TM 228 - Three A.M.
May. 2nd, 2008 02:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
arrow_of_apollo228 - Three A.M.
There's not a lot of places to go on a battlestar when you can't sleep, especially when it's just before some big, important mission. I found myself on the flight deck, staring at the fighter craft I would be strapping into just a few hours from then, going on what on paper looked like a suicide mission. It involved a dozen kinds of risks, and relied on good luck way more than any War College professor would have allowed.
But then, it was Kara's plan.
I went over and over the op in my head, as if I could somehow program every detail into myself. It was a pretty ironic idea, when I thought about it, trying to act like a machine that could be set to do things precisely and flawlessly without having to think. But I would have to do the flying of my life to make the plan happen, and I was not going to fail.
Cargo freighter gets "left behind"... Cylon baseships sent their Raiders to intercept... Galactica Vipers flank the initial Raider contingent... when the Cylons launch additional fighters, Strike Force One retreats, drawing all Cylon forces toward Galactica... Strike Force Zero launches from freighter cover to take the refinery.
Gods, I prayed it would work. It was insane. It was foolhardy and hung the survival of the fleet on the kind of chances only a reckless fighter jock would take with their own plane and their own life, just to tally a few more Raiders.
That's when I realized that Kara must have planned the whole op with herself in the pilot's seat. It was just the kind of high-risk approach that she had always used in the cockpit, translated into an entire operation, and I knew that in her head, she had seen it all from the Viper that I would be flying that day. All of a sudden, the looks in the briefing room made sense. Every other jock in that room had looked at me when the plan had been laid out.
Now I knew what they were thinking.
"Frak, I wish Starbuck was flying this op."
It was her kind of mission, her kind of flying. I knew I was a good stick-- a damn good stick, in fact-- but I wasn't Kara Thrace. I wasn't Starbuck.
I was Apollo. And I didn't know if that would be enough.
Lords of Kobol, do not let me frak this up, I thought.
I guess someone heard me. My father's voice came from nowhere.
"Can't sleep? I couldn't either, before a big op..."
(431, not counting direct quote)
There's not a lot of places to go on a battlestar when you can't sleep, especially when it's just before some big, important mission. I found myself on the flight deck, staring at the fighter craft I would be strapping into just a few hours from then, going on what on paper looked like a suicide mission. It involved a dozen kinds of risks, and relied on good luck way more than any War College professor would have allowed.
But then, it was Kara's plan.
I went over and over the op in my head, as if I could somehow program every detail into myself. It was a pretty ironic idea, when I thought about it, trying to act like a machine that could be set to do things precisely and flawlessly without having to think. But I would have to do the flying of my life to make the plan happen, and I was not going to fail.
Cargo freighter gets "left behind"... Cylon baseships sent their Raiders to intercept... Galactica Vipers flank the initial Raider contingent... when the Cylons launch additional fighters, Strike Force One retreats, drawing all Cylon forces toward Galactica... Strike Force Zero launches from freighter cover to take the refinery.
Gods, I prayed it would work. It was insane. It was foolhardy and hung the survival of the fleet on the kind of chances only a reckless fighter jock would take with their own plane and their own life, just to tally a few more Raiders.
That's when I realized that Kara must have planned the whole op with herself in the pilot's seat. It was just the kind of high-risk approach that she had always used in the cockpit, translated into an entire operation, and I knew that in her head, she had seen it all from the Viper that I would be flying that day. All of a sudden, the looks in the briefing room made sense. Every other jock in that room had looked at me when the plan had been laid out.
Now I knew what they were thinking.
"Frak, I wish Starbuck was flying this op."
It was her kind of mission, her kind of flying. I knew I was a good stick-- a damn good stick, in fact-- but I wasn't Kara Thrace. I wasn't Starbuck.
I was Apollo. And I didn't know if that would be enough.
Lords of Kobol, do not let me frak this up, I thought.
I guess someone heard me. My father's voice came from nowhere.
"Can't sleep? I couldn't either, before a big op..."
(431, not counting direct quote)
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no subject
Date: 2008-05-02 10:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-02 10:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-03 07:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-02 10:38 pm (UTC)Especially herself these days.no subject
Date: 2008-05-02 10:53 pm (UTC)So I'm understanding.no subject
Date: 2008-05-03 07:01 am (UTC)You don't know the half of it.no subject
Date: 2008-05-05 06:25 pm (UTC)Every time I sort-of find out more about this mission, the worse it sounds, Sam.