“How, why … doesn’t really matter now.
What does matter is that, as of this moment, we are at war.
You’ve trained for this. You’re ready for this. Stand to your duties, trust your fellow shipmates and we’ll all get through this. Further updates as we get them. Thank you.”
I came to Galactica to tell a story. In all honesty, I thought I knew what that story was, before I ever set foot there. How an arrogant military let their egos get in the way of doing their jobs. Saveguarding the lives of the civilian population. But I found out that the truth was more complex than that. These people aren’t Cylons. They’re not robots blindly following orders and polishing their boots. They’re people. Deeply flawed, yes. But deeply human, too. And maybe that’s saying the same thing. What struck me most is that, despite it all, the hardships, the stress, the ever-present danger of being killed. Despite all that, they never give up. They never lie down on the road and let the truck run them over. They wake up in the morning, put on their uniforms and do their jobs. Every day. No pay. No rest. No hope of ever laying down the burden and letting someone else do the job. There are no relief troops coming. No colonial fleet training new recruits every day. The people on Galactica are it. They are the thin line of blue that separates us from the Cylons. Lt. Gaeta told me a remarkable statistic. Not a single member of Galactica’s crew has asked to resign. Not one. Think about that. If you wore the uniform wouldn’t you want to quit? To step aside and say, “Enough. Let someone else protect the fleet.” I know I would. But then, I don’t wear a uniform. Most of us don’t, and most of us never will. The story of Galactica isn’t that people make bad decisions under pressure. It’s that those mistakes are the exception. Most of the time, the men and women serving under Commander Adama get it right. The proof is that our fleet survives. And with Galactica at our side, we will endure.