Visualize the situation: The Colony, shattered into fragments by multiple warheads planted suicidally inside it by brave Raptor pilots, a drifting backdrop to a severely damaged Galactica. FTL is down. Anti-missile batteries are down. Most of the vipers are gone, having died clearing a path to the heart of The Colony for the raptors. Bright flashes as multiple Cylon baseships jump in. Somebody in the central command does a quick count: it's an impossible number, something like 15 baseships, already launching raiders. A gigantic swathe of missile contrails and raiders descends upon the final, battered battlestar. The call goes out: multiple inbound radiologicals. Adama turns to face the camera. The screen goes black, Sopranos style.