PEACE BETRAYED--ANNIHILATION

          "Mr. President," he began as soon as he saw what was on the screen, his own face paling.

          "Commander," Tigh said quickly as he hurried up the steps, "one of out patrol craft is under fire from the main force approaching the fleet."

          "Mr. President, your WELCOMING committee is FIRING on our patrol!"

          "Baltar?"  Adar looked around, his confusion obvious as he called again.  "Baltar?" he turned his attention back to the screen.  "He's gone."

          "Of course he is.  So does the snake slither away, leaving the lamb and his entire flock to be slaughtered."

          "And just WHAT, Captain Roark, is THAT supposed to mean?"

          "Unbelievable that you haven't figured it out," he all but snapped, "that you ACTUALLY believed that the Cylons--"

          "Roark.  That's enough," Adama quietly interrupted.  "That isn't helping."

          Roark looked up.  "Fine."  He returned his attention to the screen, blanching when he saw how close that wall of ships now was to his uncle's viper.

          Harry covered his hand, twining their fingers as they watched together the largest force they had ever seen move closer...closer...

          "Patrol to fleet!" came Zac's now extremely panicked voice.  "Patrol to fleet!  I need help!" the sound of an explosion.  "I need he--" 

          Another explosion, quickly followed by a second filled the Galactica's bridge.

          Silence.

          Roark's eyes slipped closed, fingers lifting to brush the screen where, just microns ago, his uncle's viper had been.  "Uncle Zac," he breathed as tears formed, his uncle's laughing face forming in his mind.  "Oh Uncle, may you rest well and in peace.  I love you."

          "WHAT was that?" came the demand into the silence of the bridge.

          "THAT...Mr. President was my youngest son."

          "Cylons opening fire, Commander!" Harry called out, turning in his chair, his full attention once again on the console before him.

          "Positive shield.  NOW!"  Adama ordered as several Cylon ships firing lasers flew past.  "Launch all fighters!  All fire control batteries commence fire!" came the three consecutive orders.

          Harry and Roark worked quickly together, each pressing buttons, and flipping switches.  The massive steel door slid over their main starfield window, even as all around the Galactica, the protective steel covering slid into place over all outer facing windows.  The laser batteried began to fire as the Cylon ships swarmed the fleet.

         "Sir, they're off," Omega reported, turning from where he stood on the second tier.  "All fighters launched."

          "Roark, Harry, were any of the other Battlestars able to get their vipers launched?"  Adama asked, then tensely waited for their answer as they checked their readings.

          Their answer came into the tense silence of the bridge.  "Atlantia, no.  Orion, yes.  Solaria, yes.  Taura, no.  Pacifica, no.  Columbia, yes.  Acropolis, yes.  Scorpius, no.  Aquarian, yes.  Gemaria, yes"  

          They looked up together.  "Including us," Harry said, "seven out of eleven were able to launch.  It isn't the greatest of odds.  They outnumber us by several hundred or more."

          "Gods help us, then," he said.

          "Indeed," Roark said with a nod as he got to his feet, pulling off the headset and handing it back to Bill.  "The comm is yours, Captain Bill, Lt. Tasric.  We thank you for its use."

          Bill would have hugged them, but both had already moved away, silently descending the steps to the main floor of the bridge, then over to their aunt's viper control station.  

          "Oh Harry, Rory," she turned her head into Harry's shoulder as he hugged her.  "Zac."

          "I know," he murmured, drawing back just enough to wipe at her tears.  "Get control of yourself for now.  We'll be able to mourn our dead later after we know we've all managed to survive this."

          She nodded, drew in a few deep breaths, releasing them slowly as she composed herself, then reached for a drawer where she kept a few personal supplies, pulling out a small package of face cloths to wipe her face with.  She gave her nephews a weak smile.

          "Thanks, boys."