BY : Acaciarose
Category: Harry Potter Crossovers > Slash - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 252

          Captain Roark Durin Peverell Potter-Lestrange, or just Roark Lestrange now that it had become such a mouthful to say his name, stared down at the file he held in complete horror, and he wasn't, by any means, the only one.  This was the first full meeting of those officers in Counter-Intelligence that had survived the attacks on the fleet and the Colonies. 

          In truth, it was more than he had anticipated, but not nearly as many as he had hoped.

          Out of over close to two hundred, just over a hundred had survived.  They were all now gathered together in a conference room aboard the Battlestar Galactica, each of them, like Roark, looking at the file that contained the list of warriors lost in the attacks on the Colonial Fleet, which saw the destruction of all but three Battlestars.

          The Battlestar Galactica.  The Battlestar Solaria, and the Battlestar Acropolis, though both the Solaria and the Acropolis had sustained heavy damage.  They were, even now, undergoing repairs as they began to move, though they did not, as of yet, have a full count of the refugee ships that contained the last of their people.

           To Roark's left sat his husband, Lt. Colonel Rodolphus Lestrange, whom he heard swearing harshly as he came to the last page of the report.  Sitting on Roark's right was his brother Harry, who was shaking his head in disbelief, his emerald eyes wide, reflecting his horror at so many names.  Beside Harry, also swearing harshly, was Major Rabastan Lestrange, Harry's husband.

           "This is bad," one of the officers sitting near the end if the large table said,

          "I think bad is a bit of an understatement, don't you, Kyler?"  another asked as he looked up with an arched brow.

          "We aren't going to have enough pilots to make up the squadrons each of the Battlestar's are going to need."  Rodolphus said in a far harsher tone then was intended as he looked at the three men sitting at the head of the table.

          Admiral Roark Durin, Commander Thorin Durin, and Commander Jacob Adama, looked first to each other, then back at them, each of them nodding, grim looks on their faces.  "We have twenty-five surviving viper pilots from the Galactica, twenty from the Solaria, ten from the Acropolis, and a few others from the other Battlestar's that had managed to get pilot's in the air."

          A deep sigh sounded.  "Well, I guess we aren't going to have a choice now," Roark Sr, spoke up ar he looked at Thorin.  "We're going to have to put the cadets in uniform, whether they're ready or not, and most of them aren't.  We'll have to viper train them as quickly as possible, given out circumstances."

          Thorin nodded.  "I'll get the cadets together after we're done here and let them know."

           Roark leaned forward to look past Rodolphus at them.  "How many cadet's are there, Papa?" he asked quietly, his tone still a bit disconnected as he was still under the control of the Alpha blocker.  Day by day his shields were getting stronger, and no longer fluctuating as they had been.

          "We have just over sixty from the graduating class. Fifty from third yahren, fifty-five from second, and forty-three from first."

      Closing the file he held, he lay it in the table beside his open laptop, which was, as usual humming as it worked on whatever he had it doing.  Glancing at the screen, he saw it was nearly finished, so he pulled it closer, inputted some information and watched his screen light.  "So," he sat back in hs chair, considering eyes on his screen, thinking of their problem, and a way around it, "we have three Battlestar's, two that are being repaired as we move, close to three hundred and fifty refugee ships, some of which probably should not even be flying, which we are going to need to protect with a handful of fully trained warrior's, those of us in Counter-intelligence, and approximately two hundred and ten cadets that are going to have to be trained as we go."

          "That about sums it up, little brother," Dacian said as he looked up from where he sat between his father and his scowling husband.  "We are also going to have to start going ship to ship, check their status, look for solium leaks, evaluate the passengers, fuel and water, and check out their life center to see what it may need."

          "We've already begun to so that, Dac, in teams of three to five," Thorin said as his nephews laptop, as well as several others gave a series of warning blips, drawing their owners attention.  "Rory? Boys?"

          Roark shook his head as he typed.  "Nothing we can do anything about even were we able too," he informed them, his silver eyes troubled.

          "The Cylons," Chris said from where he sat further down the table, lifting his eyes from the screen of his laptop, "have returned to the Colonies.  According to our information, they are systematically going through each one, killing anyone they find alive."

          "On every planet we have the same problems," Dante spoke up now.  "Radiation levels are high, and still climbing.  It's going to make them unlivable for a very long time.  Even if those people that didn't make it to the spaceports, or we just plain ran out of room, manage to survive the Cylon extermination, they'll have to live in the shelters for a very long time."

          "And that's given they even have enough supples stocked for that long," Gwydion sat forward slowly, his face much paler than was normal, a bandage still around, his head, as well as the other injuries he had sustained form crash landing on the Acropolis, his viper hitting the back wall.  He was being very closely monitored by everyone in the family to make sure he didn't do more then was strictly necessary for him too.  "Then, of course, you have the radiation sickness many of them will start suffering from.  I'll be very surprised if anyone survives for very long."

          "Which would be very unlikely given the levels I'm seeing here," Rabastan said as he looked up from Harry's screen.  "They may wish the Cylons HAD found them before too long.  More merciful."  He sat back in his black leather chair, running a hand through his hair.  "So, what are we going to do now?  Where will we go?"

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