PHD #072: Into the Forest
Into the Forest
Summary: The Anadyomene group plans its next course of action.
Date: 2041.05.09
Related Logs: Part II: Just Don't Slip Up.
Bannik Cilusia Covington Daphne Kai Kulko Laskaris Lunair Rojas Sitka Tisiphone 
Colonial Fleet Air Station Anadyomene — Leonis
Post-Holocaust Day: #72
The silence here is deafening, for not even the winds dare to disturb what remains of Colonial Fleet Air Station Anadyomene. Its three runways are littered by the wreckage of Vipers and Raptors, their grotesquely melted frames maintaining a sick parody of their original shape. Blasted barracks stand in eerie tribute to the people who died here, their windows completely shattered, their doors completely wrecked. Poured concrete runways are black and rippled, having been liquefied and reshaped by the heat from the Cylons' neutron bombs. They're dotted here and there by the still-feathered skeletons of over a thousand dead birds: the first victims of the radiation that still hangs like an invisible mist over the mountainous ridge into which this base has been built.

It's fortunate, then, that the reinforced concrete blast doors leading into that ridge still stand, though the northern passage has been rendered completely inaccessible by virtue of the fact that its doorframes are now one with the taxiway leading inside. The southern entrance looks to have handled the destruction better, though it'll still take some effort (and more than a few explosives) to pry them open.

It's a glorious summer's evening on Leonis, if you concentrate on the weather. If you concentrate on the surroundings — the blasted-open bunker, and the corpses dragged out and away to the side, the permanently-grounded remains of the Eidolon and the destroyed cargo-crates beside it, the blackened and shockwave-twisted tarmac upon which people are gathering — then it's a little less glorious. At least there's no mosquitos. Nor birds. Nor crickets. Nor…

An informal meeting has been called out on the tarmac, a short ways from the mouth of the bunker, by now-acting-commander LTJG Kulko. Several crates have been dragged out to serve as impromptu seats. Grab them while you can; they're filling up fast.

Kulko has dressed down to his fatigues for the day's labor of loading the ATVs with the requisite supplies, but his armor is ever-present in its duffel somewhere nearby. Now, as the sun dips low, and the pace of work slows, he waits for word to disseminate through the remainder of Eidolon's crew, lighting up a cigarette as he surveys the scene.

Lunair's butt is parked to listen. On a crate even. She looks quiet and calm, although it betrays the worry beneath. She seems saddened by the sights, but says nothing - meeting on the tarmac.

Laskaris doesn't look terribly happy to be here. Could be the Viper he totalled. Could be something else, too, but he doesn't look in the mood to elaborate. He puffs heavily from a cigarette hanging from his mouth on an off kilter angle as he paces along the periphery. Finally, he comes to rest leaning against a nearby ATV, his arms crossed over his chest as he faces the bunker. His green blouse top is removed and draped over the controls of the ATV.

Daphne doesn't have a seat. Anyone caught without one will get to see that, instead, she's sitting on the floor, with her back braced against one of those crates, her knees bent upwards. She goes nowhere without her guns at this point. The pistol is holstered and the rifle is at her side. Feet tap against the ground, or what counts for it. The rubberband that makes her ponytail sit still seems to have gone somewhere, a casualty of war, clearly. Her hair is out, and frizzy.

Bannik doesn't really know how to wear the armor, so he got out of it the first instant that he can. He's stripped down to his duty greens, the sleeve of the jacket of which occasionally wipes his brow to get rid of the sweat. He and the rest of the kuckle-draggers have been doing a lot of the bulk work moving supplies and getting things together; it's what they do best. He hangs near the edge of the circle; he doesn't sit.

Tisiphone has grabbed one of the crates, settled cross-legged atop it. She's in her duty greens, having eschewed the awkward battle armour for the sake of Getting Stuff Done, though her rifle is slung over her back. Her face is turned up toward the sky, watching the clouds as she drags on her cigarette.

Stranded on a war-torn, irradiated husk of a former colony, and one still can't escape the necessity of meetings. Gotta love the military. Shiv is looking about enthusiastic as ever, as he ambles out of the viper storage facility and out onto the tarmac. Dressed in stripped-down combat gear and smeared liberally in grease, the pilot brings one hand up to shield his eyes from the vanishing sunlight; the other arm's drawn about his midsection, as he elects to stand rather than grab a crate for this 'briefing'.

Kulko waits until the gathering has substantiated somewhat before he begins. "Alright. I think it's mighty clear we can't hang around this bunker anymore. Y'all seen what happens if we hole up - we wind up like those folks in there did." He pauses for a drag of his cigarette, using the cherry to motion towards the treeline in the dim twilight. "Forty klicks through that forest before we hit the Kythera suburbs. Our overarching objective is to make contact with Cerberus. Only way we know of to do that is with the last Raptor, which Lt. Oberlin has in the city. So we head that way, and let the forest cover us against enemy recon. Figure we'll move slow - we've got wounded to bear, and we'll need to scare up food while on the trail. So we'll figure 40 klicks in five, maybe six days. Questions so far?"

She's punctual, but by that same token? It isn't like Kai's taken time for herself. A smidgeon of darkness beneath the craters dragging at her eyes. Steps are purposeful, and her ass finds one spot or another, but interrupting? Not her forte, at least not right now. Maybe the Marine recruit has learned her lesson, or at least respect. One hand sifts through that unruly mane, unwashed or tamed from a few days ago, but it isn't that which gets the attention. The speech? The words? That's what gets the woman paying attention.

Dallas walks out of the bunker a little after some of the others, pulling up her zipper. "I feel much better," the pilot announces, not that anybody asked. She slaps her helmet onto her head, long blonde locks tamed into braided pigtails, and glances around to see who has a smoke. "Y'all feelin' good? Good. Should be." She takes a lean against Shiv, arm hooked over his shoulder, the mutters with a turn of her head, "I'm sweatin' in funny places. I don' know how them marines do it every day." With the body armor. She glances down belatedly. "… Aw. Greasy." Transfer. She quiets down when Kulko speaks, processing the information.

In her duty greens, Cilusia mulls around the circle. A cigarette sits burning in her lips, as she takes a moment to collect her hair back from its frizzy mane-like state and tie it back…with a bit of salvaged electrical wire. Like the other deckies, she's a little ripe with the effort of loading up the ATVs (to the best of her ability). When Kulko steps out to speak, she stops long enough to listen.

Rojas is currently missing, but the wrench-jockey that somehow passed flight-school is on the tarmac in spirit. All of the ATV's show signs of work here and there. Some lightened to help with the loads they'll be carrying, more than a few of them showing newer panels over the fuel tanks than they had prior, and a couple with whole new fitted undersides for the trek ahead. As for where he is now? Only the two Petrels can probably tell you.

Sitka has no answer to the question about 'how marines do it'. Just a brief, sidelong look aimed at the pigtailed blonde who's appropriated him for a leaning post, then a little shake of his head as his eyes drift back to Kulko speaking. The talk of hunting down the other raptor actually seems to have his interest piqued.

How Marines do it? Well, it's not just their dress that's blue… Ahem. Lunair is quiet. She eyes Dallas at the comment, but just hides a smile behind her hand and tries not to giggle. She goes more solemn though as the reality returns.. She just takes a deep breath.

"We're — we're abandoning the Vipers, sir? But — that's what we came here for. I mean, we have thirty-nine perfectly operational Vipers." Bannik sounds more confused than anything, looking around the room. But the Deckies were here for the Vipers.

Dallas considers the information, chewing the inside of her lip while the various perils and pitfalls associated with ATV travel filter through her mind. She remains leaned against Shiv, feet crossed at the ankles, taking the opportunity to unwrap a piece of bubblegum in her other hand, and shove it into her mouth. Blueberry. Nom. Chomp, chomp. Her eyes are on Kulko, sharp, despite the relaxed posture.

"How likely is it that anything's still alive?" This from Tisiphone, looking down from the empty, sunset-stained sky to Kulko — then the others gathered. "I mean- how many birds did we kick off the tarmac today?" In precise terms: a shit-tonne. She looks over toward Bannik and gestures to the Eidolon. The very useless Eidolon. "We came to put the Vipers in there. Our flight suits are in the wreckage over there." A point to the destroyed cargo crates.

"No idea, Tis. But I know for sure those poor bastards ate everything here before they tried to eat each other. Nothin worth stickin 'round for." Kulko looks pointedly to Bannik and nods in response. "Damn straight, we came here for Vipers. I'm not fixin' to leave 'em all here and head off on foot. That said, I'm told Eidolon ain't flyin' nowhere without a new FTL drive, and so we got no way to bring 'em home until Cerberus gets here. Course, you lot are powerful deadly in those things; it's doubtful we'd still be standin' here chattin' if we'd had to fight on foot. So if we're gonna go off wanderin', I'd like to bring a half dozen or so along with us." He looks pointedly at the Deckies who've taken the time out to join the pow-wow, then to Shiv and Lasher. "Give it to me straight - if we fly em low, camouflage em' with scrub during the day, and move 'em at night, can we keep these birds operational?"

"Load up enough parts on those ATVs, and I think we could keep anything you want running for as long as we have parts. As for flying low and camo…" Cilusia concludes her statement by turning her palms over towards the pilots of the bunch. She exhausted her expertises regarding Kulko's question with her answer…even if it wasn't directed totally at her!

Bannik hesitates for a moment, glancing to Cilusia. Then he speaks up: "Well. Atmospheric operations aren't my specialty," confesses the E-2. "But these birds are pristine. I mean, far better than anything on Cerberus. I don't see why not."

Lasher's eyes are narrow as he looks from Kulko to Bannik and back. He blinks, ash fluttering from the tip of his cigarette with a flick of the wrist. Silence hangs in the air, the all too still air, for a moment. "In theory? Don't see why not," he replies in that baritone highlander brogue. "Provided the knuckledraggers have a clue and none of 'em take any serious damage, anyway. Yeah. Maybe." His head tilts slightly, and his jaw clenches. "My question is, how the frak do you plan to coordinate it? Let's see here — " he begins ticking off his fingers one by one. "Having Vipers circling overhead is suren a dead giveaway of where we are, for one. Never mind the fact you couldn't keep them up all day every day for five or six days on a single tylium load. That leads to the problem of keeping the main team and the lucky six pilots in relatively close contact while simultaneously keeping the risk of detection to a minimum. I can go on." He shrugs. "Short version? Yeah, Lieutenant, I think we could do it — but it smells like a frakkin' mess in the making." Whether intentional or not, he begins to settle into an almost lecturing cadence by the end of his spiel. Probably an old reflex from his days as a grad assistant.

Lunair is quiet, for her part. She looks to Bannik, then to the others.

"The robots obviously know we're here, and going to the nearest city's a pretty obvious thing to do." Daphne sits up, peering out towards the other people gathered around out here. "If they know where we are, then they probably know where we're going. Us circling around couldn't give us away that much more, could it, sir?"

Kulko smokes down the Colonial Red a millimeter or three while the Deckies and Lasher respond, then shakes his head. "I don't want them in the air. Ideally they'd move once a day, just to keep pace with the main group. And we need to conserve fuel. No, I'm thinkin' these will be our ace in the hole. If we make it all the way to the city without havin' to use em, great. Leave 'em at the forest's edge and we can come back for 'em later. Just rather keep the option open, in case we get pounced. In a fair fight on an open field, we're frakked."

Sitka is busy hunting for his cigarette and zippo when Kulko addresses he and Laskaris. Blue eyes come up briefly, then drop again as he lights the smoke, and tries not to dump Covington on the ground in the process. After Lasher's said his piece, the ex-reservist opines somewhat less passionately, "I'm going to have to agree with Lasher. You've got the fuel problem.. something I imagine the cylons are going to want to get their grubby hands on, too. And technically speaking.. flying near minimum safe altitude, at night, and over unfamiliar terrain.." He shakes his head a little. "Even a skilled pilot with plenty of atmo experience is going to be shitting his pants when he pulls a UFIT." Whatever the hell that is, in pilot-ese. "My suggestion? We take as many vipers as we can, and park them somewhere out of the way for now. And we set off on foot."

"Ain't never shit my pants yet," Dallas mutters, though she's a moment later to add, "But Terrain at night where I ain't practiced a bunch plus tryin' ta keep it under DRADIS register… makes a girl squirrely. I reckon if anything'd do it, that'd be it. We had long range comms, I guess some folk could stash theyself with some planes… that's a lotta Triad on hostile soil waitin' for a call could be traced."

"Snag ourselves on the edge of the trees and a fireball will get the Cylons looking our way pretty damn quick." Tisiphone again, looking up from where she's been rolling her cigarette back and forth between her fingers. "If we're trying to get into the city to regroup with the other Raptor team as quietly as possible…" She shakes her head tensely.

Lasher grunts, rising his arms to call attention to the scene of destruction around them. "Ideally. Yeah, Lieutenant, and if this mission has shown us anythin' so far, it's that what is ideal an what is reality ain't exactly the same thing, y'ken?" Flinty eyes fall upon Shiv for a second before darting back to Kulko. "If we move from here, taking fighters with us just makes things that much more complicated. That's the sort of thing you usually want to avoid at a time like this." Another drag. "Day, night, don't matter. Thermal signatures don't frakkin' change, and machines don't need sleep."

"I don't much want to face-frak a tree." Rojas fills in with his two bits, appearing from the side of the bunker with a helmet that looks suspiciously Motocross held in his free hand, while the shotgun scavenged from what little remains of Eidolon's useful stores hangs along his shoulder. For a businessman, he seems suprisingly comfortable amidst destruction and desolation. That might just be because his armor was hack-job'd apart at somepoint during the night, leaving only the vest (with one remaining pocket, probably filled to the brim with what shells he could find), elbow and knee pads for protection. Of course, he has his own cigarette, and makes no immediate attempt to sit. …And yes, he was taking a piss.

Tisiphone looks between Shiv and Lasher for a moment, running her teeth against the spot on her bottom lip that's usually cracked open. "They know we've been here. They're going to be back. If we leave all the Vipers in the bunker, now that we've blown it open, you know they'll destroy them all when they come back and find us gone. Salt the earth behind us, you know." She coughs once, tight and nervous. "It couldn't hurt to try to hide some of the Vipers nearby. Protect the things we came here for." A glance toward the deckies.

Kulko says, "Splittin' up ain't on the agenda. Neither is stayin' put. We go, and we go together." This unequivocal from the young Tactical officer, who takes each bit of commentary in with due consideration before giving the forest another long, hard look. "Right. Keep it simple. We stash the birds at the forest's edge, and if we need them later we can hitail some jocks back to play cavalry. Meantime, we make for the city, slow and quiet."

Sitka glances over when Tisiphone speaks, eyes lingering upon the young woman for a few seconds before drifting back to Kulko. He drags from his cigarette, ashes it away from Covington, and otherwise remains mostly quiet. He's said his piece, after all, and seems content to listen to the plan take shape. Nathan's arrival draws his attention for a few moments, and a faint smile is given the pilot.

Bannik nods once, glancing over in the direction of those precious, precious, Vipers. "Yes, sir," says the deckhand finally, letting a long, slow hiss of air from his mouth.

"Good to see stating the obvious is still on the curriculum at the fleet academy, Ensign," Lasher says sharply to Tisiphone. OCS grad, represent. Shiv gets a nod. "No disagreein' here. Shouldn't set us back too long to hide enough birds for all of us in the brush," he adds, his gaze sweeping over the rest of the pilots.

"Well, if you're taking crazy-ass ideas…here's one. I get a rope, we tie some shit up to the bottom of those Vipers, and we haul some real ass on over to the city. No screwing around with ATVs, camping out nothing. Of course, there's always the risk that whatever flight…shit you jocks worry about will be shot to hell and your pilot-zen might get interrupted by having something lashed to the belly of your ship…" Aaaaaand there's Cilusia's bright idea for the day: tie a bunch of stuff (or people!) to the Vipers and use them like wing-walkers on biplanes.

Yipe yipe yipe, like a puppy getting smacked with a slipper. Tisiphone looks sharply over at Laskaris with a flare of wounded defensiveness, pale brows drawing down toward eachother. Her jaw sets for a second, then works as if she's chewing on a word or three, before she looks away, just as sharply, to Cilusia. "You missed the part about us staying off DRADIS, yeah? How many Vipers are we gonna save with ten Basestars worth of raiders coming to pay us a visit?"

Cilusia gets a long, hard stare from Kulko before he breaks into a wide grin. "PO, you have about eight hours to prove you can do it without killing anyone. You'll be the test dummy. Reckon your time might be better spent packin' your bags for the hike." His grin fades into a smirk, and he shakes his head ruefully. "Second order'a business, then. Fire discipline - AP rounds are at a premium, so everyone keep your rifles to semi-auto. No burst, no spray'n'pray. If you see somethin' looks big enough to eat, drop the frakker. Otherwise, rifles safe and no jumpin' at shadows."

"If we was flyin' crop dusters, that'd be one thing. Lords know I tied on a few things flyin' them," Dallas grins a bit, "But the viper's got a little more punch. Flyin' one around's kinda like flashin' your ass at the robots. Anythin' flies loose, better pray it don't gunk up nothin' important. Cos ain't nobody livin' down a crash like that, even if they dead. Our priority people or cargo?"

Sitka is generally a fairly easygoing, live and let live sort of fellow. But when Cilusia speaks, he turns and squints at the woman through the haze of sun-filtered smoke like she's grown a third arm in the middle of her forehead. He opens his mouth, closes his mouth, then steels himself and tries again, speaking just at the tail end of Kulko's agreement, "I'd, uh, I'd rather not strap supplies to vipers, Lieutenant. Maggie, when she comes around, can countermand me on that if she wants, but.. that's going to be a really, really bad idea. These things aren't raptors, they're strike craft."

Rojas scratches the back of his head with a shotgun. If there were any doubt as to his farmboy origins… yeah. Gone. Bye bye. His mouth opens to say something, but it's soon allowed to close by everyone else piping up before him. At least he gets to lower the singular raised eyebrow before anyone noticed. Bonus. Double bonus, nobody has to hear a heavily-accent lecture about the precarious centre of gravity that comes part and parcel with a craft that's more rocket than plane in atmosphere. Triple bonus@ he gets to zone out in nicotine enjoyment when the ammunition talk comes about. He knows exactly how much he's got. The pocket is patted to prove it.

Lasher's head turns slowly towards Cilusia, and he snorts in disbelief. "You serious, lass? You call yourself a bloody aircraft mechanic, and you don't see anything wrong with that little plan?" A look towards Kulko. "Not goin' to frakkin' happen, Lieutenant. I'm not letting some crazy knuckledragger start strapping people to my birds. Sounds like another quick way of getting us all killed." A hard look over to Cilusia follows.

Kulko shakes his head quickly, looking between Shiv and Lasher as he's evidently misunderstood. "Sorry, Captains. I'll hold the lip next time - ain't strappin nobody to no fighters. We stay dirtside." He takes a last deep drag off the cigarette, then tosses it down. "Any other questions, comments, concerns?"

Daphne simply widens her eyes at Cilusia's plan. She doesn't say a word about that, though. "Yes. I'm concerned." She raises a hand. "I'm concerned that they know where we are, they own the whole frakking planet… but here we're sitting, alive, intact, and without bullets in our brains. Has anyone considered that we're supposed to lead them to where the rest of us are holding up? There was no shortage of -stuff- in orbit of the planet that sure as hell wasn't ours, and I'm sure they've mass produced enough of themselves down here by now to make up for the population they nuked."

A shotgun goes up. Yes, It's Nate's hand attached. Probably forever, the guy loves that thing. "Got a side-one." The cigarette is spat from his mouth, bouncing along the floor with it's dim glow to come to a stop and snuff itself out against a crate. "Any'you'folks been on one-a these things in the past… two years?" He's referring to the ATVs, not the Vipers. "'Cause these pigs are overloaded, poorly balanced an' spirited like weasels on crack."

Kulko looks Daphne's way, and offers a nod. "Damn straight. It's a better'n even chance, but we really don't have any choice. Either Calvin and his team are alive, or they ain't. Either way, we need that Raptor. Can't get a message off to Cerb without puttin' her in the upper atmosphere, and none of these wrecks here are flyin'." With the toe of his boot, he snubs out the cigarette butt. "Are we walkin' into a trap? Maybe. But knowin' there's a trap is the first step in walkin 'round it."

Stephen looks to Rojas for a long moment before he answers - evidently something he hadn't considered. "Y'all fly weasels on crack every day," he says finally, borrowing the pilot's metaphor. "Rojas, you think you can teach these jocks the basics before we head out?"

"Drove one back home when I was out hunting." Tisiphone scratches at the corner of her mouth for a moment as she looks over at Rojas. "A couple times on Caprica when we'd go snowboarding, but- that was three, four years ago."

Sitka clears his throat quietly, and scratches at the bridge of his nose when he realises he's effectively been had. If Sagittarians could blush, he probably would be right now. His smoke is fervently dragged from, and his stance shifted slightly to redistribute his weight. "Stephen," he addresses the Lieutenant, "I also suggest we grab the data drives out of Maggie's raptor, and any other sensitive equipment, portable radios, repair kits and what have you, that we can salvage. Also, are any of you familiar with the Leonis countryside? Do we have maps? Do we know whether radiation's going to be a problem in the cities? I, uh, sorry if you've already considered all that."

"Well, as gut-bustin' as it'd be, Sir, I don't much wanna see anyone else face-frak a tree." Rojas promptly scratches his ass with the shotgun, too. Multi-tool. "Unless there're any goose still flyin'. Saw someone hit a ramp once an-…" The pilot trails off. Story for another time. His boots suddenly get stared at as weight shifts from foot to foot. "I been out here once, but that was 'fore 'was even flyin'. Hunted 'coupla times with fat congolomerate owner. Prob'ly ain't even same woods." So that's a yes and a no.

"Ain't been on one in years." Dallas sighs, with a glance over to the ATVs. "Prefer ridin' cowboys, I guess. Girl gets outta practice." She pats a hand against her helmet, and eyes Shiv's smoke. She clucks her tongue briefly as Shiv speaks. She nods slightly re: a couple of things, glancing to Kulko for the update.

Daphne pulls her knees tighter to her chest. "Knowing there's a trap is the first step to walking around it, but we're not walking around it. We're diving right in. I'm actually almost certain the other team is alive specifically because we're alive and we've had contact with the Cylons. I'm more than sure they're perfectly capable of getting a signal out to the Cerberus without us. I don't like this plan and I'm worried that the moment we link up with the others, it's going to rain down on us. I'd rather go in a different direction and find a way to call for help."

Lunair is quiet, and blinks at Dallas. She looks slightly worried. She is but a figure ni the background.

Laskaris nods to Shiv at the mention of the Raptor. "I'll take care of it, Shiv. I'll know what I'm lookin' for." Doesn't look like there are any Raptor jocks around that would know any better, anyway. There's another snort, this one almost amused, as the conversation turns to the ATVs, and he cranes his neck to look at the vehicles. "Lieutenant, I was driving these suckers 'round the Tarnock outskirts when you were still drippin' down your momma's leg. I'll manage." When Daphne speaks, Lasher looks at her with a contemplative expression, then to Kulko for his reaction.

First Cilusia got stared at like an arm was growing out of her forehead — now it's Daphne's turn, and Tisiphone's the one doing it. "We've got, what, two days of food? Three? What sort of way are we going to find to 'call for help' even further away from the city? Smoke signals?"

"Used to have one of these back on the ranch myself, but it has been a year or three. Reckon we'll get our sea legs back soon enough - but let's get some road time in before we leave." Kulko folds his arms and look to Sitka, then, subconsciously matching the Petrel's posture. "Cap, I've got some aerial recon photos. They'll get us to Kythera proper, at the least. From there, we should be able to scrounge some maps. As for the salvage, Deck's done a proper job scraping together whatever they could, but feel free to give it another once-over. Last, we've got about two months worth of anti-rads - and if we're still here in two months…" The sentence goes unfinished. Stephen pauses for just a half-beat before he answers Daphne, in a measured tone. "It's near a hundred fifty klicks to the next nearest city, Daphne. We have enough supplies to last about forty eight hours. We need that Raptor, and I'm not content to sit around trustin' that our potentially dead compatriots might get the job done for us."

"If we're still here in two months, we'll be here just long enough to starv to death. That is if we don't die of thirst before that…" Speaking from near the ATVs, Cilusia takes a final drag of the cigarette she was smoking, then throws it to the tarmac. Not like anyone's going to call it a safety violation or anything given the circumstances.

"She does have a point," Shiv notes evenly, with a little hitch of his chin toward Daphne in indication of whom he refers to. "Which is sort of where I was going with my question about anyone knowing the area. We might be able to find.. I don't know, a base station or something, see if we can make contact with either Cerberus or the other group enroute." Mention of anti-rads and aerial photos garners a curt nod from the Captain. "I'd like to have a look at the pictures, if you don't mind. And I think having Nathan and Kal do a final sweep of the raptor, and the bunker itself, might not be a bad idea."

"We're still here'n two months, Mama cheated, and Daddy done drove his 18 wheeler inta her love nest," Dallas finishes Kulko's sentence for him. Whatever the hell that means. The general translation would be: Cerb screwed the pooch and went to Tahiti. "Sounds like assholes an' elbows will we find more supplies, our people, a raptor, or a force big 'nough ta put is in th' ground. Good plan. I'm in."

Daphne shoots Tisiphone a bitter look, "Okay, okay. I get it." She turns towards Kulko, "That's fine. I wasn't aware how far the next nearest city or base was from here. Just as long as we're expecting this to get ugly when we get to our destination, not before. I'd be surprised if even see a Cylon between here and there."

Kulko looks slowly over the group for half a minute, then digs out and lights another cigarette. There's more vigor in his voice when he speaks again. "Listen here, y'all. Skipper's not gonna write us off so quick, and he's right not to. There's folks out there that ain't given up on us yet. Don't go givin' up on yourselves. Week or two from now, we'll be breathin' that sweet canned air, eatin' them powdered eggs in the galley, and bitchin' about eight hour CAPs. Just gotta get from here to there." He takes a long inaugural drag, then snaps off a salute. "Roll out in two hours. Hop to it."

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