Tamlin and Calliope try to make a really explosive diversion for the prisoner rescue.
Location: Edson Airbase
Related Scenes: None
Plot: Operation: Jungle Fever
Scene Number: 734
Eight Colonial soldiers against an entire base full of Cylons and possibly more in the jungle. What could possibly go wrong? At least nothing dreadful has happened so far. No gunfire to indicate that any of their teams ran into hostiles on their way into positions. Without radios, the only way they can coordinate is their watches, so Calliope and Tamlin know they've got ten more minutes to get into position before the other two teams start their diversions. They've come in from the north along the rocky beach, a quarter moon providing limited visibility. They can see that the Cylons have taken over the airfield at Edson for their own ships. There's not much activity right now, but there are Centurions patrolling here and there and some Cylon work crews fixing up a Raider in one of the hangars.
Tamlin moves as quickly as she's able, trying to keep up with Calliope and avoid checking her watch too often. But it's very likely she's counting the time down in her head as she moves. She's still in her sweats and boots, having forgone the dayglo orange of her coveralls, but she has her tools and her determination. She doesn't speak unless necessary, not willing to inadvertently bring the cylons patrolling down on their heads.
Calliope has done a lot of thinking about what could possibly go wrong and get all of them slaughtered, along with the people they're trying to rescue. The list is endless and running on repeat in her brain. But once a plan was made, she committed to seeing it through. She tries to keep her breathing low and quiet as she moves with Tamlin, head occasionally bobbing as she counts down the time in her brain. Like she's listening to inaudible music. Or a silent count-down to destruction. She's in the same trousers and tank-top she fled Edson in, and lightly armed for this adventure.
They don't seem to have been noticed thus far. Timing their brief dashes to points where the Cylons' attention is elsewhere, they are able to advance into the airfield. At this moment they're in cover behind the rubble of one of the hangars. Possible targets include a Raider parked on the tarmac, which has some missiles aboard, and a rebuilt hangar that probably has some munitions inside. There's something that looks like a fuel truck parked further down too, but it's on the other side of the tarmac so it would be the riskiest - but also probably the biggest kaboom if they can swing it.
Tamlin looks over to Calliope as the two women crouch under the most makeshift of makeshift covers. You can see, almost, her mind racing as she tries to pick out the most likely sources for damage and diversion. Her voice is low, barely a hiss of sound, "I don't like it, but that truck is going to be the best bet. Or we can split up and each take on...that raider maybe..." Or inside the hangar. "I'm with you, Sir." Whatever Calliope decides.
Calliope's eyes flit over the possible targets, before falling back on Tamlin. "Who knows how well these tanks are going to work as improvised explosives. Let's stick together. And go big, before we go home. Truck." Deep breath, and she presses on toward it.
Tamlin nods, once Calliope makes the decision, and she takes a brief few seconds, to scope the lay of the land, before she'll try to start making her way towards the truck. "Yes, Sir." All those years of working with munitions, here's to hoping they come in handy.
Creeping along, creeping along. It's a harrowing experience, timing their moves, praying that a Centurion doesn't turn around at the wrong moment, but luck must be on their side because they're now within spitting distance of the fuel truck and haven't been spotted yet. But they have exhausted their time margin. The sound of gunfire from the far side of the base kicks off - team 1 and team 2 doing their thing right on time. Cylons might not be as easily distracted as humans, but there does seem to be a WTF moment from the guards, pausing and scanning around.
Tamlin stops stock still, holding out an arm to try to keep Calliope back, as the rifle fire starts, and she crouches even lower, not praying, really, but maybe she is...don't they say there are no atheists in...okay, moving on. She tries hard to give the cylons time to, hopefully, take off in the direction of the gunfire, or at least all turns that way.
"Don't frak this up, don't frak this up, don't frak this up..." is the pep talk Calliope gives herself under her breath. It's probably not as inaudible as she means it to be. Poor Tamlin. When it's time to shut up and get moving, she manages it, though. She sags against a convenient crate near the fuel truck as she reaches it. Taking a moment to breathe, before nodding her chin to Tamlin. She waits, counting down in her head as the gunfire starts. Then, motions to the truck. Time to try and make stuff blow up.
The Cylons are not so distracted that they all just stare off in the direction of the gunfire. Some do, but others continue their patrol, a little more spring in their step maybe - can you really tell when a Cylon is on high alert? It's probably safe to imagine they are. But none happen to look directly at the fuel truck.
Once Calliope gives the order to move, it's shit or get off the pot, as it were, and Tamlin goes for it. Moving fast and low, trying to avoid the cylons, at least long enough to allow her to get to the truck and get set up. She pulls out a wick, no not a wick, actually, but some of the absolutely precious bandages from the bug out bags, which she's made into a wick. She'll move quickly, feeding it into the port usually used to attach a hose to to fuel a ship, trusting the bandage to be absorbent enough to soak itself. The Oxygen tank she cracks at the seal, to allow it to leak out and hopefully add fuel to the fire, once she lights the wick. If all goes well, she'll dash off as soon as it's done.
Calliope hands off her oxygen tank to Tamlin, to use in the improvised explosion. She doesn't get too close while the deckie works, sticking in the hiding position she's carved out behind that crate. She waits until the deckie has dashed, then runs to catch up with her. And get her own ass far, far away from the make-shift boom.
A Centurion spots Tamlin as she's dashing away from the fuel truck. He lifts his rifle to fire, then KABOOM!!!! The fuel truck goes up in a massive fireball that shoots up into the sky, the oxygen making it burn even brighter and faster - which is saying a lot when you're talking about a whole truck full of Tylium. The pesky Centurion is destroyed, but Tamlin is picked up off her feet and tossed forward by the concussion.
It's like deja vu all over again, as yet again, poor Tamlin gets an explosion in the back and finds herself flying in the wave and taking a hard landing as she does so. The fact that there's debris everywhere doesn't help at all, as she smashes down, her face hitting some of the larger rubble and cutting her face from temple to jaw. It laves her dazed and she needs a second or two before she can pick herself up from the ground. At least the blast pushed her in the direction they wanted to go, right?
"Dorn? Oh gods!" Calliope had more distance between herself and the blast. But she has a good view of Tamlin flying. She races toward the deckie, to haul her to her feet if need be. She wants the pair of them away from this base, ASAP.
Tamlin needs the help, but she also needs to shield Calliope. She's the boss. Important. Also, a pilot. Just as important. Tamlin moves as quickly as she can, as she tries to coax Calliope to make their way off of the base and to somewhere relatively more safe. They need to live to fight another day and all. Which, as that seems to be Calliope's aim too, works out just fine.
Calliope gives Tamlin her arm and books it. It only occurs to her mid-run that the deckie is positioning herself to shield the pilot. Which makes her gulp. And run faster. She keeps her gun in her off-hand, but doesn't dwell on trying to take out any Cylons while exiting. Escape and getting to a reasonably safe location where they can lay low and await word from the other teams is Priority 1.
Whatever Centurions remain on the airfield are too busy dealing with the exploding fuel truck or the escaping prisoners or preparing for another attack to notice the fleeing pilot and deckhand, and so they're able to make it back to the beach unmolested. The sound of gunfire continues in the distance, as the fire burns brightly on the tarmac.
Tamlin won't stop moving, probably, until she feels the slippage of the wet sand and the small, water worn stones of the upper beach under her boots, and even then, she'll try to find some rock large enough to hide behind. She slips and slides over the rocks, the blood from her head wound causing her hair, much of which has slipped free from its usual braid, to stick to her face and make it hard to see, but even so, she's also trying to keep an eye on Calliope.
Calliope doesn't stop until they're back in the jungle and have some tree cover. Then, she sags against one of those trees. Easing Tamlin down and panting heavily. "We're alive. You did really good, Dorn. Those was a frakking nice boom. Definitely got their attention." Hopefully for long enough. "We can take fifteen to rest here, then see about meeting up with the other distraction teams." And on that note, she makes as much use of her rest break as she can.
Tamlin, for her part, is too tired to speak, as she slumps down, but she does manage to lift an arm, a fist to the air in triumph. Deck crew, represent!