Battlestar Galactica 13 - Apollo's War

by Glen A. Larson

  "They're nowhere near here yet," one officer said.

  "But the precise pattern they seem to be flying will bring them to this vicinity soon," said the other.

  "We must be ready, just in case. Call an alert."

  "Yes, sir."

  "We'll wipe them out of the sky if we have to." Returning his attention to the screen, the first officer muttered, "Interesting."

  "What's interesting, sir?"

  "These intruders. Their vehicles are exact matches for the ones we captured. I'd like to get these, too, but I think, under the circumstances, it will be safer to blow them up."

  "I agree, sir."

  Adama and Starbuck continued their pattern. It took them over the battle Adama had detected earlier. They took some time to study it.

  "What do you think, Starbuck?"

  "It all looks pretty primitive to me. Some kind of local war. Nothing we can interfere in, at any rate."

  "Right. Look at them, though. Such a trivial thing, war."

  "I don't usually hear it described as trivial, sir."

  "Compared to what we've been through, that little brushfire affair down there doesn't amount to a hill of felgercarb. We lost twelve entire worlds, Starbuck. Those people down there are probably fighting over small pieces of land. Why can't people work out their differences?"

  "An old dilemma, Commander."

  "From an old man, Starbuck."

  "Right-o."

  They put the battle behind them. Since they were heading for the dark side of the planet, they would have to rely on their telemetry even more.

  "Commander!" Starbuck cried out suddenly. "I've detected something. Not far from here. Some kind of large structure on a mountain."

  "Let's head for it."

  "I'm with you."

  The two officers inside the bastion observed the course change of the pair of Vipers and realized the aircraft was heading right for the bastion now.

  "Alert the battery. We'll fire when they're close."

  "Yes, sir."

  The Sweeper flying vehicle was halfway between the hilltop and the bastion. It flew over a deep valley. A long fall. Sarge was in the canopy, steering the vehicle, with Sheba and Xiomara squeezed in beside him. Clutching the flat narrow sides of the vehicle, their bodies dangling downward, their legs swinging, were Apollo, Croft and Beskaroon. Croft shouted to Apollo, "Captain, I want to be frank with you, I'm not comfortable."

  "C'mon, Croft," Apollo yelled back. "You love this kind of derring-do. Remember on Tairac? You swung from a Viper into another aircraft to save Boxey."

  "I was out of my mind."

  "But you saved him. And I had to thank you, remember?"

  "Must have been painful for you. We certainly have had an up-and-down relationship since."

  "You intend that as a pun?"

  "Sure."

  Beskaroon, confused by the banter of the two odd men, growled, "Can't figure you guys at all. Talk funny, you do. Strange, strange."

  "Don't let it put strain on your brain cell, Besky," Croft said.

  Off to their left the sky lit up. A large wide beam of light scanning the sky had come on near the roof of the fortress. Their small vehicle was out of its present range.

  "What's that?" Apollo said. "They can't have spotted us."

  "Maybe they're looking for us. Can't we get this thing moving any faster?"

  "Only if you drop away."

  Apollo continued to stare at the light, even though its brightness hurt his eyes. Suddenly he saw what it was aimed at as two vehicles flew into the light.

  "It's Vipers!" he yelled. "From the Galactica."

  "What the hell are they doing here?" Croft said.

  "I don't know, but we've got to contact them."

  "If those guys don't shoot 'em down first."

  "Look down there, Croft. On the roof. It's our ships."

  A benefit of the searchlight was that it also lit up the fortress roof. Resting there, one of them partially dismantled, were the stolen spacecraft.

  As the Sweeper vehicle, guided surely by Sarge, started to make its descent, the guns inside the bastion opened fire on Adama and Starbuck's Vipers. Apollo twisted his head around to look. One shot came dangerously near one of the Vipers, which swerved just in time. It looked like the Sweeper artillery might be too slow for a Viper. Both Vipers eased into an upward turn. The artillery, having made an adjustment for the move, fired again. Again their aim was just off the mark.

  In their Vipers, Adama and Starbuck were manipulating their controls furiously.

  "What's going on?" Starbuck said. "They fire at all strange aircraft here, without trying to find out what—"

  "Remember there's a war going on here. They see us as a threat. Let's get out of their way. Evasive maneuver."

  "Roger."

  The next shot came so close that Adama could almost feel it creating a sizzle along the side of his Viper.

  As the Sweeper vehicle neared the roof's surface, Apollo and Croft jumped down and began to run. Beskaroon followed a couple of beats later. Sarge landed the craft smoothly and flipped up the canopy. Xiomara and Sheba were on the run, their weapons ready.

  Ahead of them there were only a couple of defenders, both of whom were so astonished by the force charging at them they were slow to react. Xiomara dropped one and Apollo took care of the other. Gathering the group next to the dismantled Viper, with his eye on the Vipers in the sky, he spoke quickly: "Sarge, you and the others are to follow the original plan—do anything you can to take care of the bastion. Sheba, you and I are going to take the two good Vipers here up, link up with the others, try to mount an air attack on this damn place. All that okay with you, Croft?"

  Croft, glad to be consulted, said, "You two are the best pilots and, anyway, you're the boss, Appy."

  "Appy? Sheba asked, confused.

  "Affectionate nickname," Croft said, smiling.

  Apollo ignored the comment and shouted, "Let's go!"

  He and Sheba headed for the Vipers while the others searched for a way into the fortress.

  "What is it, Starbuck?"

  "Something on telemetry. I don't know, I could swear . . . but—"

  "Spit it out, Starbuck!"

  "I think it's Vipers. They're taking off from the roof of that building. You think they're friendly?"

  Adama examined the configurations on his own screen and said softly, "Well, they're our ships. But be ready to fire at them, just in case."

  "Right."

  The way the ships flew so directly at them they seemed threatening. Adama's thumb lightly touched the top of his fire button. Apollo's voice on his commline made him draw back his thumb abruptly.

  "This is Captain Apollo of the Battlestar Galactica. Do you read me?"

  "Read you, Apollo," said Starbuck in an impossibly joy-filled voice. "Like a book I read you, good buddy."

  "Starbuck! Shoulda known it was you. And who's the hotshot in the other Viper?"

  Adama almost choked with laughter as he said, "It's your hotshot father, Apollo."

  The subsequent silence on the commline seemed loud with Apollo's shock.

  "Father! What? How?"

  "We'll get to that information later. More important, Apollo, where have you been? What's going on? Who's with you?"

  "Sublieutenant Sheba, sir."

  "And Croft? Is he okay?"

  "He's down there," Apollo replied. "With the others."

  "The others?"

  "I'll explain as fast as I can. We have to attack."

  Sarge led the way down the corridor. Croft thought he'd never seen so many interlocking corridors with so few personnel roaming them. They had been able to dispense easily with each Sweeper they encountered.

  Sarge gestured his reduced elite squad to a halt and said, "The war room is through that door, the battery on the other side of it. If we disrupt the war room, that'll help Apollo and the others in their air assault on the fortification. Might wipe out the resistance altogether."
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  "Let's take it!" Croft said eagerly.

  "There may be a hundred officers in the war room," Sarge cautioned.

  "Just the kinds of odds I like."

  "Well . . ."

  "Sit it out, Sarge, if you like. I understand. They're your side, after all. But we've got a chance here to screw up this war for good, I want to take it."

  "Yes, I do, too. But four of us against a hundred?"

  "There's no choice. And the Vipers'll be back momentarily. That particular diversion should decrease the odds considerably."

  "If the Vipers come back . . ."

  "What're you two jawin' about?" Beskaroon growled.

  "Nothing," Sarge answered. "On the count of three, we're going in there. Everyone ready? Good. One, two, three . . ."

  As a unit, almost like the elite squad of days gone by, the four warriors charged forward and crashed through the war-room door.

  Inside the war room the pair of commanding officers continued to track the flights of the Vipers. They had not yet gotten over their confusion when two of their Vipers had taken off to join the other two.

  "The strange aircraft, they are returning."

  "Do you think they will attack?"

  "Definitely."

  "We will shoot them out of the skies this—"

  Suddenly the door at the far end of the war room crashed open. The air was so suddenly filled with weaponsfire that the officers had no idea of the size of the assault force. But they did see several fires suddenly erupt on equipment all around the room. Many of their colleagues had already fallen. The attack had been such a surprise that little resistance had so far been offered. The invaders had taken up strategic positions behind destroyed equipment.

  "What should we do?" one officer said.

  "Our duty. We must guide the attack on the aircraft. Leave this little ambush to others."

  "Little? Doesn't look little. Nobody's ever attacked a command bastion before, from the air or inside. Now we've got both!"

  "There are many facets to war. Let us retreat to the battery room, to guide our guns in demolishing the air attack."

  Crouching, they slipped through the battle and through the door to the battery room.

  The Vipers closed on the bastion. Apollo had just finished explaining the situation to Adama and Starbuck.

  "Then we should attack immediately?" Adama asked.

  "That's the plan."

  "All right with you, Starbuck?"

  "I'm ready."

  "You lead the way, Apollo."

  "Yes, sir!"

  The sweeper officers carefully watched the quartet of Vipers come closer. When they seemed securely in the battery's gun-sights, an officer shouted for them to fire. They had not been aware of the Vipers' capacity for maneuverability. Although the shots would have been true for the kind of aircraft the Sweeper officers understood, they merely whizzed by the rapidly dodging Vipers. However, one shot did come extremely close to the tip of Starbuck's canopy.

  "Try to part my hair, willya?" he shouted. "Okay for you, whoever you are."

  He flew in dangerously close to the bastion itself, managing to slip under the lines of fire of the Sweeper guns. With a sure thumb on the firing button, he let off a series of shots that created a big hole around one cannon. First parts of the wall fell away, then the big gun shifted forward and slid easily through the new hole. It seemed to drift slowly to the ground, where it crashed heavily and broke into several pieces.

  The Sweeper officers tried to rouse the remaining gunners, but the ghostly-looking creatures whitened further in fear. One officer shoved a whole team back to its gun. When they were ready to fire again, the door behind them crashed open and the four warriors of the attack force rushed in.

  They wiped out the rest of the battery in a moment, and Beskaroon screamed with glee as he ran across the room, still firing.

  "Nice shooting, Sarge," Croft said, relaxing.

  "Nothing nice about it. It's why I'm a good soldier."

  Croft smiled.

  "I just love that sort of crap, Sarge. The dedicated soldier and all that. Take it on the road."

  "I don't understand. It's true, isn't it?"

  "Doesn't matter."

  Sarge decided to ignore Croft's odd comments. He was too interested in his own acts during this battle. He had not been concerned at first. He had merely functioned as a soldier. Then he had killed the two commanding officers of the bastion. Such an act was against all his training, but he was not remorseful. He did, after all, understand his choices and their consequences. He merely regretted the necessity of it.

  "Those ships," Beskaroon cried. "They're landing on the roof."

  "We better get upstairs," Croft said. "Be the welcoming party for the hotshots."

  They started out the door, Xiomara leading the way. As Croft came through after her, he saw a sudden motion off to his left. A Sweeper officer appeared from behind a pile of debris, his gun poised. He saw Xiomara first and, loyal to the last, took his shot at her. She doubled up and fell to the floor.

  "Xiomara!" Croft had warned, but a fraction too late. He shot quickly, catching the ambusher in the neck and sending him reeling backwards, dead. Croft knelt down by Xiomara.

  "Are you all right?" he said. He could not tell from her face whether she was in pain, or even conscious.

  "I . . . doubt it," she answered.

  He looked up at Beskaroon and shouted, "Besky! Get Apollo! Bring him here."

  Beskaroon pushed past them and ran out the war-room door. Croft tended to Xiomara while Sarge scouted the room, making sure there were no more survivors about to take potshots. In a moment, Apollo came rushing in, his face fearful, shouting, "Xiomara!"

  "I . . . don't think there's . . . anything you can do, hero. This feels pretty bad. More than bad."

  "Let me see."

  Apollo took Croft's place next to her. Even as he checked the wound, which was bloody and raw around the edges, he got a flash of Serina lying wounded on the planet Kobol. Working on Xiomara now seemed like re-experience of that time. He had only been able to keep Serina alive until they reached the Galactica. He had to do better with Xiomara.

  "It might not have damaged vital organs, Xiomara," he said soothingly.

  "Don't kid me. Something hurts bad in there. I don't know what, but—"

  "Don't waste your energy talking. Let's see what I can do."

  Trying to staunch the blood flow, he thought of how he'd believed he'd failed when Serina had died. He had felt massive guilt then and nobody had been able to convince him that her death was not his fault. He didn't want to face that guilt again, after Xiomara. She must be saved.

  "Apollo," Xiomara said abruptly.

  "I told you to keep still."

  "I don't do what people tell me. Apollo, thank you. You were very nice to me. I liked that."

  "Had nothing to do with being nice."

  "Don't be such a hero, hero. Be yourself. Be—"

  She groaned loudly.

  "Something hurt?" Apollo asked, trying to sound like a proper doctor.

  "You . . . might . . . say . . . that."

  Her eyes closed. Her chest heaved once and then she seemed to stop breathing. Apollo pushed at it, screaming, "Xiomara, no!"

  "Apollo," she whispered, without seeming to take another breath, as if the word was the last she could push through with the air she had left.

  "No, I won't—"

  He was trying to say he wouldn't allow her to die, but he couldn't finish the sentence. He watched her face become peaceful as life seemed to leave it. Then the face, its outlines always shimmery, became ghostlike and ethereal. Gradually its awful features seemed to dissolve, slowly revealing underneath, as if by a lifting of the ugly mask, a lovely face. Pale and sad, but lovely. It was the face Apollo had glimpsed for an instant several times. Her eyes where shut and her hair was in disarray, but the rest of the face was not only beautiful and sculptured but also breathtaking. High cheekbones, clear skin, a d
elicate nose, lovely lips, a strange peaceful smile.

  "My God!" Croft whispered. "That's what . . . what she really looks like!"

  "I don't understand," Beskarron said in an almost whiny voice. "That ugly thing . . . looks like that? What is it, some kind of magic, some—"

  "Shut up, Besky," Croft muttered angrily.

  They all stared at the apparition of incredible beauty. Even Sarge, who could not perceive it, was fascinated by the magical change itself. He recognized, too, that the peace in the face was a definite contrast to the way the old face had been twisted in pain. An already twisted face, twisted in pain.

  Apollo's whisper was faint but firm, anguished but calm. "Xiomara, don't die. Do not die."

  He remembered the time he had seemed to die, remembered that apparent death was not necessarily final. There were miracles. He whispered again for her not to die. For a moment the real face appeared to shimmer as the old one had, as if in response to Apollo's invocation. Then suddenly, noisily, with a great choking sound, Xiomara took a breath, and the movement of her chest up and down became normal. As her breathing returned, her old face slowly returned, in the reverse of the stages by which it disappeared. When the face was complete, her eyes came open.

  "What happened?" she said. "There was light and—"

  "Don't try to talk. We've got to get you out of here, treat you. Sarge!"

  "Yes!"

  "You have any of those herbs with you?"

  "Yes, I kept some. You think they'll work on her?"

  "It's worth a try. They worked on you, didn't they? Give them to me."

  Sarge quickly removed the greenish-blue herbs from his sidepack but, instead of giving them to Apollo, he pushed the captain aside and began to tend to Xiomara's wound himself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Xiomara came awake suddenly. She felt perspiration drying on her face, some discomfort at the center of her body. She knew that she had been out for a long while this time. At other times she had come to brief consciousness to find various members of the elite squad tending to her. Apollo, Sheba, Croft, Sarge, even Beskaroon. Beskaroon had, in fact, said something nice to her. She couldn't recall what it was.

  Apollo walked into her line of vision and smiled down at her.