[hider=Mercury-class CIC]
[center][img]http://www.battlestarlocations.com/uploads/8/1/0/8/8108293/3435383_orig.jpg[/img]
[i]Example of a Mercury-class Battlestar's CIC (Battlestar 'Pegasus')[/i][/center]
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[b]C.I.C.
Battlestar 'Lysander'[/b]

On the bridge of 'Lysander', a shout went up from the Battlestar's comms station. Snapping her head up from where she had been looking at the positional map table, CDR Cunningham inquired, "Yes, Ensign?"

"Transmission intercept from the surface, ma'am." the fresh-faced officer replied, twisting a dial to try and get better reception. "You better hear this."

That got the Commander's attention. With her XO nodding to her to accept it, she ordered, "Put it up on speaker, Mr Evans. Channel 1MC."

With a click from the speakers, the somewhat garbled, rambling transmission filtered in over the bridge's tannoy:

[hider=Transmission]
[quote]To anyone who might be out there, for the love of whatever god is listening I hope you get this and get it fast! 

We've been on the run this past month or so, fuck knows I didn't keep track. Soldiers, monsters, hell god-fucking-damned sorcerers showed up in the mix! It's been a shitshow from the start and we were caught with our pants down. Despite it all we managed to make our way south, us and some other folk we found along the way. Then met up with some... well tribals I'd guess you'd call them, said they were gods or some such bullshit. They were camped around some huge generator or something, I don't fucking know. Anyways, for a while it seemed like a safe place, they were strong, stronger than any of us that's for sure. But out of the blue a bunch of Road-Warrior rejects showed up and set the place ablaze. Some of us fought, most of us hid while the tribe went to meet them in force. It didn't take long for the bunch of savages to get ripped apart by the bastards. 

We ran as quick as we could when the chief's head was cleaved off his shoulders and dashed on the rocks. I ain't fucking around man, these psychos got all sorts of weird grimy-lookin' tech on 'em. Big guns, mechanical arms, blades and spikes all over 'em. Hooping and hollerin' like a bunch of dumb animals as they wen't round rippin' out innards and quartering bodies. It was about a a day and two nights before they were done, and we heard their buggies and trucks roaring behind us. We scattered, different folks from different groups spreading out so some of us could try and make it out. Not many of us made it this far, found some big ass fort and locked it up tighter than a virgin in Gomorrah. Wasn't long before they found the place and now they're beating down all the fucking walls around us. Don't know who's out there, if anyone is, but help us out and we'll owe you, big. Sending coordinates out, and just gonna hope something worse than those bastards doesn't come a knockin'. 

Fuck it.[/quote]
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The tail end of the transmission dies with a crackle of static and Ensign Evans killed the line. Sighing, Cunningham paced her end of the table, examining the still sketchy terrain dradus map that had been compiled by her pilots over the past month.

"Co-ordinates for that transmission, Mr Evans?" Stephanie gritted.

"Dradus bearing 484 canum 159." Evans rattled off; he hastily jotted down the latitude and longitude before passing it up to Cunningham's XO.

"Ma'am, that grid places us within several clicks of Base Alpha's location." the Major added, passing the slip of paper to his superior officer. "But Varrnes' men won't be able to make it on foot. Not in time, if this is anything to go by."

"Agreed, Major. I want a Marine platoon and a flight of Assault Raptors scrambled. Get Green and Red Squadrons off of CAP and have them escort the birds in."

"Yes, ma'am." Major Paulson replied, reaching for his tannoy receiver.

Cunningham reached for her own receiver and, once the brief 'ping' of white noise died, her voice boomed over the ship-wide tannoy, "All hands, go to Combat Alert Level 2. Scramble Blue and Grey Squadrons for CAP. This is the commander..."