so close to one another. Gun lifts, centered against her body, body centered and flexible to the ground, ready to aim and fire. Look around behind her? She does not. There is massive trust in the pilots behind her, those who know her, who don't, and all in between. "Frakkin'… Lieutenant Kulko, next time let me bring my own, ok?" Her own explosives, that is. Much more easy to target, throw, destroy and the like. Guns? Effective, but not awesome effective.
Nathan's rifle is propped against the wall, than the pilot beelines for the vipers that need loading, hands moving to pull off his bulky-ass armor. "Frakkin'… heavy.. crap." He can't move as well with it on, so that's getting good and lost. Apparently you need to be nimble to load a craft. WHO KNEW.
"Sir?" Tisiphone's attention snaps back from the sight of a bloated flight suit trapped in an open Viper cockpit when her shoulder's grabbed. "Uh. Sir. Yessir." She's looking more rattled than queasy. When Sitka slings his rifle over his shoulder, she does the same, following after.
Alessandra levels her rifle's barrel towards the direction they just came in like while looking over her shoulder, eyeing Shiv and Lasher both. She's not used to listening to orders from someone who isnt't her direct commander so she hesitates, not sure what to do. Frowning, she takes a shot towards whatever she can see while backing up, inching towards the others.
"We need these Vipers up and running quick more'n we need one more shitty shot on the line," Lasher shouts back towards the other squadron leader. He's not exactly hostile about it, but neither does he waste time being terribly polite. Bigger concerns and all. Laskaris doesn't argue any further though, as he starts fumbling with the straps on his bulky body armor. "Just keep those frakkers away from the birds, wot?"
Polaris: As the Colonials open fire, shooting from behind anything they can find — a Viper wing, a Big Box of Ammo that Might Go Boom, an overturned truck — the Raptor in question fires a missle of her own, which literally carries a Centurion off into the distance before exploding it and said Centurion in a burst of red. Unfortunately, Fat Boy — that hulking beast of a heavy raider — fires at the exact same time, and a missile screams into the Raptor's very cockpit. The explosion sends the ship flying backwards, so powerful it is, and it's only through supreme force of will that her pilot manages to retain control. But smoking from the main engine, leaking plasma out various holes, and lit on frakking fire, that Raptor is absolutely not long for this world. Turnabout's a real bitch, isn't it.
And still, with insane precision, the Centurions — now seven — work on setting up those missiles, clanking feet rooted to the runway as they prepare to deal the final blow to the already-wounded Eidolon. Fortunately, it takes a long time to repurpose missiles meant for ship-to-ship combat — for as the first begin to come online, the first Vipers begin to scream that beautiful Viper scream. Deck has done its part. Birds are Good to Go.
"I'll just keep shooting. You guys get the birds flying!" Allie doesn't notice that several of her shots have hit home this time, her mind a little more focused on Lasher and the others along with the fact that there are Vipers that they need to get into the air. One round down, however many left to go, she seeks to hit the same toaster as before, her aim leveling a bit higher than before.
Barto can be seen leaving her cover and running towards the location of the turning Heavy Raider and the heavily damaged Raptor that's on its last legs. The burst of fire echoes across the runway as she moves, her rounds striking across the cockpit of the enemy ship. Seeing the hits, she slows and drops to a knee for a more stable shot.
Sometimes leadership involves deferring to others, right? Lunair looks less confident than before and somewhat pained. Either way, she's taking shots at the Centurions herself. If she can see it, the Raptor gets a sympathetic look.
"That's why I told you to help," Shiv grunts in Laskaris' direction, not wasting time making eye contact with the man as he starts ripping into the crate of bullets. About halfway through, he spots Alessandra's hesitation, and all trace of gentility is lost from his voice as he barks across to her, "You have your frakking orders, Lieutenant. Are you stone deaf, or just slept through basic training?" He rips away his helmet, and the upper half of his body armour in an effort to become more mobile.
Daphne nods sharply to Laskaris, getting behind an overturned truck and looking her rifle over real fast. She presses her back to the chunk of metal that's keeping her alive, and then comes around the side, leaning over far enough to squeeze off a burst of shots which zip past a centurion's head and leave sparks in their wake several feet back and into the side of a loading crane.
"Pilots to your birds!" Kulko's positively hollering now, his shots ricocheting harmlessly off the Centurions who pay him just as little mind. "Weapons free as soon as you're airborne! Marines, when they get out there, we're gonna push forward and haul the Major's ass outta the fire. Copy?" He drops to one knee as well, squeezing off another burst.
"GRRrrrraaaAAAAHHhhh!" Getting hit like that brings back a frakton of unpleasant memories from Sagittaron. "Mags! Mags! Are you okay?!" If there has ever been a time for Fight or Flight to kick in, it's now. Disoriented as he is from the critical shot to the cockpit, Trask proves just how resilient he is (although typical Taurian stubbornness also helps) and manages to unfasten from his seat. Since it had been ruled that if they were in need of flight suits they'd already be screwed, both Bootstrap and Jugs are in combat gear. This probably did wonders in keeping the ECO relatively unscathed. When his pilot fails to respond, he preps her for ejection before doing the same for himself, for his ejection seat is likewise upfront. "Hold on, Magpie," he says to the unconscious Captain before hitting her release button and then his.
Lasher blinks at Shiv; apparently signals got crossed up somewhere along the line. It's shrugged off a moment later, though, along with his body armor as he dashes towards the nearest humming Viper. All's well what ends well, right?
Tisiphone glances back over her shoulder to see which Lieutenant it is that Sitka's stripping the paint from on matters of orders. She stares at Alessandra for a moment, expression unreadable, then speeds her own steps up. There's a deckie trying to pull a corpse out of one of the cockpits — she heads over that way, shouting, "Hang on, I'll help. Get his other side." His. As if anything can be seen inside the maggotty flight helmet.
Alessandra turns and runs, passing Shiv as she does. "Sorry…" she intones before scrambling up the ladder into a Viper, quickly strapping herself in. The armor is not making that easy, the straps having been adjusted for someone wearing a flightsuit, not field gear, but she eventually manages.
Daphne, back still against the truck and her lungs doing overtime, Daphne makes a break for it, running towards the vipers and hurrying up the nearest ladder to the nearest empty bird. She completely skips the preflight check, something which will likely drive her insane later, when there's time to obsess over such things.
The Viper Rojas reaches isn't one of the ones with it's engines happy and flaring. Not just yet. It's mostly loaded, however, and all it needs is one of the many, many corpses that litter than hangar pulled from it's seat. While Deck throw rounds in, Nathan throws armor off, hopping onto the nose at a dry jog and hauling out the current occupant by the shoulder straps and some elbow grease. "Sorry, pal." Yes, it thud-squelches on the ground. T'hell with a ladder!
Sitka doesn't waste time sticking around to tear into Alessandra further. That little outburst, alone, was uncharacteristic enough from the Captain. Call it nerves, or call it the bullets flying outside and the raptor going down. The instant he's out of the body armour, he's hauling himself up the ladder and bodily dragging out the corpse of its previous unfortunate pilot. Don't think, just do. Just do. A shaky-handed technician is just finishing loading up its complement of ammunition, and the pilot's fingers fly over the Mark VII's switches as he starts powering it up.
Covington makes her way across to one of the vipers her fellow pilots and the Deckies have made ready for flight, rifle held to cover herself before she chucks it for the marines or someone else to clean up. Not a lot of wiggle room in that cockpit. She strips her armor on the way up the ladder into the viper. She's a little pale, but her jaw is set. No comments are made about the corpses, or the state of things, until she bellows, with characteristic volume, "YEEHAW!" One for the troops.
Polaris: How the second out of eight missile-wielding Centurions gets destroyed is an open question — but three light hits were apparently enough to discombobulate all of its critical systems. But six missile-wielding Centurions means that three of those missiles are finally, finally prepped — those on the far end of the freighter, as they needed to run forward only slightly less quickly than their comrades in arms. Three missiles streak forward into the freighter's starboard hangar, staggered with precision only Cylons can manage. The first busts a hole in the hull, the second makes said hole bigger, and the third? The third flies straight through said hole before detonating its delayed charge. The explosion can't be seen, but whatever that did to Eidolon's supplies can't possibly be good — especially not when Quinn's Raptor spirals, spirals, and explodes just feet (nay, inches!) away from the remains of that bay.
And still Major Bartholomew runs like a frakking chicken with her head cut off, shooting and high-stepping all the while. KEW fire follows her where she runs, but never seems to catch. Luck: the girl has it, that's for sure.
The Raptor's canopy glass blows off with the firing of the explosive bolts and the seats fire. One, then two licks of flame in the early morning sky. The Raider turns its fire on the Major but she holds her ground, screaming through the incoming fire as she returns her own. The rounds glance off the exterior as it moves towards her and she leans into it, standing and charging towards the Raider to try and get under the fire and keeping the angry bastard from going after the ejected pilots. The rifle comes up again, though, and she aims at the belly of the aircraft as it passes around the sky.
Good. -Good-. She can -hear- the sounds of the pilots engaging in the vipers. She can hear the sound of movement that means life beyond. And Kai can -also- hear the rough nastiness of the assaulting army before her. Gun remains aimed. Bullets continue to fire in burst rounds. Get the pilots off. Get the planes clear. She wasn't joking when she mentioned this prior to disembarking the destroyed ship, and she continues to hold to word even now. Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.
Kulko takes a moment to prod at his arm with the curiosity of an eight year old picking at a scab, eliciting a wince, before he goes back to taking shots at the Centurions. "Shift right!" Eidolon's fate does not go unnoticed, and Stephen grinds his teeth against his helmet strap.
Lunair looks really concerned about Major Bartholomew. She's certainly in awe. Lunair is glad when the Vipers start going. C'mooooooon Vipers! She follows Kulko's shot, turning her guns on the next Centurion.
Thud-squelch. That's a good way to describe the way the flightsuited corpses are sounding as they're dragged out of cockpits, all right. Tisiphone starts to climb into the seat, catching a corner of her combat armour against the canopy. If she was in a flightsuit, that movement would have been Just Fine. "Frak, frakFRAK-!" she spits in frustration, squirming free to drop into her Shiny New Bird as it's taxied along after the others.
Another dead body thumps heavily against the ground as Lasher unceremoniously hauls out his new fighter's previous occupant. It seems alien, about to fly without a suit, but Laskaris doesn't give it a second thought. Slamming the canopy closed, he takes a deep breath as he trips the thrusters, not even wasting time on even an abbreviated preflight. His ship bears a surprising resemblance to a kid on a sugar high as it twitches and bobs in a hover before he guns the engines, sending the Viper rocketing out into open air.
Alessandra's Viper comes up green across the board, a miracle she'll be grateful for once she has the time to. Right now she's too busy getting herself set, only waiting for orders before she takes off. "Come on…let's get everyone back to the roost," she mutters while looking out the canopy, the fighting getting her nervous…er. Yes, definitely more nervous. "C'mon…come oooooooooon."
Thunk. Thunk. Two more Cylon rounds find their way through the armor into Kulko's soft meaty bits, just after all his shots go wide. There's a moment of wide-eyed surprise before he slumps back behind his particular bit of cover, letting his rifle clatter to the floor. Hands search out the clasps for the armor, unfamiliar with its design. Stephen looks askance at Lunair. "Go get the Major, bring her back here." He draws a breath, winces again. "And maybe a godsdamned medic, yeah?"
Polaris: Illuminated by burning ships and exploded Centurions, Trask and Quinn come into view at last, plummeting at nigh-on unsafe speeds despite the chutes fluttering from behind their ejection seats — which, really, were meant to be used some several thousand feet higher. Slam into asphalt they go with a truly sickening crunch, though Trask is at least fortunate enough to land on the back of his seat; Quinn, for her part, has her legs caught beneath her, and then the two of them are dragged like Hektor by Akhilleus round and round the walls of Ilium until — at last — the chutes are snipped and tied. Out of danger — but hello, pain.
The doughty Major, too, goes down. Really — how often is it that a single human can stand up against the equivalent of a flying tank? Cylon bullets tear through her chest and abdomen, sending her brave but ultimately foolhardy plan to an unfortunate but not entirely unexpected close. She's alive — barely. The fact that the sleek silhouettes of Colonial Vipers are now streaking out of the station's bunker must be small consolation indeed, if she can in fact still see.
Daphne scrambles her viper up, using the VTOL for all its worth. There's dust on the consoles. Dust. And it smells like death. A terrific omen if ever there was one. She's fast on the switches, bringing the guns online while claiming something like altitude and thrust. She shoots out the bunker and brings her guns to bear on the first motherfrakker who gets in her way.
Thanks to his hasty takeoff, Lasher's bird is the first one to emerge from the launch tunnel. He does a quick loop over the battlefield as he settles into a strafing pattern, again picking out the first bit of chrome that catches his eye.
Sitka hauls his canopy down and buckles his seat harness extra tight, to account for the lack of flight suit. The controls, of course, aren't quite what he's accustomed to in the more antiquated Mark II, so it takes him a few seconds longer to get the systems up and running. The instant the RCS thrusters are online, he's guiding the fighter into a wobbly liftoff, swinging his nose toward the source of daylight, and punching it.
[Into the Wireless] Laskaris says, "Vipers, Lasher. Get your hamfisted arses in the air, godsdamn it!"
Alessandra takes off once she sees the others take off, that being all she needed. Like the others, she too turns around once launched, turning tightly so she can try to take a potshot at one of the missile-bearing fraktards.
Skids follows Shiv's lead, maneuvers almost identical, perhaps just faintly less pretty till they hit the air. But this, my friends, is what the Petrels were trained for — atmo flying, and coordinated moves. It's like shaking off the cold, and getting a move on, headed back into the game. Yeehaw indeed.
[Into the Wireless] Alessandra says, "Lucky's launched."
"Are you sur — " Yeow! Lune's right hand! It'll be more than her dress that'll be blue. She yelps and - "Kulko!" No! "The Major!!" Double no! Flail! Lunair hisses. Where's that medic? She looks torn briefly. "Frak-" She looks torn. "I'm going to the Major," She turns to take a potshot at a Cylon and go for the major.
Get the Major? Kai is moving towards Kulko, who's wounds are clearly something she can treat. Kneeling down, into cover and dragging Kulko slightly out of view, immediately the dark-haired lass begins to treat him. She's got that too, in her pouch: medical supplies, just in case. Don't underestimate a woman who's dealth with The Shit for so long.
Shiv, indeed, is in his element here. He maneuvers his fighter out of the bunker at high speed, engines roaring tylium exhaust in their wake as he seeks atmosphere. Actual honest to gods atmo. His weapons, however, are a different matter; one, two attempts result in a blank readout, and he veers off to do a pass of the facility while trying to bring them back online.
Kulko draws his breaths a bit easier as the Marine recruit starts to patch him up, occlusive dressings keeping air out of his chest cavity. "Thanks," he manages, reaching up to clasp Kai by the shoulder momentarily. "Now get the frak out there before Raine gets her ass killed." With great determination, he hauls himself up behind cover and takes a half-baked potshot at the Cylons, who are wilting under concentrated Viper fire.
Honest-to-godsFORSAKEN atmo, more like. Tisiphone's Viper doubles back less-than-smoothly for her own strafing run — gravity, what the frak? — though her quick punch of bullets is right. on. target. Over and around again she goes, for another pass.
Canopy shut, Deckie yelled at to clear his hands from the ammunition feed… ignition. His newly aquired Viper whines to life, feed bays snapping shut as the craft starts to move. The engine goes from a whine to an outright scream. Someone's wasting no time in playing catchup.
For Daphne, it's a touch of the familiar as well. Of course the last time she was flying in Leonis atmosphere, she was helping out battered Mesofreighters. She rockets out of the hangar, swinging around in the atmosphere, mindful of the harsh mistress below, then zips back where she came from, spraying hot lead at a centurion, hitting it right in the head and watching it drop with the combined fire. She shoots across, and comes around again, avoiding the Centurion that's shooting at her.
Polaris: Remarkable, how sturdy these machines really are — for even as one particularly hardy Cylon is filled with bullets, it maintains its target lock on Laskaris long enough to catch him in a turn at precisely the right moment. Metal slugs punch through his Viper's thin hull — no Raptor, this — and trigger his canopy's emergency fuses, only one of which explodes. Flying so low to the ground as he is, it's all he can do to avoid slamming into the burning Eidolon at maximum velocity; instead, skimming across the runway, his bird screams out of control, systems crackling with static and sparks. Be glad those gloves are (supposedly) burn-proof.
And that last Cylon with the last missile? It, too, manages to launch, the warhead burrowing through her exposed engines to make damnably sure that FTL remains non-functional for the foreseeable future — and more. Job done, it turns for the Heavy Raider still waddling about, leaping with its peers into that yawning, open hatch —
Just like that, in one final and definitive explosion of light, sound, and heat, the Cylon attackers retreat, their mission accomplished and more.
The sharp cry of pain is likely drowned by the cacophonous grinding of his seat on asphalt — not to mention the roar of Vipers and AP firing — but sharply cry out in pain is what Trask does. Whether or not it is a good thing or a bad thing that he's retained consciousness is not something he dwells upon in the long moment he lays where he finally screeched to a halt. Head swimming, he tries to gather his bearings and disentangle himself from his harness, which is a somewhat involved process with how all his adrenaline battles with the shrieking nerves of his sprained lower back.
Alas, Lunair reaches the Major. She doesn't seem to realize what's going on. She's trying to attend to the Major. Oh please be alive… Everything is lost on her. It's hard not to cry, but she grits her teeth.
Quinn has also managed to survive, but she hasn't regained consciousness, which might be a blessing given the force of the force of her ejector seat landing on her legs.
Daphne is desperate, swinging her craft around a pair of ruined buildings, banking on air friction to keep her from sliding away from her intended destination. She punches it, charging across the landscape and back towards the bunker. The viper ducks a little lower, evading incoming gunfire, and opens up with its cannons, all of which shoot a veritable stream of smoldering lead in all the places where the Centurion is not. She makes a fist and pounds it into the console of her viper, exclaiming "FRAK!" and, in fact, forgetting to turn off comms when she does it. Oops.
[TAC1] "Click" Daphne says, "FRAK!"
Barto is a complete wreck. Three rounds stitched a neat line from her left lung down to her stomach. The armor acted like it wasn't even there. The blood pools on the runway beneath her. Her eyes have some movement beneath closed lids and a pale face, but she's unresponsive.
Kulko watches helplessly as the Cylons have their way with the vessel he had just started to grow accustomed to, and makes safe his rifle before tossing it down in frustration. He hauls himself to his feet and strides out towards Lunair and the Major. "Zaranj! See to the Major, on the bounce." That said, he keys up the comms.
For once Alessandra comes out of combat unscathed, a fact that, like the rest of this, will have to wait and be absorbed. Right now she's trying to finish this frakking mission, putting everything else out of her mind.
[TAC1] "Shiv" Sitka says, "Lasher, watch your— frak. All vipers.. all vipers, regroup and land. Lasher, sound off. Sound off."
"YESSIR!" Just as she often addresses higher-ups with acknowledgement, so does she now with Kulko. Always a promise, her words, the lass bumrushing towards the Major in no time flat, extending services as first aid-er, would that be a word, to the person in question.
Lasher settles in for a second strafing run, coming in closer to the ground than he had before. This proves to be a mistake. Cylon bullets tear into his fuselage; hell of a lucky shot, that. Somehow, he manages to not turn his ship into a missle itself; the stricken Viper swerves drunkenly around the damaged Eidolon. Lasher barely has any space between his ventral wingtips and the ground, but it's enough. Features twisted in pain and anger, he yanks on the stick and guns his engines. The fighter sluggishly heaves itself back into the air, Lasher's heart pounding as he toggles the comms.
[TAC1] Kulko says, "Petrel Lead, get eyes on that Raptor crew. All other units, you are RTB."
[TAC1] "Lasher" Laskaris says, "I'm here, godsdamnit. What the frak…"
[TAC1] "Lucky" Alessandra says, "Shiv this is Lucky…are you s….wait.. Lasher? Frak. You guys got me going around in circles here."
[TAC1] (from "Shiv" Sitka) There's hesitation from Shiv, then his voice crackles over the borrowed radio, "Copy that, Kulko. Moving into range. Lucky, you have your orders."
[TAC1] "Money Shot" Tisiphone says, "Follow the orders you were given, Lucky. XO Kulko, this is Money Shot. Returning to base."
[TAC1] "Lucky" Alessandra says, "I do not need to be reminded, Money Shot. Thank you."
[TAC1] "Lasher" Laskaris says, "Lasher copies. I'm RTB… provided this shot-up bugger'll get me there."
[TAC1] "Shiv" Sitka says, "You two, cut it the frak out."
[TAC1] "Click" Daphne has to obey orders. She doesn't have to sound happy. "Kulko, Click. I am romeo tango bravo." And no. She does not sound the slightest bit happy.
[TAC1] "Lucky" Alessandra says, "This is Lucky. RTB."
The final toll? One heavy freighter, her stores, and her FTL. Two Raptors, with one more unaccounted for. One Viper of forty, her pilot safe in body but furions in spirit. The commanding officer, bleeding out but stable in worse-than-critical condition. And last but certainly not least, the engineers and pilots dispatched to Kythera City, all of whom must assuredly be presumed dead.
This is the price of vengeance.