Post by James Hudson on Dec 11, 2013 15:42:51 GMT -5
Battlestar Galactica - When Thunder Strikes
An RPG Original from BattlestarGalactica.com’s Message Forum
Editor’s note: This piece of fan fiction has been written with the rpg characters in place of all canon characters of the original or reimagined series of the show. Ranks, titles and positions have been changed for the purposes of this stand-alone fanfic. Enjoy!
Cast:
Admiral Mack “Pappy” Culverhouse - CO BSG
Commodore Thomas “Warlock” Morlock - XO BSG
Mark Sarnex - President of the Colonies
Sophia Grace Omega - Vice President of the Colonies
Major Edward “Scorpio” Christensen - CAG
Major Nina “Betty” Nintius
Captain Elyssa “Poseidon” DeAlma
Captain Dylan “Ghostrider” Wolfe
Captain Matthew “Hephaestus” Lensherr
Captain Rebecca “Vixon” Zathras
Captain Jon “Peacemaker” Horlach
Lieutenant Steve “Photon” Parsec
Lieutenant Jen “Lucky” Teal
Lieutenant Antonio “Sledgehammer” Digit
Lieutenant Chris “Lightning” Halo
Lieutenant Tony “Falcon” Bastain
Lieutenant Ken “Vampire” Atreides
Lieutenant Warren “Eagleone” Rucks
Lieutenant Tari “Ares” Adama
Lieutenant Anastashia “Orion” Liathain
Lieutenant Mick “Roguepope” Rogue
Lieutenant Kara “Destiny” Fan
Lieutenant Booster “Wizard” Antilles
Lieutenant Dave “Roadkill” Wright
Lieutenant Tev “Lancelot” Torbeck
Lieutenant Issa “Eos” Nimoy
Lieutenant Gwynn “Stingray” St. Clair
Lieutenant JD “Augustus”Koch
Minister Zachary Nimoy
Minister Ravyn Nightshade
**Note that any new members or names missing from the above list that wish to be included please let me know.
Chapter 1.
The chronometer on the wall slowly ticked by, the silence was deafening, as the two men sat across from each other at the president’s desk aboard Colonial 1, neither looked entirely pleased. President Mark Sarnex was Matthew Lensherr’s closest friend and assistant squadron leader when both were aboard the Galactica, and Matt was shocked enough when Mark actually ran for the presidency, he was stunned speechless when he actually won it, although it was not by the numbers Sarnex would have preferred for a presidential mandate. After the nightmare that was his predecessor’s administration on New Caprica, he knew he just could not remain a viper jock; he had to make a difference.
“So that’s your final answer Mr. President?” asked Lensherr angrily.
“Matt what the frak is going through your gods-damned mind? There is no way Admiral Culverhouse is going to release D’Anna into your custody, she’s a Cylon and this office does not interfere with military decisions by the old man!”
“Yes she’s a Cylon, one that was instrumental in helping us escape New Caprica! For a former intelligence man with a sharp brain you seemed to have forgotten such an important piece of information, perhaps it’s the suit.” Sniffed Lensherr, obviously hurt by his old friend’s lack of enthusiasm for his concerns.
“You arrogant smart ass, I guess you can take the man out of Aerilon, but you can’t take Aerilon out of the man, you know full well that she’s lucky Culverhouse hasn’t shoved her beautiful ass out the nearest airlock. You are making waves Matt…the old man knows you took this trip and called me prior to the meeting. He is not happy! You of all people should know that he is not going to appreciate your attempts to circumvent his decision. It pains me to say my hands are tied in this matter.” Said Mark sadly. He could see the hurt in his friend’s eyes and knew that this would most likely not end well.
“Your hands didn’t seem too tied to get your hands on that black market bottle of vintage Caprican ambrosia!” shot back Lensherr motioning to the serving tray on a side table containing the rare bottle as he stood up to leave.
“Be careful Matt, the toes of the leg you step on today might be connected to the ass you might have to kiss tomorrow!”
“I guess that’s the one thing I can count on not changing, Mark….your limitless snarky repertoire. D’Anna isn’t like the rest of them and you of all people know that!”
“Has it ever dawned on you that perhaps that holding cell is the safest place for her right now? There are too many raw emotions and bad memories from New Caprica for many people in this fleet. Any one of them would love to take their aggression out on a skinjob, even one that might have helped save their collective asses. Think about that before you leave here and do something truly fraking stupid. I’m your friend, and always have been…the hatch to this office is always open to you Matt, please don’t forget that.”
Lensherr walked out of the office without a reply, he knew Mark was right.
Mark Sarnex just massaged his temples, “that went well,” he said to himself sarcastically. He reached over to the bottle of ambrosia and poured two glasses. A moment later, an attractive young blonde-haired person stepped out from behind the privacy curtain leading to the president’s private chambers. She secured the hatch and walked around the desk to sit on Mark’s lap.
“That didn’t go so well, did it?” asked the woman.
“It was easier to talk to him when I was his ASL in Silver Spar squadron. He has been fraked in the head when it comes to D’Anna Biers way before she was outed as a skinjob and was a reporter for Fleet News. This only makes matters worse, and apparently my new position makes things even more difficult.”
“Jealousy?”
“Gods no, the last thing Matt Lensherr would ever be jealous of is a politician, I suspect he hates them more than Cylons. You should have been there for when I told Matt I was leaving the service to run for the office of president.”
Mark leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes; the memories of the first few weeks after the escape from New Caprica were fresh and raw. He was perched up on one of the catwalks in the port hanger bay reading a book when Lensherr approached him. The battle to escape the Cylon occupied planet was costly on so many levels.
“Hey, am I bothering you?” asked Lensherr.
“No skipper, what can I do for you?” replied Mark putting the book down across his lap. Lensherr could not help but notice the title on the battered cover. “The Best and Worst of Colonial Political Forces.”
“I wanted to see how my squad was doing, that had to be some of the toughest dog fighting yet since escaping the Colonies. Need to make sure my number two is feeling right in the head, or in your case…as right as humanly possible.” Laughed Matt sitting down onto the catwalk.
“We lost some good people down there, we lost people that never should have fraking been there in the first place!” said Mark angrily. “We lost close to 2000 people during the occupation and escape! Why? Because of incompetent leadership on behalf of the government that brought us to a barely habitable world to begin with.”
“The story of the warrior, we have to clean up the mess made for us all by the frak-witted politicians. Is that the reason you’re reading this felgercarb?” said Lensherr picking up the book to examine it.
“That’s the reason why I’m going to run for the presidency!”
“You’re not serious?” asked Matt unsure if he heard his friend correctly. He studied Mark’s face and immediately knew that he was serious. Mark Sarnex was not one for talking just to hear himself be heard. “Mark, you’re a viper pilot, not a politician!”
“I have the right to run for any Colonial office, if I win than I get placed on inactive reserve status.”
“I need you, damn it!” began Lensherr, his voice starting to strain with annoyance. “What the hell do you know about running for office?”
“Apparently Baltar set the bar to a new level, so I should do just fine, thank you!”
“Mark, think about this, prior to the attacks on the Colonies you were in intelligence, a chair-bound paper-pusher. Do you have any idea what this job entails, the responsibilities? We’re low on viper jocks to begin with; we can’t afford to lose you!”
“Don’t Matt; don’t lay the guilt trip on me. I’ve earned the right to make my own decisions for my own future, and I feel my best contributions could be as president.” Replied Mark indignantly. Matt could not believe he was hearing this, he stood up abruptly.
“You sanctimonious ass, what are the chances of an unknown viper jock ascending to the presidency? At least Gaius Baltar was a well-known scientist and fraking award winner. Outside of the air wing and probably the chow hall, who knows you?” Matt knew that last shot was a low blow, but his friend remained quiet. Picking himself off the catwalk, he brushed his uniform pants off and retrieved what few belongings he had and departed, leaving his friend and squadron leader still standing there stunned speechless.
“Mr. President!”
Mark opened his eyes, snapped back to reality by the arrival of one of the executive assistants hovering over the front of his desk with a binder in need of a signature.
“Ah Leonard, you will excuse me if I don’t get up!” said Sarnex reaching out for the binder. After quickly glancing through the contents, he affixed his signature and handed back the binder. The young man left quickly.
“No way did you just say that!” came a voice erupting in giggles from underneath the desk.
“Well I couldn’t very well stand up at that particular moment, could I? Now…where were we Monica?” asked Mark looking down at the pretty young face between his legs.
“I believe we were discussing ‘Executive Privilege’ mister president!”
“Well, by all means let’s continue where we left off.” Said Mark smiling as he leaned back in his chair.
Chapter 2.
During the time spent on New Caprica, a small band of men formed to fight against what was becoming a regular occurrence, collaboration with the Cylon occupation force by humans. There were no more than twelve in number, and they dealt with collaborators ruthlessly and only once. Their victims were usually found with a lightning bolt carved into their foreheads and tongue cut out. These men were known only as the “Thunderbolts of Zeus,” and they were feared. At least 70-suspected collaborators were executed during the stay on New Caprica, and nothing had been heard from them since the second exodus, until now.
Shuttle 2417 was on final approach to Galactica’s immense landing bay. The shuttle had a maximum capacity of 20 passengers, and today the shuttle was only half-full. Captain Matthew Lensherr sat upright in his seat; he was unaccustomed to landing aboard his Battlestar in this fashion. He was used to a small cramped cockpit of a viper, with his hands at the controls. This trip had been a mistake he realized the moment he left the President’s office aboard Colonial 1. Mark had been no help at all, and he cursed himself for letting himself believe that it could have gone any other way. Prior to being elected President, Mark Sarnex had been his assistant squadron leader for Silver Spar squadron, and his closest friend. He was unsure what their relationship was at this point.
He watched as the shuttle entered the cavernous opening of the port landing bay and came to a smooth landing in the assigned docking slot. An environmental docking collar extended from the wall and attached itself to the hatch. The shuttle was too large to be brought down into the hanger bay, and this was far easier than the time having to wait to repressurize the entire bay. There was heavy traffic to and from Galactica today so the docking collar was the means of egress.
Lensherr exited the shuttle and preceded down the 40-foot tube into entry hatch 22, he was not surprised to see Major Edward “Scorpio” Christensen waiting for him. Christensen was Galactica’s CAG, and he was not happy.
“Have a good trip to Colonial 1, Hephaestus?” he growled.
“Could have been better sir!” replied Lensherr off handedly.
Scorpio leaned in close and lowered his voice. “Save the smart ass replies Matt, the old man is fraking livid that you went around his decision to get that toaster in the brig released. What in the name of all the fraking Lords of Kobol were you thinking?”
“Apparently I was thinking that common sense could prevail and we could lighten up on the woman who helped us fraking escape New Caprica.” Said Lensherr bitterly.
“That isn’t a woman, Lensherr! It’s a thing, a machine, a cold-blooded killer. My gods man, half the crew would like to airlock her ass, and yours too.”
“Well they’re welcome to try anytime!” challenged Hephaestus.
“Calm down Matt, I’m not one of them, but damn if I can figure out how you could have feelings for one of them.” Said Scorpio exasperated. “Look…the old man hates Cylons, and worse than Cylons he hates collaborators. I realize you didn’t fit that bill during the time under occupation, but Culverhouse can’t make heads or tails of you. You are one of my best pilots, and an incredible squadron leader, that and me going to bat for you is what is saving you from joining that toaster in the brig. Consider yourself restricted to the pilot’s quarters when not on duty for the next 2 weeks…and consider that a gift!” The CAG departed without another word, or waiting for one from Lensherr.
Matt walked towards the officer’s lounge that fell within his restrictions. The room fell quiet when he walked in. Silver Spar squadron was on duty that night so none of his pilots would be there now. The room was filled with pilots from Dragon and Blue squadron, three of which met Matt when he approached the bar.
“You got a lot of balls walking in here Hephaestus. This is a humans-only bar.” Said the slightly drunken viper pilot.
“When I want your fraking opinion I’ll tell you what it is, Lieutenant!” replied Lensherr elbowing the man aside. He soon felt himself being spun around by the hand on his shoulder. The same drunken viper pilot was inches from his face, the room was deathly silent.
“Care to step outside, Cylon lover?” he sneered.
“I don’t have to step outside…I’ll fight all fraking three of you right here and now!” said Lensherr. He turned towards the man from Blue squadron while sticking his finger in the drunken pilot’s chest and said, “he’s first, you’re next…after you see what I do to him you can then decide if you want to continue this felgercarb.” The drunk from Dragon squadron did not take too kindly to the threat or to the chuckles from the rest of the room. He lunged at Lensherr and struck a glancing blow to the right side of his face. Lensherr quickly recovered and drove a spear-finger into the man’s trachea. He dropped to the floor immediately clutching his throat, gasping for air.
Lieutenant Tony “Falcon” Bastain; also a Fighting Dragon, leaped between the two men. “No need for this to get serious Captain, you made your point.”
“Have I Falcon? I didn’t know I had to explain myself to him, you, or anyone else on this fraking Battlestar. What I do know is that this tough guy started it, and I finished it. Get him the hell out of here before I send him to Cottle with something more serious.” Ordered Lensherr, who then walked out of the lounge. He heard the murmurs from the room as he left; his popularity was not what it once was.
Galactica CIC 1600 hours.
Culverhouse glanced at his wrist chronometer as his relief walked through the hatch. Punctual as always he thought to himself. Commodore Morlock stepped up to the plotting table.
“Good evening Admiral, your stand relieved!”
“Very good XO, you have the con.” The two men exchanged further information regarding the change of command and Culverhouse soon departed with his Marine escort. The walk from CIC to his private quarters was a short one purposely planned by the engineers who designed the Battlestar. Mack Culverhouse’s private quarters were larger than the 8-man staterooms assigned to most of the crew. An antique desk carved from ultra dense Picon timber was his pride and joy, that and a soft leather couch and chair were the only luxuries he allowed himself upon taking command of Galactica.
He sat down behind the desk and opened a drawer lined with soft sheepskin. He pulled a large bottle of 120 proof whiskey from his home world and poured himself a glass. He picked up the personnel file that lay upon his desk and continued his reading on one Captain Matthew Lensherr.
Commodore Morlock always made it a point to stop at each station in the CIC when he had the watch. He stopped at the tactical station to speak with Lt. Antonio Digit. “Good evening Lieutenant, what is the fleet’s status?”
“Good evening XO, long range scans of the DRADIS have picked up no contacts of any kind in this quadrant, Silver Spar squadron currently has the CAP and the Alert assignment, all civilian ships have reported in, no problems worthy of our intervention.”
“Always a good thing to hear Lieutenant! I have asked the galley to send up a coffee cart, you might be pleased to hear that a case of Cancerian coffee beans has made its way onto Galactica from sources that will remain nameless. I see no reason why we shouldn’t partake in the refreshment during the 2nd watch, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Absolutely XO.” Replied Digit. The two men often spoke at lengths on many topics during the second watch, and Morlock always made it a point to make the men and women under his command feel comfortable and content in their stations. A contented crew was an efficient crew.
Galactica Brig.
Captain Jon “Peacemaker” Horlach walked into the outer chamber and stood by the phone. D’Anna was surprised to see Horlach there and quickly retrieved her phone from the cradle.
“Hello D’Anna, Matt asked me to come down and tell you that he will be unable to come down here for the next two weeks. He has been confined to quarters when off duty.” Informed Peacemaker.
“What…Why, what happened?” asked a confused D’Anna.
“Well Matt didn’t authorize me to say anything more, but I will tell you that it was because he was trying to get you released from here by going over the old man’s head. It didn’t go over well.”
D’Anna closed her eyes and shook her head gently. “What was he thinking? I’m safer here than out there, doesn’t he understand that?”
“Gods only know what he’s thinking, especially where you’re concerned.” Said Jon flatly.
“You don’t like me very much, do you Peacemaker?”
“I would be lying if I said no.” he replied tersely. “Look, as far as I’m concerned you’re a Cylon…the enemy. My wife and family are dead because of you and your kind, so no…I really do not like you that much at all. That being said, Matt Lensherr is my friend, and he asked me to come here to pass the message along. There are many people aboard this Battlestar that would sooner see that pretty little throat of yours cut than have you consume our food and oxygen, so consider yourself lucky that someone like Matt loves you. Don’t make him regret getting you off New Caprica; your relationship hasn’t made him many friends.”
Jon Horlach replaced the receiver and exited the brig. D’Anna walked away from the wall; she started to circle the cell and resumed her projections. The act of Cylon projection was a Cylon ability that allowed them to consciously induce an extraordinarily realistic hallucination in the form of an artificial environment around themselves, which they can choose to share with other Cylons if they chose to. D’Anna used this ability as a way to detach herself from the reality of the dank Battlestar brig that she was forced to live in. This way she could experience the world around her as she wished to, rather than how it is, serving as a psychological comfort.
She walked down the black tiled floor in her high heels, very few women possessed the ability to walk in the heels she wore with absolute perfection and grace. The short black cocktail dress clung to her well-toned body like a glove as she rounded the corner and she entered the bedroom that she shared with Matt. The four-poster bed was handcrafted by the finest Caprican carpenters and the remaining furnishings just as exquisite. She took off her shoes and slowly slipped out of her dress. Standing there in her lace bra and panties she pulled back the silk sheets and slipped underneath them. Closing her eyes, she was soon asleep. The Marine guard monitoring her cell stared at the scene on the monitor bewildered. “What the frak was that all about? He mused.
Silver Spar’s assistant squadron leader Lt. Steve “Photon” Parsec was flying CAP alongside Junior Lieutenant Issa “Eos” Nimoy. This system was beautiful he thought, a colorful nebula made up for lack of nearby planets or planetoids.
“You alive out there Eos?” said Photon over the commline.
“Yes sir! I’m just admiring the view.” They were traveling alongside the Gemenon freighter, which was the last ship in the convoy when their Dradis sounded.
“Skipper, I’m picking up intermittent contacts on the Dradis…bearing 271 carom 895.”
Photon was seeing the same contacts flash on and off the dradis screen, and adjusted the resolution on the screen to try to determine what the contacts might be.
“CAP-Galactica…you have inbound contacts now bearing 274 carom 997. You are instructed to intercept and identify immediately. Alert fighters are being launched.” Said Digit over the scramble commline.
Matt Lensherr just laid his head on the pillow when the klaxon sounded; he leaped to his feet and ran for the door.
“Action stations, action stations…set condition one throughout the ship, all alert pilots to their vipers!”
The remaining eight vipers that made up Silver Spar squadron were assigned to alert status that shift and their vipers were already prepped for immediate launch just waiting for their human pilots to arrive. Lensherr took the helmet held out to him by his crew chief and scrambled up into the cockpit of his aging Mk. II viper christened Nemesis.
He switched on his internal commline with the SHOOTER who was in the launch control booth to his right. “What have we got shooter?” He asked as the cockpit canopy slid forward and locked into place.
“Two to four intermittent dradis contacts closing on the fleet, the CAP is closing on an intercept course. Hephaestus your maglock is secure, all systems green and you are cleared for launch…good hunting!” The shooter pushes the launch button and the massive catapults hurls 40,000 pounds worth of viper down the launch tube out into space. Lensherr immediately kicks in the turbos of his Voram engines and races to assist the CAP while the remaining alert vipers scramble.
Assistant squadron leader Parsec switches settings on his targeting computer and the contact immediately displays a Cylon IFF. “Frak, they’re Cylons!” he exclaims. “Galactica – Photon…warbook positively identifies as Cylon raiders, Eos and I are engaging.”
Back aboard Galactica Commodore Morlock had just ordered the fleet to jump to emergency coordinates when Culverhouse stepped through the hatch and walked up to the plotting table. “Retain the con XO, I couldn’t sleep and decided to check out the action, as usual you have things well in hand.” Said Culverhouse looking up at the suspended Dradis console.
“Four Cylon raiders on an intercept course for the fleet, sir. All civilian ships have been instructed to jump to emergency coordinates and alert vipers have been scrambled. Providing none of the raiders jump away to warn their baseship, or enemy reinforcements arriving I’m going to hold the response to just the alert fighters in order to reclaim them expeditiously when the fleet is safely away.”
Culverhouse merely nodded in approval, words were seldom needed between the two, they had been friends for decades, and worked together almost as long. They knew what each other’s move would be long before it happened, they were a great team.
Lt. Issa “Eos” Nimoy pulled the trigger on her joystick, unleashing a lethal barrage of fire down range towards the oncoming raider. The raider tilted its wing allowing the rounds to pass within inches without striking it. The biomechanical being released its own offensive weaponry, which struck a glancing blow to the high port engine intake. “Oh frak me, slit-eyed bastard got lucky!”
“Keep it tight Eos, we’ll make it, the alert fighters are one minute out.” Cautioned Photon. Steve Parsec obliterated the raider with his first shot. Of course he had years of experience on the junior lieutenant who was his wingman, and knew how to compensate for the raider’s quick movements. On her second attempt, Eos had cut a raider in two, leaving blood, tissue and metal fragments splattered across her cockpit as she flew through the debris field.
“Good kill Eos, two down and two to go!” said Photon.
Aboard Galactica, Commodore Morlock was monitoring the com chatter when Lt. Digit informed him that all civilian ships were safely away. A new contact emerged; a Basestar and it immediately launched its full contingent of raiders coming out of the jump. “New contact…enemy basestar bearing 270 carom 998, they’re launching raiders.”
“Lt. Digit, recall our fighters immediately. No sense in engaging these odds, the fleet is safely away.” Ordered Morlock.
Lensherr lost track of the emerging contacts filling his screen, there were too many raiders on an intercept course and only the alert vipers were airborne. The recall was a welcome communiqué.
“Galactica to all vipers…break off engagement and come on home…repeat…break off engagement and come on home, combat landings are authorized.”
The two vipers from the CAP and alert vipers reversed course and sped for home with a swarm of raiders in pursuit. Eos and Photon were able to destroy the original raider patrol before the alert vipers arrived on station and none wanted to tangle with these fresh raiders.
Galactica CIC.
“Weapons prepare to fire defensive batteries, select fire only. Our pilots have a decent lead on the incoming raiders but I want some breathing room when we retract the pods in order to jump away.” Ordered Morlock.
Culverhouse remained silent as his number two issued crisp commands, Tom Morlock was an extension of Mack Culverhouse, whatever the situation, and he always remained cool, calm and fully collected. He regretted that his old friend would never command his own Battlestar, not unless they ever reconstituted their long dead space fleet.
“Viper 2611 on approach…” reported tactical.
Culverhouse leaned in close to Morlock. “Tom, I would suggest retracting the pods when you’re three vipers left to land, this is going to be tight; the raiders have increased their speed.”
Lensherr chopped his speed and cleared the approach lane to Galactica’s landing bay. Utilizing his maneuvering thrusters, he held his position to ensure all of his pilots were aboard before finally landing himself. He normally did this, and it was just one of many reasons why the pilots respected him.
The massive flight pods had begun to retract in order for the ship to be able to make a faster-than-light jump, Galactica was the oldest front-line Battlestar in the fleet before the attack. Every single Battlestar of that class had been decommissioned and the newer Mercury-class Battlestars were built with fixed flight pods. Stingray was the last viper in, and Lensherr bolted through the almost fully closed opening to come to a landing. All pilots remained in their cockpits as the mighty Battlestar vanished in the glow of her FTL jump.
Chapter 3.
From the Culverhouse Journals:
Luck has once again shined upon Galactica and her civilian fleet, having encountered a Cylon patrol we were able to escape with no loss of life. The star system we have arrived in is unique according to shipboard astronomers. The system is unusual, because it is a “yellow super giant eclipsing binary.” Meaning it contains two very bright, massive yellow stars that are very closely orbiting each other.
The system contains half a dozen small planetoids, and two larger planets, we have dispatched Raptor teams to investigate the two larger planets in search of badly needed materials such as water, iron ore, tylium and algae to process into foodstuff.
The Cylon we have in custody has caused a bit of a stir amongst certain elements of the crew who would prefer that she be executed. I have made it clear to said individuals that I consider this prisoner a military asset and she will remain safe, healthy and in our brig. I have been petitioned by Captain Matthew Lensherr on numerous occasions to either release the Cylon to his custody, or grant more freedoms and/or privileges. I believe there was some sort of romantic relationship between the two while on New Caprica, and while the Cylon known as D’Anna Biers was instrumental in our escape from occupied New Caprica, I have not deviated, nor intend to on her status at this point. Apparently, this was not satisfactory to Captain Lensherr and he attempted to have his friend and former ASL intercede for him through his powers as the newly elected President of the Colonies.
With no surprise, President Mark Sarnex refused to intervene in a military matter and I have advised the CAG to deal with this lapse in military protocol and judgment on Captain Lensherr’s behalf. Lensherr is fine officer, and squadron leader, and no written reprimand will be placed in his jacket at this time.
Matthew Lensherr had just shut the water off to the shower, pulling back the curtain he stepped out and threw on some workout pants after toweling off. The mirror in the latrine was cracked, but you could still shave to it. The overhead lights started to flicker and then abruptly shut off. He swore to himself and felt his way over to the wall containing the light switch. Odd, the light was switched off, he turned it back on and was startled to see four men wearing black ski masks, they must have been hiding in the latrine stalls. The one closest to Lensherr sucker punched him in the face before he could say or do anything. Before he knew it, he was face down on the floor being punched and kicked by the men above him.
“There’s no place on a Battlestar for a Cylon loving collaborator, you fraking piece of garbage!” yelled the man in Lensherr’s ear. “Your girlfriend and her people nearly wiped out the entire human race…this is where the Thunderbolts of Zeus balance the scales!” Matt’s eyes widened when he saw the long silver blade flash before his eyes. A gloved hand forced its way into his mouth and grabbed his tongue. Matt knew the reputation of these men, and was not going to allow his tongue to be cut out. He drove his heel into the shin of the closest man who promptly screamed out in pain. That earned him a crushing blow to the solar plexus, knocking the wind and fight clear out of him. The hatch opened, and Jon Horlach was aghast at what he was witnessing.
“What the frak is going on here?” he demanded. A large masked attacker lunged at him and Jon’s years of training as a Libran Police officer kicked in automatically. He blocked the attacker’s knife by using an outward forearm block. The knife clattered to the floor under one of the stalls. He quickly followed up with a palm strike to the chin that snapped the man’s head back putting some distance between the two.
The man holding Lensherr down whispered into his ear saying, “This is far from over traitor, we will finish this, and justice will be served!” Another man heaved a trash receptacle at Horlach striking him dead center in the chest knocking him down. The lights went out and the men disappeared leaving a stunned Horlach and a badly beaten Lensherr on the floor.
Galactica sickbay.
Admiral Culverhouse stood at the end of the bed listening to Lensherr recount the details to the Marine non-commissioned officer in charge of the investigation of the attack on two colonial officers.
At the mention of the “Thunderbolts of Zeus,” Culverhouse shot Morlock a surprised look. “That group caused enough trouble on New Caprica; don’t tell me they’ve started back up again.” The Marine non-com turned her attention towards the Admiral.
“Sir, information on the ‘Thunderbolts of Zeus’ are sketchy at best, all we know is that their numbers are incredibly small, and secrecy is apparently a core requirement due to the almost total lack of information we have on them. Their M.O. on New Caprica had been to execute alleged collaborators by cutting out their tongues and carving a thunderbolt into the forehead of the victim.”
“With this crude implement I gather!” said Morlock holding a dagger with a handle shaped like a thunderbolt inside of a plastic evidence bag.
“Exactly XO, I’m going to try and have our forensics section pick up anything from the weapon, but according to Captains Lensherr and Horlach all of the attackers were wearing gloves and masks.” Replied the Marine investigator.
“Oh this is marvelous,” grunted Culverhouse shaking his head. “It’s bad enough I’ve got your Cylon girlfriend aboard with everyone screaming to airlock her ass, now I’ve got these sickos reorganizing onboard my Battlestar to dispense their warped version of retribution!” Culverhouse turned to the doctor tending to his injured squadron leader. “How soon before he’s able to return to flight status, doc?”
“My recommendation is two to three days, Admiral. The contusions to his ribs and left hand are pretty severe, he’s lucky they didn’t do anything worse.”
“You’re lucky Captain Horlach arrived when he did Lensherr, otherwise you’d have a stylish tattoo placed on that thick skull of yours.” Said Culverhouse who then left without another word.
Jon was standing close by and waited for the remaining officers and investigator to depart. “The old man clearly thinks the world of you, Matt!” said Horlach sarcastically.
“Yeah, well my popularity is clearly on a downward slide. Thanks Jon, you most likely saved my life.”
“Don’t mention it, I’m worried about the resurrection of this group, they killed a lot of people on New Caprica, Matt.” Replied Jon.
“How is it that they’ve been able to stay off dradis for so long, you would have thought that someone would have talked by now?”
“Observation number one…you were attacked on a military ship, hence the attackers are most likely part of this crew which means they are well-disciplined. This isn’t good, it could be anyone.”
“Gods know that there are quite a few people on board not too crazy about you right about now, Matt!” Came a new voice from behind the curtain. The white sheet was pulled back to reveal two more visitors, Major Nina “Betty” Nintius and Lieutenant Gwynn “Stingray” St. Clair.
Nina walked over to the bed and planted a kiss on Matt’s lips, her long soft hair cascading over his face. She sat down on the side of the bed. “What…no kiss for the guy that saved his ass?” laughed Horlach.
“Maybe another time handsome!” replied Nina with a smile.
“Did they catch the guys who attacked you skipper?” asked Stingray.
“No, not even a clue who they might be, they wore black masks.” Replied Matt.
“Just like those New Caprica Police scumbags.” Observed Horlach. While Jon himself was a former police officer, he never considered those who joined the NCPD true police officers. He considered them traitors and collaborators who hunted down and persecuted their own people while hiding their true identities behind black masks.