FIC: 1991 (07/11)
Sorry this took a while to post!
TITLE: 1991: Chapter 07
AUTHOR: Starbuck92
CATEGORY: Romance, Angst, Action/Adventure
PAIRINGS: Sam/Jack UST, Sam/Other (in the past)
SPOILERS: Nemesis, Small Victories
SEASON: 4
RATING: R
CONTENT WARNING: Language, minor character death, sexual situations
SUMMARY: Flying and friendship, love and loss - what was Sam Carter’s life like during the Persian Gulf War?
DISCLAIMER: The lovely characters of Stargate SG-1 do not belong to me, and I am making no money off this story. Please do not archive without permission.
Wednesday, February 13, 1991
“Man down! Man down!”
The shout reverberated from the radio, but the words did not penetrate through the shock that had settled over Lieutenant Samantha Carter.
Frantically, she searched the smoke shrouded ground below, straining to see some sign of the fallen Thompson in the dark of the night. With trembling fingers, she keyed her radio to their frequency, fighting to maintain some semblance of control over her rising fear.
“Knight, this is Wizard, do you read me?”
Static was her only reply.
“Knight! Please respond! This is Wizard, do you copy?”
‘Please, please, answer me, Josh,’ she silently added, tears welling in her vision as she held her breath, the radio continuing to crackle.
Absolutely nothing.
She veered into a gentle arc, prepared to conduct another sweep of the area she’d last seen Thompson in, when the radio suddenly burst to life.
“Wizard, this is King.”
Hope came crashing down upon her. It was Major Wells.
His was not the voice she’d been praying to hear.
“I’ve notified Khalid and a chopper extraction team is on its way. Fall back into formation, we’ve gotta get out of here. Do you copy?”
Shaking her head indiscernibly, Carter gunned her engines, stubbornly refusing to comply with the request. As long as there was any chance Thompson was still alive down there, she couldn’t leave him behind. Not after everything they’d been through.
Not after everything they had yet to live for.
The sound of an F-16 falling in beside her jerked her away from her steely determination, the nose of Major Wells’s fighter plane creeping at her side, easily keeping up with her furious pace.
Shit, she was in for it now.
Carter had disobeyed a direct order for the first time in her life, permitting her feelings to completely interfere with her duty, and she was certain her commanding officer was not pleased.
“Wizard.”
She blinked in surprise at the unexpected gentle tone. Not a hint of anger was detectable in the sound of his voice, reminding her more of Captain Martinez’s gentle intonations.
The youthful bravado drained from her rapidly as she answered, “Sir?”
“We’ve gotta get out of here,” the major repeated calmly.
The notion of leaving Thompson behind tore at her heart, but the soldier in her wrestled against her compassion, arguing that there was nothing more they could do but fly home and wait for news.
“Yes, sir,” she answered obediently, barely managing to keep the anguish out of her voice.
The squadron returned to Khalid Air Base in a blanket of silence, everyone shell-shocked after the events that had transpired.
She landed her F-16 on the runway, running entirely on autopilot as her eyes tracked the air traffic controller’s lighted wands, directing her along the taxiway. As the aircraft came to a complete stop in her spot, she popped open the canopy and slid her helmet’s visor up, looking around in a state of disbelief.
Daybreak was still a couple of hours away, and the base remained cloaked amid the darkness. Only the runway beacons and security lights mounted at specific intervals around the perimeter and buildings provided illumination. She’d never stopped to notice how shadowy the base could seem in the early hours before sunrise.
All of a sudden, a silhouetted figure raced toward her plane. The ladder beside her cockpit quaked as the mystery man clambered up recklessly, seeming desperate to reach her.
Matthew Lovell appeared beside her, his hands grasping the edge of the cockpit, keeping a steady balance on the metal rungs. He sounded breathless as he carefully unhooked her oxygen mask.
“Sammy, are you okay?”
Carter was unable to find the will to answer, staring at him in a daze, shuddering. His fingers felt warm against her chilled skin as he reached out to dab at the dried blood on her lower lip where her teeth had involuntarily bitten down as that first missile had clipped her wing.
She barely felt her friend’s hands as they nimbly unbuckled her straps and removed her helmet before gently tugging her to a standing position atop the ejection seat. Swaying on unsteady legs, she clutched his shoulders, her eyes shutting closed at the unexpected vertigo spell.
“I’ve got you. I’m not going to let you fall, Sammy,” he murmured.
Taking a deep breath, she swung one leg over the side of the cockpit and onto the first rung of the ladder, Lovell’s hand resting on the small of her back as he guided her movements. Together, they slowly made their way down, Carter’s hands gripping the sides of the ladder rigidly.
Sergeant Lowe, Sergeant Nolan, and Airman Edwards were waiting on the ground. One look at their worried faces was all it took for her to realize someone had told them what had happened, leaving her wondering if everyone on base had already been alerted to the report of Thompson’s crash.
At the thought of his name, Carter felt her heart constrict painfully, a cold feeling seeping through her flesh, chilling her from the inside out. Her teeth began chattering faintly, and she quickly clenched her jaw, unwilling to lose her composure in front of an audience.
A gentle hand clasped her forearm, drawing her attention to the solemn face of Sergeant Lowe.
“Don’t worry about the plane, Sam. We’ll take care of it.”
Nodding in appreciation, she began walking as Lovell lightly nudged her forward, his palm settling at the nape of her neck. Unconsciously, she leaned into him, seeking warmth from the bitter coldness that had pervaded her entire being.
As the two lieutenants approached the command building, they witnessed Major Wells sprinting across the base, obviously heading in the same direction. Carter and Lovell picked up their pace, anxious to hear if news had arrived regarding Thompson’s condition.
“Any word?” Wells questioned Lieutenant Colonel Anderson as he exited the building.
The commanding officer of the 4th Fighter Squadron shook his head, fixing his eyes on the ground.
“Been no contact on his radio, but the extraction team is on the way. We should know something soon, Brayden.”
Wells ran a hand through his short, dark hair, clearly battling the distress of losing one of the pilots under his command.
The sight unnerved Carter.
Their commanding officer never lost his cool, even when things were falling apart, truly living up to the meaning behind his given name - bravery.
As if feeling the weight of their combined gazes, the major looked up sharply, eyeing the two junior officers. Clearing his throat, he immediately slipped back into his role as the composed and collected leader of the squadron.
“Lieutenant Lovell.”
The clipped, professional tone of voice caused the lieutenant to click his heels in attention.
“Sir?”
“Inform the rest of the squad we’ll be debriefing after we’ve received word about Lieutenant Thompson.”
“Yes, sir!”
Lovell saluted sharply. Venturing one last look at Carter, he jogged off to carry out the order, leaving her with Wells.
For a brief moment, commander and subordinate locked gazes, dark green meeting sapphire blue. Neither could find the words to express to the other. Wells sighed quietly, bestowing her with an apologetic look before turning to march into the command building to await further news.
After a few minutes of standing glued to the same spot, Carter mechanically ambled along the edge of the taxiway, eventually seating herself on the hard concrete. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she clasped her hands tightly together, her knuckles turning white from the pressure.
She could remember only one other instance when she’d been so sick with worry.
A similar experience occurred during her second year at the Academy during a flight training class. Returning from an uneventful flight, Todd Hickam had been caught in some unexpected bad weather and crashed his trainer on the outskirts of the school, completely wrecking the tiny aircraft. As she had watched the fire crew speed into action with the rest of her classmates from afar, Carter had feared the worst.
Miraculously, Hickam had survived the accident, a busted right leg and some minor lacerations his only injuries. His good fortune had surprised them all and later earned him the call sign Lucky Boy.
Carter brought her fingers to her lips, nibbling on her short nails as she considered his crash. He had gone down at a slow velocity in a training plane in some rough weather. Thompson, on the other hand, had plummeted to the ground in a fighter jet struck by enemy fire.
She rested her forehead against her knees, breathing in deeply as she sought to drive out any negative thoughts from her mind. Thinking those kinds of things would only serve to increase her apprehension.
Thompson would be just fine.
Perhaps sporting a few injuries and a deflated ego, but otherwise…just fine.
She was unsure of how much time passed as she sat crouched in the same position. Turning her head, she rested her cheek against her knees, raising weary eyes to the sky. High above, the darkness of night was slowly receding and the first shades of pink and orange were becoming visible, signifying daybreak.
One by one, the twinkling stars faded out of sight, and a sudden wave of loneliness washed over her.
That particular ache, hidden deep inside, had vanished years ago when she had gained Thompson’s unconditional friendship. He had filled the empty void that had resided in her heart since her mother’s death ten years ago, ingratiating himself into every facet of her life and breaking through the walls she had erected during her lonely teenaged years.
In Thompson’s absence, the feeling of being lost and alone had returned with a vengeance, multiplied tenfold in the wake of his declared love for her. Closing her eyes, she hugged her knees tightly, gently biting down on her swollen lower lip; she was mindful of the scar that was already forming there.
The distinctive sound of helicopter rotors reached her ears, and her head snapped up, eagerly searching the skies. Immediately, she spotted the dark shape approaching from the north and scrambled to her feet, running to the landing site.
The team of grim-faced Special Forces slid the door open, and a couple of them jumped out to the concrete below. Carter craned her neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of her friend emerging from the chopper.
In her mind’s eye, she pictured him stumbling out, catching her gaze, and smiling that embarrassed little smile he always had plastered on his face when he knew he was in for a lecture on his foolish need to prove himself in the sky. Pushing herself through the crowd that had gathered around the chopper, she stopped dead in her tracks at the grisly sight that greeted her.
The pair of soldiers had reached back into the chopper’s cargo area, carefully removing a draped stretcher from within. Taking an involuntary step back, her eyes widened in shock, certain that her vision was deceiving her.
This was some horrible mistake. The body beneath the sheet wasn’t Thompson.
It couldn’t be.
Major Wells fought his way through the troops, anxious to discover how his officer had fared, when he, too, abruptly came to a halt. Carter noted the brief flicker of emotion that crossed his face before the hardened, impassive mask fell back into place.
“Colonel?”
The commanding officer of the extraction team stared into Wells’s eyes, his expression remaining professionally neutral and detached.
“I’m sorry, Major. Lieutenant Thompson didn’t survive the crash.”
Carter felt the wind knocked out of her lungs as he delicately pulled the sheet back, revealing the bruised and bloodied face of Josh Thompson.
Flinching from the sight, she screwed her eyes shut, biting down hard on her lip and reopening the damaged skin. The blood began flowing freely once again, running in a single rivulet down her chin. She blanched at the sensation, her eyes reluctantly returning to the lifeless body lying in front of her.
There was so much blood smeared all over his youthful, handsome face, the dark red stains contrasting against the pallor of his skin. Grains of sand were caught in his hair, leaving it dull and dirty. His lips and eyelids had taken on a bluish tinge, a sign that he had drawn his last breath some time ago.
The image was too much for Carter to bear.
Backing away from the gruesome scene, she shoved her way through the crowded group of soldiers, desperate to escape. Carter walked briskly, wrangling against the urge to break into a full run. She was not quite sure where she was going, only knowing she had to get away fast. Stumbling ahead, her legs carried her to the perimeter of the base, far from anyone or anything.
Lightheadedness stopped her from going any further, and she cried out as a painful weight settled over her heart.
She couldn’t breathe!
Falling to her knees, she gasped for air, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. A trembling hand clutched at her chest as she continued to struggle for oxygen, feeling tremors rake through her body, nausea agitating her stomach.
Damn it, why couldn’t she breathe?
The suffocating feeling strengthened, and she collapsed forward, the palms of her hands digging into the sand as she lowered her head closer to the ground. Without warning, she threw up, relieving the severe ache within her belly. Again and again, she expelled the contents of her stomach until it was empty, her eyes shut tight in agony, her nose running freely.
Once she was certain the bout of vomiting had ceased, Carter tumbled backwards into a sitting position, rubbing a hand over the taut, pale skin of her face. Sniffling quietly, she gazed out to the horizon, her usually crystal clear blue eyes red-rimmed and bright with tears she refused to yield to. The shock seemed to have passed through her system, leaving a mantle of absolute numbness in its wake.
The sun was shining high above when she heard the sound of someone approaching from behind. A pair of shiny, black combat boots stopped at her side before their owner took a seat next to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at her visitor.
Major Wells stared studiously ahead, his dark green eyes fixed on a point far, far away. The consummate, well-disciplined commanding officer she had worked with for almost two years was nowhere to be found in this troubled man. He seemed almost immobilized, surprising her.
A great deal of time passed before he finally chose to say something, his voice rough and a ghost of the strong timbre her ears were so used to hearing.
“I’m sorry about Thompson, Carter. I know he meant a lot to you.”
Maintaining her silence, Carter stared straight ahead.
Major Wells was the last person she would choose to confide her personal feelings to, especially those she had developed for Thompson. Such private emotions were best left veiled in secrecy, particularly from a superior officer.
“Look, I know this probably isn’t the best time for me to mention this, but you lost your cool up there. I need you to stay focused at all times, even if a comrade goes down, or you’ll be putting yourself, as well as the rest of your team, in danger.”
Despite the courteous manner in which he phrased the words, it was clearly a reprimand.
Carter felt the first stirrings of anger flow through her veins as she processed the subtle scolding. Her best friend of seven years, the person she cared about more than anyone else in the world, had died only a few short hours ago, and Wells had the gall to take the time to slap her on the wrist for her actions.
“You can’t afford to make mistakes by allowing your emotions to cloud your judgment, Lieutenant. You are a part of one of the best fighter wings in the country and --”
Climbing to her feet, she glared down at him, the tenuous control she had sustained snapping as she lost her temper, startling Major Wells as well as herself.
“That’s all that matters to you! Being the best! My best friend was just killed, and you choose to admonish me so that your precious squadron remains pristine and intact!”
From the glowering look on the major’s face, Carter immediately knew she had leapt over the boundary of insubordination by a mile, but for the first time in her life, she didn’t care. The crushing heartache of Thompson’s death trampled over the role of the good little soldier she’d always strived to be, empowering the innate compassion that refused to perish despite all of her disciplined military training.
“I will lecture you as long as I see it fit while you are under my command, Lieutenant Carter. As for Lieutenant Thompson, he died in the service of his country, one of the greatest honors a citizen of the United States can attain.”
She boldly plowed ahead, her face flushed with red-hot fury at the weathered statement.
“Yeah, I know. Service before self, right, sir?”
Wells scrambled to his feet, his own anger bubbling to the surface as he grabbed hold of her upper arm, squeezing firmly.
“Lieutenant Carter, you had better pull yourself together right now, or I’ll have your ass out of my squadron at this instant! I don’t give a damn who your father is! As long as you are an officer in the United States Air Force, I will not tolerate you yelling at a superior officer!”
Wrenching herself out of his grasp, she spat her words at him.
“There are other important things in life besides the Air Force, sir! Maybe if the military didn’t come first, you’d still HAVE a life outside your career instead of being alone and hell-bent on spending your every waking hour training us to be carbon copies of yourself!”
Major Wells recoiled at the words, staring at her in stunned silence. Before he could regain control of his senses, Carter fled the scene, sprinting back to the base. She ran through the winding, canyon-like mazes between the aircraft shelters, flying by officers and enlisted personnel alike, all the while feeling as if her life was falling into a tailspin.
Thompson had been tragically snatched away from her only a scant few hours after he had affirmed his devotion to her. Years of friendship and the potential for something so much more had crashed and burned to the sandy dunes of a nation at war in a matter of seconds.
Carter longed for the warmth of his arms where she had received a taste of unconditional love and found a sanctuary from an imperfect world. Thompson always instinctively knew how to reassure her, even through the most desperate of times.
She could certainly use his reassurance right now, as she had probably kissed her pilot’s wings goodbye. Already, Carter felt remorse over her callous, grief-induced words to her commanding officer. Due to the strenuous relationship she had with him, she wasn’t sure a formal apology would be enough to salvage her flying career.
Finally, she reached the safe haven of her empty quarters, grateful that Lovell wasn’t around to console her. It was the last thing she wanted right now. Switching off her bedside lamp, she crawled into her bunk, enveloping herself in the warm blankets. As she snuggled into a little ball, a faint, familiar scent wafted through her nostrils.
Thompson.
Their earlier escapade had left his lingering aroma imprinted in the blankets where they had held each other so close, clinging to one another in the heat of passion. Burying her nose into the material, she shut her eyes closed against the tidal wave of tears that threatened to fall.
It was some time later when Carter pried her gummy-feeling eyelids open again, her eyes immediately tracking toward the digital clock by her bedside. The large, red numbers revealed it was mid-afternoon outside, and she’d only managed to sleep a couple of hours.
Moaning softly, her fingers brushed across her brow, frowning at the dull ache in her head. The events of the night before had left her drained of energy, mentally and physically exhausted, and the desire to spend the rest of the day secluded in her quarters skirted around the edge of her conscience.
But shirking responsibility had never been a part of who Carter was. There was much to be done today, and none of the pending tasks would be easy.
One of the most pressing matters included writing a letter of condolence to Thompson’s parents. The Thompsons loved her like a daughter, never failing to make her feel like she was a part of their family. She couldn’t bear the thought of them receiving a clinical, impersonal letter from Major Wells, who would be informing them of their son’s death. His family would receive much more consolation hearing from her than from a man they hardly knew.
A man whom, very shortly, she would have to confront and apologize to, and whose disappointment and ire she would need to overcome to have any hope of retaining her promising career.
The sound of quiet snuffling broke through the silence. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness around her, the outline of a person sitting on the floor next to her became visible. Listening to his breathing and studying the profile, Carter sighed softly.
Lovell.
The lieutenant had settled himself by her bunk, his back leaning against the nightstand and his head pillowed near hears on the mattress, sound asleep. His hand was grasping her own, his fingers clutching hers, as if holding on to reassure himself she was still there.
She couldn’t blame him.
Carter found herself dreading her return to reality, wishing she could slip away from the surreal nightmare that had become her life.
* * *
Colonel O’Neill seemed mesmerized by the crackling flames of the fire, his gaze fixed on the bright, orange light illuminating their small campsite. Judging from the look on his face, Carter assumed he was absorbing all the memories she had shared with him about Thompson’s tragic death, turning over every detail in his mind. Teal’c had retired to perform Kel’no’reem over an hour ago, leaving the two of them alone.
Resting against a large fallen log near the warmth of the fire, she had recounted the awful events of that February morning to an uncommonly quiet O’Neill. He hadn’t said a word since the moment she’d told him how close that first missile had come to knocking her out of the sky, and the silence was beginning to unsettle her. As if reading her thoughts, he finally tore his eyes away from the campfire, turning to face her. A pensive look preceded a very surprising question.
“Thompson. Can you tell me what he looked like?”
She sighed, shrugging her shoulders.
“Brown hair, brown eyes. About six foot three --”
“Carter, would you stop it?”
Glancing up at him, she did as she was told, frowning in confusion.
O’Neill leaned in closer, shaking his head in frustration.
“You can prattle on for hours about any of the doohickeys in your lab down to the tiniest detail. Why can’t you give me that kind of a description of the man who was your best friend and not just his damn statistics?”
Searching his inquisitive eyes for a moment, she realized the colonel genuinely wanted to know. Giving in, she closed her eyes, remembering Josh Thompson’s face and slowly verbalizing her memories.
“He had short, straight brown hair. His bangs always had a tendency to fall toward his forehead no matter what he tried to do with them, but he refused to get a buzz cut like most of the other guys. He insisted buzz cuts were for hardened Marines, and he’d never subject himself to looking like them because he was an Air Force fighter pilot.”
Shaking her head, she softly said, “He always did like the feel of the wind blowing through his hair. Said it reminded him of growing up on his father’s airfield back in Texas.”
Clearing her throat, she continued.
“His eyes were the darkest shade of brown, almost like chocolate, and they always twinkled, even when he wasn’t happy.”
Raising a forefinger, she delicately tapped her chin.
“He had a dimple in his chin that he inherited from his father. Josh was so much like him. Brave, funny, sweet.”
She allowed herself a small smile, her own dimples becoming visible, indenting the smooth skin of her cheeks.
“His parents always teased us that if we ever had children, their faces would be just as dimpled as ours were.”
Sliding her finger down, she drummed it against the side of her neck twice.
“And I remember a birthmark right here. He never seemed to care much for it, but I always thought it made him look unique.”
When she opened her eyes again, a small frown wrinkled her forehead. The contemplative look on O’Neill’s face had disappeared, and a stricken expression had taken its place, alarming her.
“Sir, what’s wrong?”
The colonel roughly scrubbed a hand over his face. Carter was all too familiar with the habit. He always did it whenever he was having great difficulty dealing with something, but didn’t really want to admit it.
“Sir?”
Of all the things she expected to hear, his quiet response was not one of them.
“I was there.”
He looked up at her, meeting her wide blue eyes.
“I was in the chopper. My team was assigned to rescue downed pilots, and… I was there.”
Her mind jumped into overdrive, struggling to find some memory of him. Carter recalled looking into the helicopter’s cargo bay as it landed, searching for any sign of Thompson, but only seeing the faces of the Special Forces troops. The rotors had been whipping her hair about her face as her eyes locked with one of the men for a brief instant.
A man whose brown eyes startlingly resembled Thompson’s in their intensity.
The man who would eventually become her commanding officer five years later.
Colonel Jack O’Neill.
“He was the only pilot we rescued that night. We were notified that an F-16 had crashed in southern Iraq returning from an air patrol. Our orders were to go in, extract him, and bring him back to his post in Saudi.”
Carter was rendered speechless, desperately trying to deal with the new information. Her eyes stared into O’Neill’s, hoping he would understand the unspoken question in their depths.
What had happened?
Grimacing, he resumed informing her of his own memories of that morning.
“When we pulled him aboard, I knew it was bad. The kid was a mess. Broken bones, lacerations… But somehow he was still clinging to his life, hanging on by a thread.”
The major’s eyes filled with tears as the erstwhile heartache flooded through her anew. This was a side of the story she’d never known before. A small part of her begged her to stop him from continuing, but an even bigger part yearned to discover what had happened in the last few moments of Thompson’s life.
Her voice rough with emotion, she whispered, “Did he say anything?”
“Sam…”
Carter shook her head determinedly, unwilling to allow him to spare her any details.
“Colonel, please. I need to know.”
O’Neill looked directly into her eyes, as if making sure his second-in-command was prepared for what she was about to hear.
“He kept calling out for someone named Sam.”
Twin rogue tears streamed down her cheeks at the softly uttered statement.
“I remember telling him that Sam was okay, and that seemed to calm him down. He… He let go after he heard you were all right.”
Carter bowed her head, sliding a hand over her face and clenching her jaw as she fought to keep the maelstrom of tears at bay. The revelation rocked her to the core, sending a multitude of emotions running through her at a maddening rate: grief at discovering how much pain he had been in, relief at knowing Colonel O’Neill had given him some consolation, heartened to ultimately know Thompson’s final thoughts had been of her.
But above all else, an overwhelming sadness enveloped her, her longing for Thompson’s unconditional love and friendship coming to the forefront. She missed him terribly, even after nearly ten years.
A warm hand lightly touched her own, gently pulling her fingers away from her face, revealing her tear-stained cheeks. O’Neill’s face appeared through her watery eyes, his compassionate gaze soothing the implacable ache in her heart. Almost inaudibly, he whispered, “C’mere,” an open invitation for her to rely on the comfort he was willing to give.
Little by little, she eventually reached for him, her body rigid at the unfamiliarity. Following a brief moment of awkwardness, O’Neill settled his arms around her securely, and the stiffness in her muscles slowly melted away.
She buried her face into the colonel’s shoulder, weeping softly, finally permitting herself to fully mourn her lost best friend, a decade of pent-up emotions pouring out. She cuddled closer to O’Neill as he gently rocked her back and forth, murmuring hushed reassurances into her ear. The swaying motion calmed her, and Carter felt her eyelids growing heavy in response.
With her last bit of strength, she mumbled, “I cared about him so much. I never even told him I loved him.”
A quick kiss was placed on her temple, and she closed her eyes. Before sleep completely claimed her, she heard his soft reply.
“He knew, Sam. I’m sure he knew.”
Continued in Chapter 8.
TITLE: 1991: Chapter 07
AUTHOR: Starbuck92
CATEGORY: Romance, Angst, Action/Adventure
PAIRINGS: Sam/Jack UST, Sam/Other (in the past)
SPOILERS: Nemesis, Small Victories
SEASON: 4
RATING: R
CONTENT WARNING: Language, minor character death, sexual situations
SUMMARY: Flying and friendship, love and loss - what was Sam Carter’s life like during the Persian Gulf War?
DISCLAIMER: The lovely characters of Stargate SG-1 do not belong to me, and I am making no money off this story. Please do not archive without permission.
Wednesday, February 13, 1991
“Man down! Man down!”
The shout reverberated from the radio, but the words did not penetrate through the shock that had settled over Lieutenant Samantha Carter.
Frantically, she searched the smoke shrouded ground below, straining to see some sign of the fallen Thompson in the dark of the night. With trembling fingers, she keyed her radio to their frequency, fighting to maintain some semblance of control over her rising fear.
“Knight, this is Wizard, do you read me?”
Static was her only reply.
“Knight! Please respond! This is Wizard, do you copy?”
‘Please, please, answer me, Josh,’ she silently added, tears welling in her vision as she held her breath, the radio continuing to crackle.
Absolutely nothing.
She veered into a gentle arc, prepared to conduct another sweep of the area she’d last seen Thompson in, when the radio suddenly burst to life.
“Wizard, this is King.”
Hope came crashing down upon her. It was Major Wells.
His was not the voice she’d been praying to hear.
“I’ve notified Khalid and a chopper extraction team is on its way. Fall back into formation, we’ve gotta get out of here. Do you copy?”
Shaking her head indiscernibly, Carter gunned her engines, stubbornly refusing to comply with the request. As long as there was any chance Thompson was still alive down there, she couldn’t leave him behind. Not after everything they’d been through.
Not after everything they had yet to live for.
The sound of an F-16 falling in beside her jerked her away from her steely determination, the nose of Major Wells’s fighter plane creeping at her side, easily keeping up with her furious pace.
Shit, she was in for it now.
Carter had disobeyed a direct order for the first time in her life, permitting her feelings to completely interfere with her duty, and she was certain her commanding officer was not pleased.
“Wizard.”
She blinked in surprise at the unexpected gentle tone. Not a hint of anger was detectable in the sound of his voice, reminding her more of Captain Martinez’s gentle intonations.
The youthful bravado drained from her rapidly as she answered, “Sir?”
“We’ve gotta get out of here,” the major repeated calmly.
The notion of leaving Thompson behind tore at her heart, but the soldier in her wrestled against her compassion, arguing that there was nothing more they could do but fly home and wait for news.
“Yes, sir,” she answered obediently, barely managing to keep the anguish out of her voice.
The squadron returned to Khalid Air Base in a blanket of silence, everyone shell-shocked after the events that had transpired.
She landed her F-16 on the runway, running entirely on autopilot as her eyes tracked the air traffic controller’s lighted wands, directing her along the taxiway. As the aircraft came to a complete stop in her spot, she popped open the canopy and slid her helmet’s visor up, looking around in a state of disbelief.
Daybreak was still a couple of hours away, and the base remained cloaked amid the darkness. Only the runway beacons and security lights mounted at specific intervals around the perimeter and buildings provided illumination. She’d never stopped to notice how shadowy the base could seem in the early hours before sunrise.
All of a sudden, a silhouetted figure raced toward her plane. The ladder beside her cockpit quaked as the mystery man clambered up recklessly, seeming desperate to reach her.
Matthew Lovell appeared beside her, his hands grasping the edge of the cockpit, keeping a steady balance on the metal rungs. He sounded breathless as he carefully unhooked her oxygen mask.
“Sammy, are you okay?”
Carter was unable to find the will to answer, staring at him in a daze, shuddering. His fingers felt warm against her chilled skin as he reached out to dab at the dried blood on her lower lip where her teeth had involuntarily bitten down as that first missile had clipped her wing.
She barely felt her friend’s hands as they nimbly unbuckled her straps and removed her helmet before gently tugging her to a standing position atop the ejection seat. Swaying on unsteady legs, she clutched his shoulders, her eyes shutting closed at the unexpected vertigo spell.
“I’ve got you. I’m not going to let you fall, Sammy,” he murmured.
Taking a deep breath, she swung one leg over the side of the cockpit and onto the first rung of the ladder, Lovell’s hand resting on the small of her back as he guided her movements. Together, they slowly made their way down, Carter’s hands gripping the sides of the ladder rigidly.
Sergeant Lowe, Sergeant Nolan, and Airman Edwards were waiting on the ground. One look at their worried faces was all it took for her to realize someone had told them what had happened, leaving her wondering if everyone on base had already been alerted to the report of Thompson’s crash.
At the thought of his name, Carter felt her heart constrict painfully, a cold feeling seeping through her flesh, chilling her from the inside out. Her teeth began chattering faintly, and she quickly clenched her jaw, unwilling to lose her composure in front of an audience.
A gentle hand clasped her forearm, drawing her attention to the solemn face of Sergeant Lowe.
“Don’t worry about the plane, Sam. We’ll take care of it.”
Nodding in appreciation, she began walking as Lovell lightly nudged her forward, his palm settling at the nape of her neck. Unconsciously, she leaned into him, seeking warmth from the bitter coldness that had pervaded her entire being.
As the two lieutenants approached the command building, they witnessed Major Wells sprinting across the base, obviously heading in the same direction. Carter and Lovell picked up their pace, anxious to hear if news had arrived regarding Thompson’s condition.
“Any word?” Wells questioned Lieutenant Colonel Anderson as he exited the building.
The commanding officer of the 4th Fighter Squadron shook his head, fixing his eyes on the ground.
“Been no contact on his radio, but the extraction team is on the way. We should know something soon, Brayden.”
Wells ran a hand through his short, dark hair, clearly battling the distress of losing one of the pilots under his command.
The sight unnerved Carter.
Their commanding officer never lost his cool, even when things were falling apart, truly living up to the meaning behind his given name - bravery.
As if feeling the weight of their combined gazes, the major looked up sharply, eyeing the two junior officers. Clearing his throat, he immediately slipped back into his role as the composed and collected leader of the squadron.
“Lieutenant Lovell.”
The clipped, professional tone of voice caused the lieutenant to click his heels in attention.
“Sir?”
“Inform the rest of the squad we’ll be debriefing after we’ve received word about Lieutenant Thompson.”
“Yes, sir!”
Lovell saluted sharply. Venturing one last look at Carter, he jogged off to carry out the order, leaving her with Wells.
For a brief moment, commander and subordinate locked gazes, dark green meeting sapphire blue. Neither could find the words to express to the other. Wells sighed quietly, bestowing her with an apologetic look before turning to march into the command building to await further news.
After a few minutes of standing glued to the same spot, Carter mechanically ambled along the edge of the taxiway, eventually seating herself on the hard concrete. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she clasped her hands tightly together, her knuckles turning white from the pressure.
She could remember only one other instance when she’d been so sick with worry.
A similar experience occurred during her second year at the Academy during a flight training class. Returning from an uneventful flight, Todd Hickam had been caught in some unexpected bad weather and crashed his trainer on the outskirts of the school, completely wrecking the tiny aircraft. As she had watched the fire crew speed into action with the rest of her classmates from afar, Carter had feared the worst.
Miraculously, Hickam had survived the accident, a busted right leg and some minor lacerations his only injuries. His good fortune had surprised them all and later earned him the call sign Lucky Boy.
Carter brought her fingers to her lips, nibbling on her short nails as she considered his crash. He had gone down at a slow velocity in a training plane in some rough weather. Thompson, on the other hand, had plummeted to the ground in a fighter jet struck by enemy fire.
She rested her forehead against her knees, breathing in deeply as she sought to drive out any negative thoughts from her mind. Thinking those kinds of things would only serve to increase her apprehension.
Thompson would be just fine.
Perhaps sporting a few injuries and a deflated ego, but otherwise…just fine.
She was unsure of how much time passed as she sat crouched in the same position. Turning her head, she rested her cheek against her knees, raising weary eyes to the sky. High above, the darkness of night was slowly receding and the first shades of pink and orange were becoming visible, signifying daybreak.
One by one, the twinkling stars faded out of sight, and a sudden wave of loneliness washed over her.
That particular ache, hidden deep inside, had vanished years ago when she had gained Thompson’s unconditional friendship. He had filled the empty void that had resided in her heart since her mother’s death ten years ago, ingratiating himself into every facet of her life and breaking through the walls she had erected during her lonely teenaged years.
In Thompson’s absence, the feeling of being lost and alone had returned with a vengeance, multiplied tenfold in the wake of his declared love for her. Closing her eyes, she hugged her knees tightly, gently biting down on her swollen lower lip; she was mindful of the scar that was already forming there.
The distinctive sound of helicopter rotors reached her ears, and her head snapped up, eagerly searching the skies. Immediately, she spotted the dark shape approaching from the north and scrambled to her feet, running to the landing site.
The team of grim-faced Special Forces slid the door open, and a couple of them jumped out to the concrete below. Carter craned her neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of her friend emerging from the chopper.
In her mind’s eye, she pictured him stumbling out, catching her gaze, and smiling that embarrassed little smile he always had plastered on his face when he knew he was in for a lecture on his foolish need to prove himself in the sky. Pushing herself through the crowd that had gathered around the chopper, she stopped dead in her tracks at the grisly sight that greeted her.
The pair of soldiers had reached back into the chopper’s cargo area, carefully removing a draped stretcher from within. Taking an involuntary step back, her eyes widened in shock, certain that her vision was deceiving her.
This was some horrible mistake. The body beneath the sheet wasn’t Thompson.
It couldn’t be.
Major Wells fought his way through the troops, anxious to discover how his officer had fared, when he, too, abruptly came to a halt. Carter noted the brief flicker of emotion that crossed his face before the hardened, impassive mask fell back into place.
“Colonel?”
The commanding officer of the extraction team stared into Wells’s eyes, his expression remaining professionally neutral and detached.
“I’m sorry, Major. Lieutenant Thompson didn’t survive the crash.”
Carter felt the wind knocked out of her lungs as he delicately pulled the sheet back, revealing the bruised and bloodied face of Josh Thompson.
Flinching from the sight, she screwed her eyes shut, biting down hard on her lip and reopening the damaged skin. The blood began flowing freely once again, running in a single rivulet down her chin. She blanched at the sensation, her eyes reluctantly returning to the lifeless body lying in front of her.
There was so much blood smeared all over his youthful, handsome face, the dark red stains contrasting against the pallor of his skin. Grains of sand were caught in his hair, leaving it dull and dirty. His lips and eyelids had taken on a bluish tinge, a sign that he had drawn his last breath some time ago.
The image was too much for Carter to bear.
Backing away from the gruesome scene, she shoved her way through the crowded group of soldiers, desperate to escape. Carter walked briskly, wrangling against the urge to break into a full run. She was not quite sure where she was going, only knowing she had to get away fast. Stumbling ahead, her legs carried her to the perimeter of the base, far from anyone or anything.
Lightheadedness stopped her from going any further, and she cried out as a painful weight settled over her heart.
She couldn’t breathe!
Falling to her knees, she gasped for air, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. A trembling hand clutched at her chest as she continued to struggle for oxygen, feeling tremors rake through her body, nausea agitating her stomach.
Damn it, why couldn’t she breathe?
The suffocating feeling strengthened, and she collapsed forward, the palms of her hands digging into the sand as she lowered her head closer to the ground. Without warning, she threw up, relieving the severe ache within her belly. Again and again, she expelled the contents of her stomach until it was empty, her eyes shut tight in agony, her nose running freely.
Once she was certain the bout of vomiting had ceased, Carter tumbled backwards into a sitting position, rubbing a hand over the taut, pale skin of her face. Sniffling quietly, she gazed out to the horizon, her usually crystal clear blue eyes red-rimmed and bright with tears she refused to yield to. The shock seemed to have passed through her system, leaving a mantle of absolute numbness in its wake.
The sun was shining high above when she heard the sound of someone approaching from behind. A pair of shiny, black combat boots stopped at her side before their owner took a seat next to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at her visitor.
Major Wells stared studiously ahead, his dark green eyes fixed on a point far, far away. The consummate, well-disciplined commanding officer she had worked with for almost two years was nowhere to be found in this troubled man. He seemed almost immobilized, surprising her.
A great deal of time passed before he finally chose to say something, his voice rough and a ghost of the strong timbre her ears were so used to hearing.
“I’m sorry about Thompson, Carter. I know he meant a lot to you.”
Maintaining her silence, Carter stared straight ahead.
Major Wells was the last person she would choose to confide her personal feelings to, especially those she had developed for Thompson. Such private emotions were best left veiled in secrecy, particularly from a superior officer.
“Look, I know this probably isn’t the best time for me to mention this, but you lost your cool up there. I need you to stay focused at all times, even if a comrade goes down, or you’ll be putting yourself, as well as the rest of your team, in danger.”
Despite the courteous manner in which he phrased the words, it was clearly a reprimand.
Carter felt the first stirrings of anger flow through her veins as she processed the subtle scolding. Her best friend of seven years, the person she cared about more than anyone else in the world, had died only a few short hours ago, and Wells had the gall to take the time to slap her on the wrist for her actions.
“You can’t afford to make mistakes by allowing your emotions to cloud your judgment, Lieutenant. You are a part of one of the best fighter wings in the country and --”
Climbing to her feet, she glared down at him, the tenuous control she had sustained snapping as she lost her temper, startling Major Wells as well as herself.
“That’s all that matters to you! Being the best! My best friend was just killed, and you choose to admonish me so that your precious squadron remains pristine and intact!”
From the glowering look on the major’s face, Carter immediately knew she had leapt over the boundary of insubordination by a mile, but for the first time in her life, she didn’t care. The crushing heartache of Thompson’s death trampled over the role of the good little soldier she’d always strived to be, empowering the innate compassion that refused to perish despite all of her disciplined military training.
“I will lecture you as long as I see it fit while you are under my command, Lieutenant Carter. As for Lieutenant Thompson, he died in the service of his country, one of the greatest honors a citizen of the United States can attain.”
She boldly plowed ahead, her face flushed with red-hot fury at the weathered statement.
“Yeah, I know. Service before self, right, sir?”
Wells scrambled to his feet, his own anger bubbling to the surface as he grabbed hold of her upper arm, squeezing firmly.
“Lieutenant Carter, you had better pull yourself together right now, or I’ll have your ass out of my squadron at this instant! I don’t give a damn who your father is! As long as you are an officer in the United States Air Force, I will not tolerate you yelling at a superior officer!”
Wrenching herself out of his grasp, she spat her words at him.
“There are other important things in life besides the Air Force, sir! Maybe if the military didn’t come first, you’d still HAVE a life outside your career instead of being alone and hell-bent on spending your every waking hour training us to be carbon copies of yourself!”
Major Wells recoiled at the words, staring at her in stunned silence. Before he could regain control of his senses, Carter fled the scene, sprinting back to the base. She ran through the winding, canyon-like mazes between the aircraft shelters, flying by officers and enlisted personnel alike, all the while feeling as if her life was falling into a tailspin.
Thompson had been tragically snatched away from her only a scant few hours after he had affirmed his devotion to her. Years of friendship and the potential for something so much more had crashed and burned to the sandy dunes of a nation at war in a matter of seconds.
Carter longed for the warmth of his arms where she had received a taste of unconditional love and found a sanctuary from an imperfect world. Thompson always instinctively knew how to reassure her, even through the most desperate of times.
She could certainly use his reassurance right now, as she had probably kissed her pilot’s wings goodbye. Already, Carter felt remorse over her callous, grief-induced words to her commanding officer. Due to the strenuous relationship she had with him, she wasn’t sure a formal apology would be enough to salvage her flying career.
Finally, she reached the safe haven of her empty quarters, grateful that Lovell wasn’t around to console her. It was the last thing she wanted right now. Switching off her bedside lamp, she crawled into her bunk, enveloping herself in the warm blankets. As she snuggled into a little ball, a faint, familiar scent wafted through her nostrils.
Thompson.
Their earlier escapade had left his lingering aroma imprinted in the blankets where they had held each other so close, clinging to one another in the heat of passion. Burying her nose into the material, she shut her eyes closed against the tidal wave of tears that threatened to fall.
It was some time later when Carter pried her gummy-feeling eyelids open again, her eyes immediately tracking toward the digital clock by her bedside. The large, red numbers revealed it was mid-afternoon outside, and she’d only managed to sleep a couple of hours.
Moaning softly, her fingers brushed across her brow, frowning at the dull ache in her head. The events of the night before had left her drained of energy, mentally and physically exhausted, and the desire to spend the rest of the day secluded in her quarters skirted around the edge of her conscience.
But shirking responsibility had never been a part of who Carter was. There was much to be done today, and none of the pending tasks would be easy.
One of the most pressing matters included writing a letter of condolence to Thompson’s parents. The Thompsons loved her like a daughter, never failing to make her feel like she was a part of their family. She couldn’t bear the thought of them receiving a clinical, impersonal letter from Major Wells, who would be informing them of their son’s death. His family would receive much more consolation hearing from her than from a man they hardly knew.
A man whom, very shortly, she would have to confront and apologize to, and whose disappointment and ire she would need to overcome to have any hope of retaining her promising career.
The sound of quiet snuffling broke through the silence. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness around her, the outline of a person sitting on the floor next to her became visible. Listening to his breathing and studying the profile, Carter sighed softly.
Lovell.
The lieutenant had settled himself by her bunk, his back leaning against the nightstand and his head pillowed near hears on the mattress, sound asleep. His hand was grasping her own, his fingers clutching hers, as if holding on to reassure himself she was still there.
She couldn’t blame him.
Carter found herself dreading her return to reality, wishing she could slip away from the surreal nightmare that had become her life.
* * *
Colonel O’Neill seemed mesmerized by the crackling flames of the fire, his gaze fixed on the bright, orange light illuminating their small campsite. Judging from the look on his face, Carter assumed he was absorbing all the memories she had shared with him about Thompson’s tragic death, turning over every detail in his mind. Teal’c had retired to perform Kel’no’reem over an hour ago, leaving the two of them alone.
Resting against a large fallen log near the warmth of the fire, she had recounted the awful events of that February morning to an uncommonly quiet O’Neill. He hadn’t said a word since the moment she’d told him how close that first missile had come to knocking her out of the sky, and the silence was beginning to unsettle her. As if reading her thoughts, he finally tore his eyes away from the campfire, turning to face her. A pensive look preceded a very surprising question.
“Thompson. Can you tell me what he looked like?”
She sighed, shrugging her shoulders.
“Brown hair, brown eyes. About six foot three --”
“Carter, would you stop it?”
Glancing up at him, she did as she was told, frowning in confusion.
O’Neill leaned in closer, shaking his head in frustration.
“You can prattle on for hours about any of the doohickeys in your lab down to the tiniest detail. Why can’t you give me that kind of a description of the man who was your best friend and not just his damn statistics?”
Searching his inquisitive eyes for a moment, she realized the colonel genuinely wanted to know. Giving in, she closed her eyes, remembering Josh Thompson’s face and slowly verbalizing her memories.
“He had short, straight brown hair. His bangs always had a tendency to fall toward his forehead no matter what he tried to do with them, but he refused to get a buzz cut like most of the other guys. He insisted buzz cuts were for hardened Marines, and he’d never subject himself to looking like them because he was an Air Force fighter pilot.”
Shaking her head, she softly said, “He always did like the feel of the wind blowing through his hair. Said it reminded him of growing up on his father’s airfield back in Texas.”
Clearing her throat, she continued.
“His eyes were the darkest shade of brown, almost like chocolate, and they always twinkled, even when he wasn’t happy.”
Raising a forefinger, she delicately tapped her chin.
“He had a dimple in his chin that he inherited from his father. Josh was so much like him. Brave, funny, sweet.”
She allowed herself a small smile, her own dimples becoming visible, indenting the smooth skin of her cheeks.
“His parents always teased us that if we ever had children, their faces would be just as dimpled as ours were.”
Sliding her finger down, she drummed it against the side of her neck twice.
“And I remember a birthmark right here. He never seemed to care much for it, but I always thought it made him look unique.”
When she opened her eyes again, a small frown wrinkled her forehead. The contemplative look on O’Neill’s face had disappeared, and a stricken expression had taken its place, alarming her.
“Sir, what’s wrong?”
The colonel roughly scrubbed a hand over his face. Carter was all too familiar with the habit. He always did it whenever he was having great difficulty dealing with something, but didn’t really want to admit it.
“Sir?”
Of all the things she expected to hear, his quiet response was not one of them.
“I was there.”
He looked up at her, meeting her wide blue eyes.
“I was in the chopper. My team was assigned to rescue downed pilots, and… I was there.”
Her mind jumped into overdrive, struggling to find some memory of him. Carter recalled looking into the helicopter’s cargo bay as it landed, searching for any sign of Thompson, but only seeing the faces of the Special Forces troops. The rotors had been whipping her hair about her face as her eyes locked with one of the men for a brief instant.
A man whose brown eyes startlingly resembled Thompson’s in their intensity.
The man who would eventually become her commanding officer five years later.
Colonel Jack O’Neill.
“He was the only pilot we rescued that night. We were notified that an F-16 had crashed in southern Iraq returning from an air patrol. Our orders were to go in, extract him, and bring him back to his post in Saudi.”
Carter was rendered speechless, desperately trying to deal with the new information. Her eyes stared into O’Neill’s, hoping he would understand the unspoken question in their depths.
What had happened?
Grimacing, he resumed informing her of his own memories of that morning.
“When we pulled him aboard, I knew it was bad. The kid was a mess. Broken bones, lacerations… But somehow he was still clinging to his life, hanging on by a thread.”
The major’s eyes filled with tears as the erstwhile heartache flooded through her anew. This was a side of the story she’d never known before. A small part of her begged her to stop him from continuing, but an even bigger part yearned to discover what had happened in the last few moments of Thompson’s life.
Her voice rough with emotion, she whispered, “Did he say anything?”
“Sam…”
Carter shook her head determinedly, unwilling to allow him to spare her any details.
“Colonel, please. I need to know.”
O’Neill looked directly into her eyes, as if making sure his second-in-command was prepared for what she was about to hear.
“He kept calling out for someone named Sam.”
Twin rogue tears streamed down her cheeks at the softly uttered statement.
“I remember telling him that Sam was okay, and that seemed to calm him down. He… He let go after he heard you were all right.”
Carter bowed her head, sliding a hand over her face and clenching her jaw as she fought to keep the maelstrom of tears at bay. The revelation rocked her to the core, sending a multitude of emotions running through her at a maddening rate: grief at discovering how much pain he had been in, relief at knowing Colonel O’Neill had given him some consolation, heartened to ultimately know Thompson’s final thoughts had been of her.
But above all else, an overwhelming sadness enveloped her, her longing for Thompson’s unconditional love and friendship coming to the forefront. She missed him terribly, even after nearly ten years.
A warm hand lightly touched her own, gently pulling her fingers away from her face, revealing her tear-stained cheeks. O’Neill’s face appeared through her watery eyes, his compassionate gaze soothing the implacable ache in her heart. Almost inaudibly, he whispered, “C’mere,” an open invitation for her to rely on the comfort he was willing to give.
Little by little, she eventually reached for him, her body rigid at the unfamiliarity. Following a brief moment of awkwardness, O’Neill settled his arms around her securely, and the stiffness in her muscles slowly melted away.
She buried her face into the colonel’s shoulder, weeping softly, finally permitting herself to fully mourn her lost best friend, a decade of pent-up emotions pouring out. She cuddled closer to O’Neill as he gently rocked her back and forth, murmuring hushed reassurances into her ear. The swaying motion calmed her, and Carter felt her eyelids growing heavy in response.
With her last bit of strength, she mumbled, “I cared about him so much. I never even told him I loved him.”
A quick kiss was placed on her temple, and she closed her eyes. Before sleep completely claimed her, she heard his soft reply.
“He knew, Sam. I’m sure he knew.”
Continued in Chapter 8.