Post by James Hudson on Dec 11, 2013 1:57:53 GMT -5
Admin note: This fanfic is the intellectual property of Matthew Manni, who graciously allowed me to repost it on this forum. Thanks again, Matt!.
Author's note: This is a short fanfic, and will not be in any great depth at all. Even the chapters will be short.
4000 years ago, a planet named Kobol was home to the thirteen tribes of humanity. In that time, the thirteenth tribe took to the stars for reasons long forgotten by the history scrolls. Their travels brought them to the third planet orbiting an immense star. This planet was Earth.
2000 years later the remaining 12 tribes abandoned Kobol to form twelve separate and sovereign colonies that existed until the Cylons launched their surprise mission of the total annihilation of the human race. A lone surviving military warship gathered the remnants of humanity totaling less than 50,000 and escaped the star system now controlled by the Cylons who ruthlessly pursue them.
In the year 2010, the remnants of the colonies finally reunited with their long lost brothers and sisters of the thirteenth tribe and settled upon the planet Earth. Since that time, the forces of the Cylon Empire tracked them to the sanctuary planet and attacked. The fight ended with the destruction of the attacking Baseships, yet an inconclusive resolution to the conflict.
FROM THE ADAMA JOURNALS:
We now are half way through the fifth year or our settlement of Earth. The former refuges of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol have assimilated better than I would have thought possible. It was of major concern to President Roslin and myself, that our people not live and interact amongst only their own kind upon final settlement, but become part of the greater brotherhood of humanity. For the most part, many of our people have scattered throughout the globe and have made tremendous efforts to fit in with their new world.
The one exception, and a slight one at that, would be the creation of ‘Colonial City’ not far from the Groom Lake facility. Roughly four thousand mixed colonials now reside there, with the aim to preserve some portion of our former culture and history. Surprisingly, growing numbers of the native population are moving there to learn more about their brothers and sisters from beyond. The rough and barren desert has slowly been transformed into a marvel of Earth and Colonial architecture.
Our space defense force can now boast a fleet of fourteen Battlestars with close to thirty support ships. With the decommissioning of many of Earth’s former naval warships, seasoned military personnel were reassigned, or volunteered for space duty in the newly established Earth Defense Forces.
I have been deeply honored to hold the position of senior officer of Earth’s space command, and I have found myself renewed in spirit and energy. I have not felt this young in ages, and thoughts of retirement have long faded to memory.
A major refit of Galactica nears completion, the exterior damage sustained in every attack since the holocaust has finally been completely repaired in appropriate dry-dock settings high above Earth’s moon. Every internal system has been thoroughly upgraded, and the hanger bays teem with freshly minted vipers and raptors. The nearly half century old Colonial warhorse will now glide majestically through the cosmos with renewed strength and range.
Contact with the Cylons have been non-existent for close to three years, and our intelligence estimates have produced no conclusions as to their whereabouts. Our patrols have remained close, just beyond this solar system, and it has been decided that advanced probes delve further into the outer regions.
Since promoting Saul Tigh to command of the Battlestar Terra-1, Lee has proven an exemplary executive officer, and I predict it won’t be long before he commands a Battlestar of his own. I doubt there has ever been a father more proud of his son than I am of Lee. I truly believe he has finally come into his own.
Major Matthew Lensherr knocked on the office door and was immediately granted access by the man within who had monitored his arrival on the bank of security monitors.
The man of medium height and build stood up from behind his desk, walking with a limp, he came around the desk and took Lensherr’s hand in a firm handshake. “Hephaestus, it has been far too long my friend.” Exclaimed Mark Sarnex happily.
“Yes it has Nightstalker, I see that old wounds never fully heal, do they?” said Lensherr gesturing towards the knee of his friend.
A thin smile crept across the face of Mark Sarnex. “The Simon model was quite thorough in ending my stellar career as a viper jock.”
“You had a stellar career?” After a moment of what seemed to be an uncomfortable feigned silence the two old friends laughed heartily and sat down in the two chairs in the room.
“So how do you like working for intelligence? asked Lensherr sipping his coffee.
“It was like coming home, Matt. I became a viper pilot out of necessity after the attacks on the colonies, but my world was intelligence long before ever parking my ass in an obsolete Mk II viper.”
“Well it’s a good thing you no longer wear viper wings, judging from the size of your ass I doubt you’d fit in the fracking cockpit now.” laughed Lensherr.
“How is D’Anna and the children?”
“They’re doing very well, thank you. James starts school soon, and Lana has her mother’s features as well as her independent streak. The three age me daily.” Lensherr placed the chipped ceramic mug down on Sarnex’s desktop. “Mark, Galactica’s refit is nearing completion and I will be assigned to her air wing as Silver Spar’s leader for a tour. The flight academy has some amazing instructors, and I have little doubt I’m leaving it in more than capable hands. I need to get back up there.”
“How did Mrs. Cylon take the news?” joked Mark.
“She knew that it was only a matter of time, and it will only be for one tour of duty besides. I couldn’t remain Earth-bound forever.”
“I can’t say I wish I was leaving with you, if I never leave solid ground again I won’t complain. Earth is beautiful, and our people prosper here.”
Lensherr shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his gaze seemed to burn like a laser beam through lead. “They’re still out there Mark! I can feel it. EDF plans a deep probe beyond the system and I need to be out there.”
“Oh for Frack’s sake, why you? You have a family here, you’ve paid your dues, let the younger jocks fly the death mobiles.” Replied Sarnex irritably.
“Because it’s my family that they’re after, damn it!”
“You don’t know that for sure, Matt!”
“The Cylons have always taken an extreme interest in the offspring of human and skin-job, I need to be somewhere where I’m making a difference.”
“It seems like you’ve made your decision, and far be it from me to try and talk you out of it.” Sarnex changed the subject. “I hear Jon finally has his own squadron…the Red Aces. Good for him, though I thought for sure he’d muster out and return to civilian law enforcement, Gods know our arrival here on Earth hasn’t lowered the level of bad behavior across the globe.”
“Not Peacemaker, I doubt you’ll ever pry him out of a viper, but you’re right, it’s long past due for him to get his own command, at least he’s still aboard Galactica.” Glancing at his chronometer, Lensherr downed the rest of his coffee, and bid his dear friend farewell.
“Don’t worry Hephaestus…I’m here for your family, I’ll keep an eye on things until you get back.”
“Of that I have no doubt old friend, and thank you.”
“Admiral on deck!” announced the JOOD. Admiral William Adama walked with purpose into the CIC, he quickly ordered everyone to be as they were as he approached Gaeta’s station.
“Report Mr. Gaeta.”
“Yard Control has cleared us for departure, Admiral. All hands with the exception six pilots are now onboard. The six pilots are transferring from Earth Command and will arrive on station immediately after departing lunar dry-dock.”
“Thank you Mr. Gaeta.” The Admiral turned towards his son who was now standing by his side. “Executive Officer, please notify helm to take us out of dry-dock and set a course of 113.6.”
“Aye, aye Admiral. Helm, take us out of dry-dock, maneuvering thrusters at full…execute!” Bill Adama was pleased to hear the crispness in the voice of his son’s commands. Yes he will make a fine Battlestar commander he thought. The massive Battlestar slowly exited the orbiting dry-dock and was coming about. An extended lease on life was now given to the aging Colonial Battlestar referred to as the Bucket. She was well past her prime and ready for decommissioning from active service when the Cylons attacked. Ironically it was her obsolescence that saved her from joining her sister Battlestars in complete destruction.
“Helm, make your course 113.6 and set for cruising speed.” Mr. Gaeta…conduct Dradis sweep, what is the position of our incoming spacecraft from Earth?” asked Lee Adama.
“XO I have four vipers and two raptors on approach. EDC recognition codes match those that departed Groom Lake.” Informed Felix Gaeta. All Colonial transponders were reprogrammed with new identification codes created by Earth Defense Command, even Galactica’s recognition code would be alien to Cylon scans, they would have to identify visually now.
“Clear them to land Mr. Gaeta, as soon as our bays are secured we’ll be leaving this solar system.”
Matthew Lensherr’s viper was on final approach, it seemed like an eternity since he last came in for a landing on Galactica. He couldn’t help but notice how different she looked. Missing and damaged deck plating replaced, even a fresh paint job on the landing platform made the old girl look fresh off the assembly line. A surge of pride swelled within him. His helmet speakers hummed softly as the gritty voice of Galactica’s LSO filled his ears.
“Hephaestus – Galactica, you are cleared for hands-on approach. Welcome aboard Major!
“Galactica – Hephaestus, message received and thank you, it’s a pleasure to be back.” The Mk II style viper that Matthew Lensherr flew since the holocaust was finally being phased out. Upon the arrival of the fleet at Earth, it was decided to put the Mk. II’s in production because it was an easier star fighter to learn to fly in the short time they had to train new viper pilots from Earth. After five years, and a collaboration between the few remaining Colonial engineers and the legions of Earth’s best aeronautical engineers the Mk. VIII viper was developed. It was an advanced model over the already technologically superior Mk VII. While he always preferred the classic Mk II over the Mk VII, Lensherr bowed to the inevitable that his precious Mk II would eventually be replaced. Uniformity was a cornerstone of any military after all.
He brought his viper to a dead stop above the elevating platform and he was soon lowered into the starboard hanger bay. After his post flight checklist, Matthew Lensherr climbed down from his viper affectionately christened Nemesis and took a long circular view of the immaculate hanger bay. The painters obviously made their way down here as well.
“Welcome aboard skipper!” came a familiar voice high above on the catwalk. Jon Horlach; call sign Peacemaker and newly promoted squadron leader of the Red Aces. Two pilots stood to his side, both with an incredible air of military bearing.
“Permission to come aboard, Major?” said Lensherr coming to attention and issuing a stiff salute.
“Permission granted Major…good to have you back.” Replied Peacemaker returning the salute smartly. Lensherr joined them up on the catwalk, and introductions were made.
“Major Matthew Lensherr may I introduce two of my pilots, Lieutenant Kara Fan, call sign Destiny, and Captain Mick Rogue, call sign Roguepope who is also my ASL.”
Lensherr shook each pilot’s hand, replying to the introduction. “My call sign is Hephaestus, good to meet you both.” A new voice sounded from behind.
“It’s about fracking time you got your ass out from behind a desk and back into a viper, Lensherr!”
“Good morning Starbuck!” sighed Lensherr. “I’m happy to see that not everything aboard the bucket has changed.” He slowly turned to face Kara Thrace who was chomping a cigar, her flight suit stripped down to her waist.
“How’s the toasters, Matt?” From anyone else it would be taken as an extreme insult, but Kara was sincere, if a little crass.
“D’Anna and the kids are doing fine, thank you.”
“Well as Galactica’s CAG I hereby welcome you aboard. You have your old quarters back, and we’ll have to meet to decide upon your new ASL. You have some very good candidates to choose from.”
Lensherr departed the hanger bay and made his way to his quarters, he was half expecting the old converted brig that he and D’Anna shared when he was last assigned to Galactica, and she was still considered an enemy prisoner. These quarters were much smaller, and Admiral Adama had ordered that all squadron leaders bunked with their Assistant Squadron Leaders. He would have the room to himself for only a short period of time.
Author's note: This is a short fanfic, and will not be in any great depth at all. Even the chapters will be short.
Galactica 2010 – The Fleet Reborn
4000 years ago, a planet named Kobol was home to the thirteen tribes of humanity. In that time, the thirteenth tribe took to the stars for reasons long forgotten by the history scrolls. Their travels brought them to the third planet orbiting an immense star. This planet was Earth.
2000 years later the remaining 12 tribes abandoned Kobol to form twelve separate and sovereign colonies that existed until the Cylons launched their surprise mission of the total annihilation of the human race. A lone surviving military warship gathered the remnants of humanity totaling less than 50,000 and escaped the star system now controlled by the Cylons who ruthlessly pursue them.
In the year 2010, the remnants of the colonies finally reunited with their long lost brothers and sisters of the thirteenth tribe and settled upon the planet Earth. Since that time, the forces of the Cylon Empire tracked them to the sanctuary planet and attacked. The fight ended with the destruction of the attacking Baseships, yet an inconclusive resolution to the conflict.
Chapter 1
FROM THE ADAMA JOURNALS:
We now are half way through the fifth year or our settlement of Earth. The former refuges of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol have assimilated better than I would have thought possible. It was of major concern to President Roslin and myself, that our people not live and interact amongst only their own kind upon final settlement, but become part of the greater brotherhood of humanity. For the most part, many of our people have scattered throughout the globe and have made tremendous efforts to fit in with their new world.
The one exception, and a slight one at that, would be the creation of ‘Colonial City’ not far from the Groom Lake facility. Roughly four thousand mixed colonials now reside there, with the aim to preserve some portion of our former culture and history. Surprisingly, growing numbers of the native population are moving there to learn more about their brothers and sisters from beyond. The rough and barren desert has slowly been transformed into a marvel of Earth and Colonial architecture.
Our space defense force can now boast a fleet of fourteen Battlestars with close to thirty support ships. With the decommissioning of many of Earth’s former naval warships, seasoned military personnel were reassigned, or volunteered for space duty in the newly established Earth Defense Forces.
I have been deeply honored to hold the position of senior officer of Earth’s space command, and I have found myself renewed in spirit and energy. I have not felt this young in ages, and thoughts of retirement have long faded to memory.
A major refit of Galactica nears completion, the exterior damage sustained in every attack since the holocaust has finally been completely repaired in appropriate dry-dock settings high above Earth’s moon. Every internal system has been thoroughly upgraded, and the hanger bays teem with freshly minted vipers and raptors. The nearly half century old Colonial warhorse will now glide majestically through the cosmos with renewed strength and range.
Contact with the Cylons have been non-existent for close to three years, and our intelligence estimates have produced no conclusions as to their whereabouts. Our patrols have remained close, just beyond this solar system, and it has been decided that advanced probes delve further into the outer regions.
Since promoting Saul Tigh to command of the Battlestar Terra-1, Lee has proven an exemplary executive officer, and I predict it won’t be long before he commands a Battlestar of his own. I doubt there has ever been a father more proud of his son than I am of Lee. I truly believe he has finally come into his own.
Earth Defense Forces headquarters.
Major Matthew Lensherr knocked on the office door and was immediately granted access by the man within who had monitored his arrival on the bank of security monitors.
The man of medium height and build stood up from behind his desk, walking with a limp, he came around the desk and took Lensherr’s hand in a firm handshake. “Hephaestus, it has been far too long my friend.” Exclaimed Mark Sarnex happily.
“Yes it has Nightstalker, I see that old wounds never fully heal, do they?” said Lensherr gesturing towards the knee of his friend.
A thin smile crept across the face of Mark Sarnex. “The Simon model was quite thorough in ending my stellar career as a viper jock.”
“You had a stellar career?” After a moment of what seemed to be an uncomfortable feigned silence the two old friends laughed heartily and sat down in the two chairs in the room.
“So how do you like working for intelligence? asked Lensherr sipping his coffee.
“It was like coming home, Matt. I became a viper pilot out of necessity after the attacks on the colonies, but my world was intelligence long before ever parking my ass in an obsolete Mk II viper.”
“Well it’s a good thing you no longer wear viper wings, judging from the size of your ass I doubt you’d fit in the fracking cockpit now.” laughed Lensherr.
“How is D’Anna and the children?”
“They’re doing very well, thank you. James starts school soon, and Lana has her mother’s features as well as her independent streak. The three age me daily.” Lensherr placed the chipped ceramic mug down on Sarnex’s desktop. “Mark, Galactica’s refit is nearing completion and I will be assigned to her air wing as Silver Spar’s leader for a tour. The flight academy has some amazing instructors, and I have little doubt I’m leaving it in more than capable hands. I need to get back up there.”
“How did Mrs. Cylon take the news?” joked Mark.
“She knew that it was only a matter of time, and it will only be for one tour of duty besides. I couldn’t remain Earth-bound forever.”
“I can’t say I wish I was leaving with you, if I never leave solid ground again I won’t complain. Earth is beautiful, and our people prosper here.”
Lensherr shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his gaze seemed to burn like a laser beam through lead. “They’re still out there Mark! I can feel it. EDF plans a deep probe beyond the system and I need to be out there.”
“Oh for Frack’s sake, why you? You have a family here, you’ve paid your dues, let the younger jocks fly the death mobiles.” Replied Sarnex irritably.
“Because it’s my family that they’re after, damn it!”
“You don’t know that for sure, Matt!”
“The Cylons have always taken an extreme interest in the offspring of human and skin-job, I need to be somewhere where I’m making a difference.”
“It seems like you’ve made your decision, and far be it from me to try and talk you out of it.” Sarnex changed the subject. “I hear Jon finally has his own squadron…the Red Aces. Good for him, though I thought for sure he’d muster out and return to civilian law enforcement, Gods know our arrival here on Earth hasn’t lowered the level of bad behavior across the globe.”
“Not Peacemaker, I doubt you’ll ever pry him out of a viper, but you’re right, it’s long past due for him to get his own command, at least he’s still aboard Galactica.” Glancing at his chronometer, Lensherr downed the rest of his coffee, and bid his dear friend farewell.
“Don’t worry Hephaestus…I’m here for your family, I’ll keep an eye on things until you get back.”
“Of that I have no doubt old friend, and thank you.”
Chapter 2
“Admiral on deck!” announced the JOOD. Admiral William Adama walked with purpose into the CIC, he quickly ordered everyone to be as they were as he approached Gaeta’s station.
“Report Mr. Gaeta.”
“Yard Control has cleared us for departure, Admiral. All hands with the exception six pilots are now onboard. The six pilots are transferring from Earth Command and will arrive on station immediately after departing lunar dry-dock.”
“Thank you Mr. Gaeta.” The Admiral turned towards his son who was now standing by his side. “Executive Officer, please notify helm to take us out of dry-dock and set a course of 113.6.”
“Aye, aye Admiral. Helm, take us out of dry-dock, maneuvering thrusters at full…execute!” Bill Adama was pleased to hear the crispness in the voice of his son’s commands. Yes he will make a fine Battlestar commander he thought. The massive Battlestar slowly exited the orbiting dry-dock and was coming about. An extended lease on life was now given to the aging Colonial Battlestar referred to as the Bucket. She was well past her prime and ready for decommissioning from active service when the Cylons attacked. Ironically it was her obsolescence that saved her from joining her sister Battlestars in complete destruction.
“Helm, make your course 113.6 and set for cruising speed.” Mr. Gaeta…conduct Dradis sweep, what is the position of our incoming spacecraft from Earth?” asked Lee Adama.
“XO I have four vipers and two raptors on approach. EDC recognition codes match those that departed Groom Lake.” Informed Felix Gaeta. All Colonial transponders were reprogrammed with new identification codes created by Earth Defense Command, even Galactica’s recognition code would be alien to Cylon scans, they would have to identify visually now.
“Clear them to land Mr. Gaeta, as soon as our bays are secured we’ll be leaving this solar system.”
Matthew Lensherr’s viper was on final approach, it seemed like an eternity since he last came in for a landing on Galactica. He couldn’t help but notice how different she looked. Missing and damaged deck plating replaced, even a fresh paint job on the landing platform made the old girl look fresh off the assembly line. A surge of pride swelled within him. His helmet speakers hummed softly as the gritty voice of Galactica’s LSO filled his ears.
“Hephaestus – Galactica, you are cleared for hands-on approach. Welcome aboard Major!
“Galactica – Hephaestus, message received and thank you, it’s a pleasure to be back.” The Mk II style viper that Matthew Lensherr flew since the holocaust was finally being phased out. Upon the arrival of the fleet at Earth, it was decided to put the Mk. II’s in production because it was an easier star fighter to learn to fly in the short time they had to train new viper pilots from Earth. After five years, and a collaboration between the few remaining Colonial engineers and the legions of Earth’s best aeronautical engineers the Mk. VIII viper was developed. It was an advanced model over the already technologically superior Mk VII. While he always preferred the classic Mk II over the Mk VII, Lensherr bowed to the inevitable that his precious Mk II would eventually be replaced. Uniformity was a cornerstone of any military after all.
He brought his viper to a dead stop above the elevating platform and he was soon lowered into the starboard hanger bay. After his post flight checklist, Matthew Lensherr climbed down from his viper affectionately christened Nemesis and took a long circular view of the immaculate hanger bay. The painters obviously made their way down here as well.
“Welcome aboard skipper!” came a familiar voice high above on the catwalk. Jon Horlach; call sign Peacemaker and newly promoted squadron leader of the Red Aces. Two pilots stood to his side, both with an incredible air of military bearing.
“Permission to come aboard, Major?” said Lensherr coming to attention and issuing a stiff salute.
“Permission granted Major…good to have you back.” Replied Peacemaker returning the salute smartly. Lensherr joined them up on the catwalk, and introductions were made.
“Major Matthew Lensherr may I introduce two of my pilots, Lieutenant Kara Fan, call sign Destiny, and Captain Mick Rogue, call sign Roguepope who is also my ASL.”
Lensherr shook each pilot’s hand, replying to the introduction. “My call sign is Hephaestus, good to meet you both.” A new voice sounded from behind.
“It’s about fracking time you got your ass out from behind a desk and back into a viper, Lensherr!”
“Good morning Starbuck!” sighed Lensherr. “I’m happy to see that not everything aboard the bucket has changed.” He slowly turned to face Kara Thrace who was chomping a cigar, her flight suit stripped down to her waist.
“How’s the toasters, Matt?” From anyone else it would be taken as an extreme insult, but Kara was sincere, if a little crass.
“D’Anna and the kids are doing fine, thank you.”
“Well as Galactica’s CAG I hereby welcome you aboard. You have your old quarters back, and we’ll have to meet to decide upon your new ASL. You have some very good candidates to choose from.”
Lensherr departed the hanger bay and made his way to his quarters, he was half expecting the old converted brig that he and D’Anna shared when he was last assigned to Galactica, and she was still considered an enemy prisoner. These quarters were much smaller, and Admiral Adama had ordered that all squadron leaders bunked with their Assistant Squadron Leaders. He would have the room to himself for only a short period of time.