Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

- We've talked about, Zak. - You did?
Mater/TUGS. Hey! Redirect page Mater/TUGS to Tom Mater/TUGS with restored page Tom Mater/TUGS to Tow Mater/TUGS.
in service to all of us.
as a puddle or something to be hosed out of the cockpit by the chief of the deck.
ROSLIN: Thank you.
We'll try a little manoeuvre called "Thorch Weave."
The bottom line is that your son...
And a Fleet Academy wash-out. This is the best that you could come up with?
Gods forbid. Let's bring in the next group of candidates.
GAETA: Eight raiders, bearing 047 carom 118. Range 22,000.
I'll put out a med request to the civilian fleet.
PILOT 1: Come on A-CARS make their grave!
Kills 13 pilots and lands seven more in sick bay.
APOLLO: She's walking around with a lot of emotion.
- Red paint, incoming! - Brush?
STARBUCK: You call yourselves pilots.
DOC COTTLE: Prayer? ROSLIN: Witty.
That's not the case.
[Suspenseful instrumental music]
from which the Lords of Kobol brought them to us.
[Theme music]
- I don't remember telling you what I did. - Whatever.
Maybe if you had learned that at the Academy, you wouldn't have washed out.
Maybe you should read it again.
Take this wagon to the palace.
Step back.
I need new pilots. And I want you to train them.
Right. You wouldn't smile if you were there.
I don't get it.
DUALLA: Raptor pilot Lt. Dwight Flat-top Sanders...
She almost decked me in the rec room.
Don't fence with me, Kara.
It's too damn late to operate, the cancer is too far advanced.
We're going to make it through this. Break right. Now!