The News-Review

A Service of the News Bureau of the Government of the Twelve Colonies


Posted by Fleet News Service on August 10, 2007

I write this sitting in one of the long halls of the Pacifica. I am sitting because I felt I could no longer stand, could no longer speak, and could no longer look into anyone’s eyes. After the daze, well maybe I am still in the daze…I found my way to sickbay aboard the Pacifica. I could not fully grasp what I saw on the way there. I could not fully grasp the words I heard, the shouts that were still echoing through the halls. But In sickbay I began to grasp things to well. I first saw Julian, who I have had much pleasure of late in making fun of, sitting on the floor. His fevered shouts for a doctor mixed with his overwhelming realization that they were gone stabbed me in the heart like a knife. Muttering over and over….”…all twelve…” until he realized Captain Allen on a cot near him had slipped into unconsciousness. The cot next to her held Kalah, who just last night played the piano for us all in the 7th. We all cracked a smile as Captain Allen awoke to tell “Smoke” to shut up, but the small spark of joy was short lived as Kalah rolled and fell from her bunk.

I began this assignment hoping to put a personal face on the men and women on the Colonial Military. Today I saw more of a face than I could have ever imagined. I quickly excused myself from sickbay, I am sure I was unable to hide my tears. This reporters grew up on Caprica alone, and has never know people she would call good friends. Seeing them there, Captain Allen, Kalah and “Smoke” was more than I could bear. I saw in them fear, disbelief, even some courage remained….but what kept coming to mind was not my loss, but theirs, everyone’s. While I realized I have lost very little….I also realized that many have lost so much. Even now those words echo in my mind, “…all twelve…”.



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