In her dreams, she saw the explosions more clear. They had faces now, names. They had sounds, voices calling to her. She woke screaming. Sweat rolled off her face as she went to stand. The other pilots looked at her concerned, but she walked off towards the showers.
Later, the pilots briefing was grim. The commander had decided to collect the survivors, but to do so he would require the unthinkable. The cylons were not simply going to roll over and allow the Galactica and hew few civilian ships to simply wander off. They would strike back and try to prevent escape. The Galactica could not both fight them off, and lead the fleet to safety. Someone was going to have to stay behind to guard the back door. Tabitha found herself raising her hand first. After, several pilots orphaned from their own battlestars also raised their hands. After the most horrible ten minutes Apollo had ever had to endure, he had seven pilots. His magnificent seven, they would strike at the cylon recon ships and whatever raiders followed to allow the fleet at least a chance to get away. It wasnt likely to work, but anything was better than nothing.
She looked at the others, only they stood. The rest of the pilots, they wanted to do it too, but many were wounded, or their Vipers were damaged, or they simply couldnt bear the responsibility for their own reasons, none of them cowards. The mission wasnt the one Apollo himself would want to take, but he had volunteered, he and Starbuck and Booker and Jolly, all of Blue squadron, but Commander Adama refused to even think of that. He needed his best to protect the fleet. The seven left behind, were, saddly, not the greatest examples of pilots. They were simply, the only ones who could be spared.
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