Against All Enemies (Sam/Cam/Daniel) ADULT
Jesus... this was painful, but I think it's in acceptable shape now, thanks to _minxy_. This is my entry in the Stargate Group Event Ficathon.
Against All Enemies
by jennghis kahn
For dirty_diana, who wanted:
Grouping: Sam/Daniel/Cam
A required prompt or category: team bonding
A special request: speed
Restrictions (please limit to three):no schmoop
It, uh, sort of fits all those requirements. I don’t think it’s exactly what you had in mind, but I hope you like it anyway. J
Rating: ADULT (SERIOUSLY. This is pretty smutty.)
Category: Action/Angst/Romance
Warnings: Language, violence, graphic sex
++
Thanks MUCH to _minxy_ for all the hard beta work. She had the unenviable task of beta reading my first really substantial fic in nearly a year. I’ve been writing so many really short stories that I feel my storytelling ability took quite a hit. Any remaining errors or lapses in writing judgment are absolutely mine and should not reflect on her in any way.
**
There was movement finally, in the enemy bunker, come early morning.
Cameron squinted into the eyepieces of the binoculars as if it might gain him a few more precious feet of clarity. Instead the edges blurred. Tendrils of the fog were obscuring the wide lengths of enemy trenches, but Cam could make out shadows moving behind the opaque wall.
He thumbed his radio and spoke softly. "Jackson, be ready."
"What do you think I’ve been doing the past two hours?" came the sarcastic reply.
Cam rolled his eyes and tightened his jaw. The trench he was standing in smelled vaguely of shit and wet fur. He had no idea why except mud and rain and human soldiers on the edge always seemed to create a certain stench. One of the timbers supporting the side of the muddy trench was digging into his hip. The front of his uniform was wet and dirty, and his skin itched wherever it touched the dark gray wool.
The shapes across the field increased in number and pace. Something was definitely happening. He thumbed the radio again. "Jackson, can you see anything?"
There was a silence as Daniel checked his scope again. From his location on the ridge above he was in a better position to see inside the enemy bunkers. Things had been quiet for days. Cam was hoping the false sense of security would lead this particular enemy company to make a mistake.
"Mitchell." Daniel's voice was quiet and urgent.
"Go ahead."
"They just trucked in an older guy in uniform. No insignia, but he's definitely somebody."
Cam grinned. No insignia? They might as well have put a neon sign over his head. Had to be a general. They rarely showed up on the front like this, but it wasn't unheard of. Some leaders needed that adrenalin fix.
"Mitchell?"
"Hold on." Cam glanced across the trench to where Sam sat on a shallowly buried rock a few yards away. "Sam?"
Her muddy helmet hung against her back, held around her neck by a thin strap that dug clean grooves into her dirty skin. Her pale hair had stayed remarkably bright under the protection of the helmet. She held the short stub of a greasy pencil in her fingers, working furiously over a small notebook, doing the math by hand.
"Sam?" He said again, louder this time.
Her head jerked up, eyes wide and blue in the dried mud on her face. "One more minute. I think I've got it this time."
"Now, Sam. Daniel needs to take the shot."
She dropped her head back to her notebook and then cursed softly as the tip broke on her pencil. She quickly pulled a small knife from her boot and began whittling furiously at the stub, sharpening the lead back into a point.
Cam turned back to the binoculars. "Jackson? You still got a shot?"
"Yeah." There was a hesitation in which Daniel didn't let go of the send button. "Cam..."
Cam felt a sinking in his gut and thumped his forehead against the eyepieces of the binoculars. "Daniel, don't start."
"I just... he's not armed."
"I've got it!" Sam's voice was brilliant behind him.
"You want this war to end, Jackson?" Cameron deliberately made his voice hard.
"You know I do." Daniel's voice was resentful. "Never mind."
Cam ignored the ache in his chest. He hated that he had to force Daniel. He held a hand back toward Sam. "On my word, Sam."
She gave a very un-military grunt of agreement and he heard the clicks as she entered the coordinates she'd just figured out into the launching navigational unit.
Come on, Daniel. One more time...
++
Daniel tore up the long grass that was tickling his chin as he lay in a patch of weeds on the ridge. Something was buzzing in his ear and he shrugged his shoulder up high to nudge it away. Up here, away from the rest of the battle, he could hear the faint echoes of small noises. Truck brakes and someone chopping a tree down with an axe, for firewood most likely. A small voice here and there. Mostly though, there was silence. Unnatural.
He settled more firmly on his elbows and dug his toes into the ground. Shoving his glasses up over his forehead, he slowly folded himself around the sniper rifle and snugged the stock up against his cheek as he brought his eye down to the scope. The world snapped into clear focus as the alien-made scope adjusted to his vision. He watched the man behind the enemy line. He was still moving, talking to his field commanders. Daniel focused in, following the shape until he couldn't hear the buzzing or the far off thunder or the leaves rustling in the wind anymore.
The target stopped moving and stood next to a table, looking down.
Daniel took a long, slow breath and let it out. He curled his finger around the trigger. When he felt the calmness, he moved minutely, lining up the cross hairs. He stilled and, between one heartbeat and the next, he squeezed the trigger.
The sharp retort of the rifle had barely filled his ears when red mist exploded out around the man's head and he dropped below the sight of Daniel's scope. For a moment the world was silent save for the long, fading echoes of the shot rolling through the hills. Seconds later the enemy alarms sounded, but by then Sam's salvo was peppering the bunker with mortar rounds and missiles. They were always more effective in the confusion after an assassination.
Daniel shuffled backwards on his belly, out of the line of fire from the enemy snipers that would be hunting furiously for him.
When he was safe, he stood and ran back toward camp, rifle bouncing against his back, his heart in his throat.
++
Alamar hesitated outside of the Governor’s chambers. His place as Chief Liaison was not an easy one, especially with this governor, and he so disliked delivering dubious news. He dispersed and drifted through the wall, triggering the tone that announced the arrival of another Treyan.
The Governor hovered in his energy bath and motioned at him to report.
Alamar reported, “There are aliens making inquiries about the Tau’ri in the galaxy where they were abducted.”
“Aliens?” The Governor made a show of raising his cloudy eyebrows.
“A Jaffa and a Tau’ri woman. They are asking for the Tau’ri by name.”
The Governor scowled. “A Jaffa?”
Alamar shimmered slightly. “The Jaffa have recently risen up against the Goa’uld and created their own society.”
The Governor looked thoughtful at that. “Jaffa are stronger than Tau’ri. Perhaps we need some Jaffa to fight this war…”
Alamar felt fairly alarmed. “Sir, the larvae they store in their body cavities are not fully grown Goa’uld, but they are still strong. The software…”
“Right.” The Governor waved his insubstantial hand at Alamar. “Do not worry. We have covered our tracks carefully. We have nothing to fear. Tell the scouts to scale down acquisitions in that galaxy for the time being, and to make sure they take no Tau’ri. That should be easy enough considering how rare their species is. Mitchell is the first general that has been effective in our fight against the Palladians. We must guard him closely.”
“As you wish,” Alamar said quietly. He bowed as he backed out of the room.
++
++
The evening was blissfully quiet. It would be for some time now as the Palladians and their allies regrouped. According to preliminary and ongoing scout reports, Sam’s salvo had been devastating.
Half a click from the trenches was their immediate support camp. As the sun set, Daniel sat alone using an old tree stump as a table. He carefully disassembled the sniper rifle, laying the parts out on the stump. The sunset was brilliant, reflecting off the settling mists. Yellow and orange and a bright blood-red. He watched it, fingers slowly sliding across each small piece of the rifle, cold metal warming in his hands. He cleaned and oiled the components carefully. The gun was cleaner than he was. This is my rifle, this is my gun…
He felt homesick.
He watched the sunset and remembered warm winds over his skin, sand and temples and knowledge of ancient cultures. There had been so many evenings like this, when the sun had set brilliantly and he’d been safe in his knowledge. When the weariness he’d felt had been a good thing, a satisfying thing. When the sounds of his friends laughing had been common. When he’d occasionally touched someone else in a way that hadn’t been laced with fear and desperation and gut wrenching worry.
He was getting old, because he could barely remember how Earth had landed in this war in the first place. He realized he had no idea how long he’d been out here, fighting on the frontlines with Cameron and Sam. He wondered where Jack was… He glanced down, locking the last part of the rifle into place.
There was misted blood on the back of his hand.
He stared at it for a moment, his heart seeming to pause inside his chest. How the hell? He’d been 500 yards away from his target, and his brain wouldn’t see anything but that red cloud as the officer’s brain had vaporized inside his skull.
He dropped the rifle, and rubbed frantically at the blood. It smeared and then faded, but not completely. The small dots were still distinct and stubborn. He grabbed a scouring pad from his rifle cleaning kit and rubbed at the dots until they disappeared and the pad was black with dirt and grime. The skin on his hand was bright red and raw. He swallowed.
When he put the pad down, he saw more dots on his opposite hand. He stared, mouth open, until… he realized it wasn’t blood at all. Just mud turned crimson in the sunset.
He felt his eyes getting wet, and he slumped a bit.
Sometimes this all felt so wrong, it was painful. It was more than the blood. More than how they’d never asked him what he wanted to do, but had just downloaded the sniper skill into his head. It was the way he couldn’t remember joining the Air Force. He couldn’t remember lots of things. And it made no difference. He was here with the rest of Earth’s allies fighting for survival, and as much as he felt oddly disconnected from all of it, he couldn’t leave Sam or Cameron.
“Jackson.” Cam’s voice behind him was soft and tentative.
Daniel didn’t turn. He knew what Cam wanted. What he always wanted after Daniel had made a kill. Daniel smoothed over the abrasion on his hand, smudging the dirt over the top of the freshly uncovered skin. “It’s okay, General. It’s just a job, right?” He put some extra emphasis on the word ‘General’.
There was a silence and then Daniel felt Cam slide down behind him and sit, back to back with him. Daniel turned his head slightly.
Cam drew his knees up and locked his arms around them, crossing his ankles as he dug his heels into the grass. “I hate making you do that.”
Daniel turned back to his impromptu table and watched the last fading tones of the sunset, absently rubbing his hand. He ignored the comment, unsure how to make it better for Cameron and for himself. It wasn’t anything they could help, it just was. He hated how they couldn’t look each other in the eye afterward. One man gave the order, one man took it, and one man died. Again and again.
Degrade. Daniel thought. I’m degrading. Eroding. Pieces crumbling away and washing downstream.
“Jackson…” Cam’s voice was soft and rasping, catching and dragging against Daniel’s ears in that deceptively despondent tone he had.
Daniel leaned back a bit, letting the warmth of Cam’s back, the solid structure of it, take his weight and comfort him. “Do you remember the day this all started?”
Cam leaned back as well, relaxing into it, relief evident. Forgiveness accepted. “Which day? The day we came to the front lines?”
“No, the day Earth was attacked. The day they… must have shut down the SGC and sent us away to fight.”
“I…” Cam trailed off and was silent.
“I don’t remember joining the Air Force.”
“We can ask Commander Verlok. I’m sure he’ll know.”
Daniel stared at the sunset. “That’s not really the point, Cam.”
Cam rocked a bit again, pushing against Daniel’s back. “What do you want to do, Daniel? We’re here and it’s miserable, but Earth is safe as long as we stay.”
“Is it? How do we know?”
Cam took a deep breath. “What do you want me to do, Daniel?”
“Ask a few questions the next time you’re summoned to the council.”
Cam nodded, feeling defeated. “Okay.”
Daniel was silent then, and the Palladians remained distant and wounded. The sunset remained undisturbed for the first time in months.
++
Alamar stood quietly behind the Governor, waiting to be noticed. It was a long time coming. The Governor preferred to make his officers wait. To studiously show them their place in the world.
Alamar played the game, but he was silently eager for the new elections, when this Governor might be toppled and replaced with someone less… distasteful.
“Report, Alamar.” His summons finally came.
“General Mitchell has eliminated the Palladians’ Chief of Staff, sir.”
The Governor turned with a flourish, a delighted smile on his face. His accompanying aides and the two members of council he’d been conversing with also looked appropriately happy. “Excellent!”
Alamar let the group go through a round of self-congratulation before clearing his throat. “Umm…”
The Governor’s blue-tinted face shimmered in the air, and he frowned at Alamar, making himself rigidly corporeal. “What is it.” It was a demand, not a question.
“He’s asking questions, sir.” Alamar told him. “About the war and how it started. About his past.”
The Governor thought about this, his form drifting back to insubstantial. He shimmered again. “You said the downloads were secure, Braneer.” He aimed his glare at a delicately robed officer, the Chief of Science.
Braneer’s form flickered wildly for a moment before he got himself under control. “The imprinting software wasn’t designed to be used in this way, Governor. It isn’t meant to create falsehoods. It is only meant to instantly imprint military skill sets.”
“I thought you said their old memories would not be affected.”
“They will not, but we couldn’t foresee how the program would affect them since we haven’t used it in this fashion before. It seems to have different effects on different species. The only memories we created for them were of an alliance between Earth and Treya. But, as I have said, the software was not meant for such a use. We have no idea how strong or durable the integrity of these memories will be. I told you I did not think they would be permanent. They will degrade over time.”
“It does not matter what you told me, Braneer,” the Governor replied, shifting the blame as was his way. “You are my Chief of Science. It is your job to make things work. We cannot fight this war ourselves with an enemy so primitive. You will destroy us all if this does not work!”
Braneer’s blue form paled slightly. “Yes, sir. I will increase my staff and work harder.”
“You’d better.” The Governor’s form solidified alarmingly.
+++
The distant firefight was starting to calm down. Only sporadic firing split the air now, and Cam took a moment to relax. The coming night would signal the shift to scouting and guard duty rather than active attack. He sank down with a sigh into a camp chair, feeling it dig down into the mud under his weight.
In front of him, Daniel sat on a similar chair, perching patiently while Sam cut his hair. She circled around him, cutting the hair up close against his head, leaving the top long. Cam listened to the snip-snip of the ancient scissors. He’d have killed for one piece of modern technology from the SGC. A zat or a long-range radio or even some battery-operated socks to keep his feet warm. Shit, he’d take a goddamned pen right about now so Sam didn’t have to whittle at her pencils all day long.
The Treyans had outfitted them with the oddest mishmash of vintage gear he’d ever seen. Some of the stuff was alien and might have been high-tech. Or not, he just wasn’t sure. Some of it seemed right out of 1942 as the German Army battled the allied forces. They were effortlessly progressive in some ways with their instant military skills and alien scopes that could adjust to eyesight, but in other ways they were utterly bass-ackward. He’d asked it about it once, but the Commander had only told him that both Treya and Earth were stretched thin as it was. They took what they could get.
“Cam.”
He looked up at Sam’s voice and then caught the MRE she threw him. Bacon and egg omelet. He met her gaze over the top of Daniel’s head. The bacon and egg omelets were his favorite. He found them at least palatable with lots of hot sauce. Sam knew that, but they’d run out of that particular flavor nearly a month ago.
“What is this?” he demanded.
She quirked a smile at him. “Food. You eat it and metabolize it into energy and fat.”
He tilted his head sardonically at her. “Sam…”
She shrugged and bent over Daniel, bending the top of his left ear down so she could snip the hair above it. “I traded some homemade whiskey for it. Third platoon still had a few left.”
Cam stared at her, feeling something break and go soft in his chest. The batches of homemade whiskey she’d managed to make over the past few months were few and far between. The ingredients had to be carefully traded for and kept fresh. Her whiskey was the only thing worth trading for on the ground like this, and Sam risked court-martial by even having it, much less making it.
Daniel glanced up at him and held a small book up. “She got me a new journal.”
Cam glanced back at Sam. She ignored him, tilting Daniel’s head away from her so she could make an even cut at his temples. Cam knew she didn’t want him to make a big deal out of it, but it was. These were precious gifts in the war zone. He felt a curling tendril of longing as he watched her. It had been there since the day they’d met and had only grown as they’d gotten to know each other.
He supposed he was a little in love with her. Maybe more than a little. He was sure she knew it, but she kept him at arm’s length, rarely letting him get closer. He enjoyed the friendship, it was just… there was something there, between them, and sometimes she let him know that she felt it too. Sometimes, but not often. Not even here.
He ripped open the MRE, suddenly famished. Daniel shoved his pack at Cam with his toe, and Cam dug the small gas stove and the metal bowl from the depths, taking the rare luxury of heating his food before eating it this time.
It was wonderful. Smoky and spicy and comforting in a familiar way. Odd the way you missed the little things when the big things were all going wrong around you. He ate it all, knowing that neither Sam nor Daniel would accept a portion of this meal from him. He took care of them in other ways, and they’d resigned themselves to that.
By the time he was finished, Sam was sitting in the camp chair and Daniel was carefully trimming the ends of her hair up out of her eyes. She’d initially shaved it up high like the men, but then the cold weather had hit and she’d been too cold. It was long enough now to tie back if she needed it out of the way.
Cam knew he should take a turn in that chair as well. He could feel the hair curling around his ears and down under his collar. He needed to brief the night crew though. He stood, walked over, and leaned down over Sam, pulling her into an embrace. She made a soft, surprised sound, but she hugged him back and he felt her lips press in against his neck. There. He felt it there. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, relaxing into her warmth and her softness, and then he released her and walked on, grabbing Daniel’s shoulder briefly in affection on his way past.
They were the reason he fought these days. He’d long ago given up on Earth.
++
Alamar motioned toward the hologram of words. “These are the supplies we need for the army, sir. General Mitchell has given us a list.”
The Governor frowned and shimmered. “Have the scouts found more sources of the required technology?”
Alamar wavered. “Not yet, sir, but Elos has offered more of their surplus from the Erosian Moon wars. It is remarkably similar to some of the Tau’ri gear.”
“Barter for it and tell them we need it as soon as possible. Until then the army will have to make do with what they have. Nothing else is effective against the Palladians.”
Alamar nodded and backed away. He knew that last comment was dismissive.
++
It was cold, even in the wooden shanty. The wind and icy rains were blocked, but the cracks between the boards let any residual warmth out into the night. Cameron pulled the long, thin, overcoat tighter around himself and watched as Sam cut the last of the gunpowder and packed it into the small explosive boxes. She'd insisted she wasn't cold, but her fingers fumbled a bit with the last of the boxes, even in the fingerless gloves she wore. They were all so tired.
Cam leaned against the wall, unmoving. He stared at the flame on the candle next to Sam. It flickered wildly in the stray currents of air leaking into the shanty. It kept them both in shadow, and he watched it warily even as Sam carefully kept the gunpowder far away from its reach. It was quiet for now, but he felt the impending weight of combat. It would liven up again, sooner or later. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in 30 seconds. He was tired and cold and wet and sick of it all. He watched Sam shiver and wipe fruitlessly against the mud on her cheeks and lips. He listened to her sniff against the virus that seemed to constantly stalk them all. He thought about Daniel lying in the wet grass on the ridge, a plastic poncho the only thing covering him from the elements and the enemy's eye. Daniel who tried really hard not to resent Cameron for the orders he gave, but Cam knew it was all building in the man. Daniel spent his days silent and removed, but Cam would catch glints of anger now and then. It chilled him and made him want to batter that ridge, where Daniel kept his post, into a river of mud and sand.
He was so damn tired.
"Get some sleep, Cam." Sam's voice was quiet and maybe a bit hoarse. "We need you alert."
He huffed out a bitter laugh at that. Awake. Alert. Fresh. He might never be those things again. "We're going to run out of luck soon," he said. His breath puffed out white into the candlelight.
Sam taped up the last box and slid it into her pack. She looked up at him from the table, flickering shadows over her face. "I know."
His chest ached. He could feel it coming. His big mistake. The one that would send them all into the ground. Something was breaking inside of him. Something to do with duty and honor and survival and longing.
He walked over and extinguished the candle with his fingers, enjoying the little burn of heat on his skin. He grabbed Sam's hand, dragging her up from the table and through the shanty's door. She walked silently with him back to the trenches. It was unsafe to sleep anywhere else but down in the mud, now crusty with ice.
He pulled her down on a reasonably dry tarp, pulling a torn canvas tent over the top of them. She settled in closely beside him, her rifle ready by her hip. He listened to the wind and the whispers of soldiers along the trenches, all of them speaking in tongues he'd never heard before.
++
He dreamed about a car, black and powerful, rumbling beneath his hands as he steered it down a long, straight road. All he felt was the wind ripping through the open windows. All he heard were the crickets chirping in a chorus as the night fell. The world blurred beside him, and the centerline of the road, dashes of white, seemed to hurtle toward him.
He woke with a start some time later. The night was silent. His back and legs were cramped and uncomfortable and cold. Sam was pressed against his right side, and there was wonderful warmth between them. He shifted, easing the stiffness in his legs, and he pulled the canvas up further to block the wind from his face. Sam shifted with him, waking.
"What time?" she murmured.
"Late," was all he said. He brought his hands in between them, trying to warm his fingers. Her hands closed around his, pressing warmth into them. He glanced up at her, holding her gaze. She just looked at him, tilting her head against the side of the trench in exhaustion. He heard her swallow, and felt the warm puff of her breath against his lips and chin. He said nothing, not wanting to somehow break the moment.
Eventually, she let his fingers go, and he felt her hands find his coat and slip between the buttons. He didn't ask, he just put his arms around her and drew her close, pressing his palms against her back for warmth. He pulled the canvas up over their heads. Her breath was warm and moist against his face as her fingers worked the buttons of his coat open and then she practically slid inside with him.
Oh god, it was deliciously warm. He found himself focused on her scent and her movement, on the sounds she made as she breathed and sighed. There were equal parts relief and desire in this small effort. He’d been up for over a day, and they’d all been fighting for months. There never seemed to be a rest.
He buried his nose in her neck briefly. "I'm so tired." he sighed.
He meant more than sleepy. He meant bone-weary, and she knew it. In the darkness beneath the canvas, he felt her fingers touch his jaw and rub against the scrape of his beard. She didn't tell him he could walk away, and he didn't tell her how much he thought about it every night. There was nothing to run to.
“There’s something here, Sam, right? Just tell me. Nothing has to happen.”
“Cameron…” She murmured it, an ache in her voice like he was someone she missed. Someone already long gone away from her. Her hands caught his head between them, and she leaned against him, resting her forehead against his temple.
“Please,” he said, and he’d never felt less like a General in his life.
Her lips touched his cheek and then slid down to his jaw. She kissed him chastely, but then her lips lingered. He hesitated, and then turned his head, just a bit. Her lips brushed against his, and then she pressed her mouth to his. He responded almost lazily, letting her lead until she licked against his bottom lip, and he opened his mouth, letting her in. She kissed him with slow movements and short, shallow licks. It was so god damned nice...
She made a soft sound, and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, bringing her closer and shutting them off from the sounds around them. Her mouth was warm and wet and it was Sam… It made the heat in his body roll outward. He kissed her cheek and then her jaw, and then he tasted the coppery tang of dried mud and faint sweat blended together on her skin. Beneath it was her, and he sucked and licked at side of her neck, savoring it.
Sex in a trench would have been ridiculous. He realized after a few moments that both of them knew this, that she was content with the slow, easy touching that didn't escalate into something else. He was torn for a moment, wanting to press and just go with it, and knowing that this just wasn’t the place
"Sam..." He was surprised at the amount of longing in his voice.
She shushed him and went back to kissing him, her tongue teasing his lightly, her hand holding his nape, her thumb rubbing circles into his jaw. He relaxed against her and moved as close as he could. It helped. . He pulled his shirt-tails from his pants, letting her slide her hands up beneath to get warm on his skin. She let him do the same. The bulk of the clothes slowed him down even more. The feel of her mouth as it slid hesitantly to his neck sent warmth down to his toes. His fingers dragged up the smooth skin of her back and touched just the swell of breast under her arms. He got hard, but his body was tired. She stroked his cheek soothingly, finally stopping to rest her head against his again.
When she finally rested and fell asleep, he held her and closed his eyes, still feeling the hum in his exhausted body.
When he woke again it was early dawn. He was cocooned in warmth, and when he glanced left, he found that Daniel had crawled into the trench beside them. He slept with his shoulder pressed to Cam's, his opposite arm hooked around his sniper rifle. He rested his head against the scope.
It was an uneasy alliance, Daniel and that rifle. He took better care of it then he took of himself, and it went everywhere that Daniel went, but sometimes his fingers trembled as he touched it. He thought no one saw.
Cam grabbed his wrist and pulled gently, bringing Daniel closer to he and Sam before shifting the canvas around all of them and then settling down again. He had a whole battalion of aliens beneath him on the ground. He had alien officers and platoon commanders and troops he could barely communicate with, but they all understood one thing: Sam and Daniel were his, and they took orders from no one but him. They'd wake him in less than an hour, but he was going to take every ounce of sleep and human contact he could get until then.
++
“Sir,” Commander Verlok stood before the council, his form rigidly corporeal, as it usually was. “General Mitchell would like an audience with you.”
The Governor frowned and flickered. “Impossible. You know the laws. What does he wish? We will give him whatever he needs to be successful.”
The Commander shifted, his boots scuffing on the floor. He rarely became insubstantial these days. He was a military man, and it did not suit his mindset. “He is worried about Doctor Jackson. He wishes to give Jackson a new designation.”
The Chief of Science, shimmering next to the Governor, broke in. “Doctor Jackson was specifically chosen for the ancient sniper designation. He has all the proper qualifications. Our tests proved that his psyche was capable of handling the stress of such a position, both morally and mentally.”
The Commander ground his figurative teeth against his irritation. Scientists often thought their abstract theories should transfer directly into real life, with no quarter given for the quirks of humanity. Foolish. “Perhaps concessions should be made to the General on behalf of his success.”
The Governor was already becoming more substantial; never a good sign. “No. Half of the major victories against the Palladians came with the help of Doctor Jackson’s skill. He will remain what he is.”
“What do you wish me to tell the General?” Commander Verlok asked.
The Governor smiled. “Tell him we will revoke Doctor Jackson’s sniper designation if Doctor Carter will take it in his stead.”
The Commander hesitated, only the slightest flicker in his form. “You know he will refuse.”
The Governor’s smile only grew wider. “That is, of course, acceptable as well.”
++
Cameron eased himself silently down into the trench in the darkness. The cold weather had had one positive effect. The air was dryer and had soaked up much of the standing water, turning the mud to hard-packed silt. It was late but he wasn’t tired. He walked along through the sleeping bodies and past the sentries until he reached the two familiar forms huddled together under the canvas tarp.
He sank down to his heels across from them, back against the trench wall. Daniel slept, leaning against his rifle, a sight Cameron still wasn’t used to seeing. It drove a spike through his chest every time. Sam slept with her knees drawn up, body leaning against Daniel’s, conserving heat.
They’d fought together long before Cameron had ever come along, and sometimes he wondered about that. About what they’d gone through before they’d met him, what might have passed between them and what part O’Neill had really played in their lives. There were rumors at the SGC, of course, and he’d read the files, but those didn’t tell the emotional story.
He’d asked them once, on a Friday night at his house, while they’d all been joking and laughing and full of his good beer.
”Why didn’t you two ever get together? You’re two of a kind, you know?”
They’d glanced at each other and laughed, their gazes a little flirtatious. Sam had shrugged. ”There’s a window for every friendship, where you either go beyond or stay as you are. And our window has passed.
Daniel had nodded in agreement. The timing was never right, and our chance passed by. And by then, there was…” Jackson had hesitated then, his smile faltering. Cameron had grown alert then, wondering what he was thinking, but Daniel hadn’t said anything else. He’d glanced at Sam, and she’d returned the glance, holding his gaze with serious eyes, and Cam had seen unspoken understanding passing between them.
He’d known he couldn’t ask about it, but he’d been dying to know. O’Neill, he’d thought. It’s about O’Neill.
The party had picked up again. They’d spent the night watching movies and getting drunk. But he’d never looked at the relationship between them in the same way again.
A stiff, cold wind whistled down into the trench. It sent a chill down Cameron’s back. Across from him, Sam huddled closer to Daniel.
For a brief moment, Cam wished O’Neill were here. Had he felt like this when he was in charge? Had he felt this weight on his shoulders, this utter, paralyzing…fear that his fuck-ups would take the lives of those closest to him? Had he loved them because they’d kept him going? Because they’d saved him?
Fuck him. Of course he had.
++
Daniel laid quietly on the ridge, slowly stretching out one leg and then the other. He scanned the wide valley with his scope, fingertips freezing to the metal. His breath rose white and misted. It was so quiet.
Movement startled him, and he brought the scope back a few degrees. There. A Palladian solder creeping just this side of a line of brush. His back was to Daniel, and he carried something in his hand. Daniel squinted and then tapped the scope. It zoomed in. A grenade.
He paused on the figure, lining him up in the crosshairs. It was an easy shot.
Something tugged at his shoulder. He was shrugging it away even as the distant crack of a high-powered rifle echoed across the valley. His breath caught in his throat.
Oh, Jesus… was he already dead?
He rolled away just as another shot ricocheted off the scope of his rifle, kicking it back against his cheek to cut into his skin. He rolled and kept rolling. When he hit a stump, he scrambled backwards, beneath the dead, brown cover of weeds and brush.
Something liquid trickled down his arm. He struggled to keep his breathing under control as he stood up and ran, stumbling down the path, waiting for the last beat of his heart.
++
Sam ducked her head against the spray of hard dirt and gravel. The mortar had hit only yards down the trench from her, its impact jarring her bones and collapsing the reinforced wall of the trench in that section. She heard cries from the soldiers who’d been stationed there. When she stood, the hard kernels of rock scratched at her nape and fell down beneath her collar.
Soldiers ran by, dragging the wounded. She stuffed her notebook and pencil back into her pocket and ran along the length of trench. She could hear the peculiar whistle and whir of bullets over her head, the strange impact of metal on air as they whizzed by. The machine guns chattered constantly from the bunkers on all sides of the camp. Not good.
She climbed the ladder out of the trench, scrambling behind the wall of logs set nearby for cover, as the ground dissolved into a torn mess at her feet, slugs searching for her flesh. She hesitated behind the wall for a moment, catching her breath. They fired at the wall, knowing she was there, the slugs tapping violently at the wood, splintering and cracking it.
The cover of the forest was barely 30 yards away, but it might as well have been miles under this heavy fire. She was pinned down.
The bunker behind her position suddenly became silent.
Oh shit. Shit, shit.
She could chance running. 30 yards in the open. If she ran as fast as she could…
The splintering blitzkrieg against her wall stopped. They were stopping for fear of hitting their own men. She had to get out now. She took a deep breath, counted three, and then launched herself from behind the wall, running for all she was worth.
The trailing fire began immediately, and the bullets popped around her. She changed direction, not wanting to run into a waiting hail of bullets. She felt something hit her boot and changed direction again. She was already half-way there.
The trees of the forest loomed closer, and the bullets stopped.
She ran, afraid a sniper was taking careful aim. Her own breath was loud in her ears.
She had just made the tree line when a shadow suddenly loomed out of the fog. She veered away, but he grabbed her by the sleeve, jerking her up short, her momentum spinning her around him and twisting the fabric in his fingers. He grunted, trying to hold on, and she saw the silver flash of a knife. She knocked his arm away, struggling to bring her rifle up. He grabbed the barrel, forcing it up and out, trying to twist it in her hands and disarm her. She kicked him in the shin, his high boots protecting him. She tried to knee him in the crotch, but he turned his hip, blocking her. The blade of the knife caught against her wool jacket, digging in until she felt the pressure. She punched him in the throat, a glancing blow but it connected and he buckled at the waist, releasing her rifle. She stepped back from him, and he was already recovering, gasping but rising up and coming at her. As she watched, his head suddenly jerked sideways, dark mist settling over his cheeks. His body fell away, shot cleanly.
She glanced up toward the path to the ridge. Daniel rose from his place in the rocks. He slung his rifle quickly over his shoulder and disappeared down the short path into the woods. She turned and ran to meet him.
“You okay?” he asked immediately, nearly crashing into her as they came together. He crushed her to him with one arm, and she muffled a positive answer into his shoulder. He cupped the back of her head as she drew back, holding her close so he could look into her face. “Is that your blood or his?”
“His,” she said, grabbing a fistful of his sleeve. “Thanks to you.” He winced as her fingers found muscle. “Daniel?”
“They drew me out with a decoy. Winged me. I’m okay. Cam’s second is calling orders over the radio.”
Sam lifted her eyes to his, startled. “He might just be too busy.”
“For once, I really hope so.”
She glanced at the dark spot on his sleeve, but they had no time. They ran toward camp.
The camp was a massive confusion of soldiers and action. She ran through it, Daniel at her heels, searching for Cameron. He wasn’t there. One of the battalion commanders shouted at her to get a short-distance salvo ready. She veered off toward the mortar pit. Daniel followed her.
She did the math and fed the mortar soldiers coordinates as Daniel took the information from the scouts and fed it to her. The rain of missiles thundered through the nearby forests and along the ridge and forward trenches. The gun crews from the outer perimeter of bunkers poured into the camp and lined the tree line, forming a barrier against the oncoming enemy.
By evening, the Palladians had fallen back. Sam kept up the salvo, moving it back toward the enemy camp, trying to wound them enough to put them out of action for a while.
When Cameron’s second called a ceasefire, just after nightfall, she was exhausted and dirty and reeked of gun powder. The scouts declared an all-clear soon afterward, and she and Daniel trudged toward the command center to find Cameron.
Instead they found Commander Verlok, crisp and clean in his officer’s uniform, countenance grim. “General Mitchell has been shot,” he told them. He’d never been one to mince words.
“Is he okay?” Daniel demanded, hand finding Sam’s in the dim light of the tent.
The Commander stared at them for a long moment, eyes appraising and cold. “Come. I will take you to him.”
++
The stark, empty rooms of the Treyan’s council building were little comfort. They watched as Cameron dressed, bandage on his head where the bullet had ricocheted off his skull.
“Too hard for lead,” he’d told them, but they hadn’t laughed.
Alamar led them to a small sleeping room, empty save for three military cots that still had mud on their legs. They sat down on the cots and stared at each other and the sterile room around them. The white bandages around Cameron’s head and Daniel’s shoulder looked brilliant next to their soiled uniforms and grimy skin.
When they spoke, the words echoed against the silver, antiseptic walls.
“How did we get here?” Sam finally whispered, knowing they understood she meant more than this room.
“I don’t think it matters,” Cameron answered. He rubbed at his eyes and sniffed. “Nothing matters.”
“I’m too tired,” Daniel murmured, and there was a hitch in his voice. “I don’t think I can sleep.”
Sam put an arm around him, and he slowly leaned into her, his weight taking them both down prone on the cot.
Cameron turned off the light so they could sob in the cover of darkness.
++
“What is his state of mind?” The Governor was less confident today, his form wavering and showing bits of wall through the stripes of his body.
Commander Verlok was as substantial as always. “It is acceptable, considering he was nearly assassinated yesterday.”
“They did not succeed. Our army remains strong and united. The Palladians were driven back.”
“Mitchell is asking more questions today. They all are. He is slowly refusing our explanations, Governor.”
The Governor thought about this, his form flickering rapidly. “He is tired,” the Governor reasoned. “It’s been several moons since they were brought here. Perhaps he could do with some rest.”
Commander Verlok shrugged. “He is due leave, if that is what you are suggesting.”
The Governor’s form solidified. "Pull them from the front lines and send them to one of the uninhabited farms on Toshin. Give them 7 cycles there."
Braneer looked worried. "Is that wise? If they're regaining their bearings, they might remember everything if given time alone together."
"It doesn't matter,” the Governor replied. “There's no gate on Toshin nor any ports. They have to return."
The Commander arched one brow. “If Jackson and Carter return, Mitchell will follow. He hasn’t been fighting for us for a very long time now.”
The Governor gave him a confused glance, but the Commander never expected him to understand. It was the reason they would eventually lose this war.
++
The farm was among shallow, rolling hills, thick with forest and long, waving prairies. It was early autumn in the Northern hemisphere of Toshin, and the treetops were brilliantly colored in reds and golds. The farm was thick with fruit orchards and olive groves, most of the produce already harvested, except the apples that still ripened on the trees.
Cameron climbed from the transport ship with Sam and Daniel and stood with them, watching the ship climb back into the sky. He felt remarkably out-of-place and a bit numb as the virtual silence settled down upon them. It was startling; to stand there out in the open and hear the breeze in the leaves, feel the warmth of the sun. There was still grime under his fingernails and pressed into his scalp, and he felt deaf surrounded by the quiet peace of the farm.
He suddenly wondered if this had been a good idea.
“Oh God,” Sam groaned, dragging her duffel bag toward the house. “Dibs on the shower!”
Daniel took off after her, protesting and racing her for it.
Cameron stood in the silence of the yard, listening to the wind and just breathing. He’d been weighted down for months, with responsibility and worry and second-guesses, and now it had all receded in a moment. It was eerily terrifying, despite his combat experience over the years.
At least on the line, he hadn’t had time to dwell on it all.
++
It was a small house, with a well-stocked kitchen and an amazing array of Earth-like furniture. The early afternoon sun shone through the windows and onto the wooden floors. The pantry and cellar were full of bottles, sealed in old-fashioned wire-locked lids. Vinegar, wine and ale. Apple cider, some of it hard with alcohol.
The grounds outside were vast and unpopulated. Workers from nearby towns came in to gather fruit. The fields were long-tilled and the dead leaves were starting to litter the ground. They could wander as far as they wished, as long as they were back in seven days, when their leave would end. The house was surrounded by shallow hills, a small orchard just to the east and forests everywhere else.
Sam reached the shower first and took her time in the seemingly limitless (he hoped) hot water. There was one bathroom, one bedroom, and Cameron wondered about that. Wondered at the freedom of the Treyan military and the way relationships were ignored, even encouraged.
He sat heavily in a bedroom chair just outside of the bathroom feeling odd. Daniel sat silently across from him, both of them listening to the rush of water in Sam’s shower, waiting for their turn. The silence had been too much when they'd first arrived. He was rested but could still feel the exhaustion behind his eyes and filling the space between his bones and his skin. There was a numbness that suffused him and made him feel as if he were standing still, the world still rushing around him. Indeed, he'd come to realize as they'd flown here in the ship, as he'd gazed out over fields and ports and people, that the rest of the universe had not stopped to battle along with them. It went on, living and breathing. But they'd stopped some time ago to stand in one place and look at one thing, to wait for one bullet.
It was a disquieting thought.
Sam gave a moan then. Faint but unmistakable. He understood why. Hot water-any water to wash in-had been a rarity in the field, but it didn't matter. It was still a sound full of pleasure and surrender, and it made his dick thicken rapidly.
He glanced at Daniel waiting in the other chair and saw him swallow hard.
The sound of the water was hypnotic. The sound of the spray hitting skin and tile conjured images. He could almost feel the heat of the water, the steam, as it slid over smooth, pale skin. He could feel it washing away the grime on his own body, and he could see the soap sliding down Sam's. He saw her hands helping it along, pushing the water and the soap along rounded breasts and hips.
And now he could smell the soap wafting from the shower room.
Daniel looked up and met his gaze. They didn't speak, but they both shifted and then glanced away. Cam closed his eyes.
She came out in a towel, the warm steam following her. Her skin was shiny clean, her hair still damp and falling in her eyes. She groaned, “Next.” Then she fell onto the bed and laid there, eyes closed.
Cameron couldn’t help it. He took in every inch of bare skin that she was offering. It wasn’t much. Shoulders, arms and some leg from mid-thigh down, but it was enough to make his mouth dry. The bathroom door closed as Daniel snuck in ahead of him.
“You feel okay?” Cam asked her, voice a bit unsteady. He wondered if either of them felt as jumpy as he did.
She turned to look at him, hands grabbing her towel to hold it in place. “Getting there,” she said softly.
He nodded. She held his gaze, a bit too long, and he finally looked away. She was washed clean of the battlefield, he wasn’t. Not yet. He was just going to sit here until his turn came to wash the last few months off of his skin. Then he’d feel better.
++
Except he didn’t.
They were both gone, and the house was silent when he finally walked out of the bathroom. He pulled on jeans and a black T-shirt and a pair of new boots that had never seen the mud of the trenches. He walked out through the house, looking for them.
He felt a bit punchy now. Restless.
When he’d been at the front, he’d dreamed of a place like this, where he could get clean and sleep for days. Some place he could sit and do nothing and feel safe from the bullets and responsibility. Now… he couldn’t slow down. It felt strangely stifling here, and they’d only been here for a couple hours. He was tense, wound-up, ready for battle, still aching with exhaustion and the sharp edge of fear but unable to let it go.
Sam was swinging slowly in a hammock out back. She had a pair of worn, soft jeans on and a flannel shirt that looked much too masculine to have belonged to her. Her bare feet were crossed at the ankles, and she smiled slightly, eyes closed. Her hair had dried to pale, wispy chaos.
He leaned down over her, smelling the soap they’d all used. She opened her eyes and stared up at him. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He wondered if there was room for two in the hammock. “What’re you doing?”
“Nap,” she said, with a happy grin.
He smiled back, feeling a little heat settle in his groin. Punchy and tense and horny. He’d been prepared for this. How the desire for sex comes crashing back on furlough from combat. It never really leaves, but it goes into remission while you think about more important things. Kissing Sam under a tarp in a trench hadn’t helped.
She reached up and gingerly touched the place on the side of his head where the sniper’s bullet had grazed him. “Thank God he was a lousy shot.”
“I think it was more about me not holding still for him.”
She pulled his head down and kissed his forehead. “Whatever.”
He thought about kissing her on the mouth, seeing how she responded, but she looked so blissful as she closed her eyes, settling in for her nap. They had a week.
“Where’s Daniel?” he asked.
She waved in the general direction he’d gone. “Went for a walk.”
Cam pressed a quick kiss to her mouth and set off, walking briskly away before she could say anything.
++
Read Part 2
Against All Enemies
by jennghis kahn
For dirty_diana, who wanted:
Grouping: Sam/Daniel/Cam
A required prompt or category: team bonding
A special request: speed
Restrictions (please limit to three):no schmoop
It, uh, sort of fits all those requirements. I don’t think it’s exactly what you had in mind, but I hope you like it anyway. J
Rating: ADULT (SERIOUSLY. This is pretty smutty.)
Category: Action/Angst/Romance
Warnings: Language, violence, graphic sex
++
Thanks MUCH to _minxy_ for all the hard beta work. She had the unenviable task of beta reading my first really substantial fic in nearly a year. I’ve been writing so many really short stories that I feel my storytelling ability took quite a hit. Any remaining errors or lapses in writing judgment are absolutely mine and should not reflect on her in any way.
**
There was movement finally, in the enemy bunker, come early morning.
Cameron squinted into the eyepieces of the binoculars as if it might gain him a few more precious feet of clarity. Instead the edges blurred. Tendrils of the fog were obscuring the wide lengths of enemy trenches, but Cam could make out shadows moving behind the opaque wall.
He thumbed his radio and spoke softly. "Jackson, be ready."
"What do you think I’ve been doing the past two hours?" came the sarcastic reply.
Cam rolled his eyes and tightened his jaw. The trench he was standing in smelled vaguely of shit and wet fur. He had no idea why except mud and rain and human soldiers on the edge always seemed to create a certain stench. One of the timbers supporting the side of the muddy trench was digging into his hip. The front of his uniform was wet and dirty, and his skin itched wherever it touched the dark gray wool.
The shapes across the field increased in number and pace. Something was definitely happening. He thumbed the radio again. "Jackson, can you see anything?"
There was a silence as Daniel checked his scope again. From his location on the ridge above he was in a better position to see inside the enemy bunkers. Things had been quiet for days. Cam was hoping the false sense of security would lead this particular enemy company to make a mistake.
"Mitchell." Daniel's voice was quiet and urgent.
"Go ahead."
"They just trucked in an older guy in uniform. No insignia, but he's definitely somebody."
Cam grinned. No insignia? They might as well have put a neon sign over his head. Had to be a general. They rarely showed up on the front like this, but it wasn't unheard of. Some leaders needed that adrenalin fix.
"Mitchell?"
"Hold on." Cam glanced across the trench to where Sam sat on a shallowly buried rock a few yards away. "Sam?"
Her muddy helmet hung against her back, held around her neck by a thin strap that dug clean grooves into her dirty skin. Her pale hair had stayed remarkably bright under the protection of the helmet. She held the short stub of a greasy pencil in her fingers, working furiously over a small notebook, doing the math by hand.
"Sam?" He said again, louder this time.
Her head jerked up, eyes wide and blue in the dried mud on her face. "One more minute. I think I've got it this time."
"Now, Sam. Daniel needs to take the shot."
She dropped her head back to her notebook and then cursed softly as the tip broke on her pencil. She quickly pulled a small knife from her boot and began whittling furiously at the stub, sharpening the lead back into a point.
Cam turned back to the binoculars. "Jackson? You still got a shot?"
"Yeah." There was a hesitation in which Daniel didn't let go of the send button. "Cam..."
Cam felt a sinking in his gut and thumped his forehead against the eyepieces of the binoculars. "Daniel, don't start."
"I just... he's not armed."
"I've got it!" Sam's voice was brilliant behind him.
"You want this war to end, Jackson?" Cameron deliberately made his voice hard.
"You know I do." Daniel's voice was resentful. "Never mind."
Cam ignored the ache in his chest. He hated that he had to force Daniel. He held a hand back toward Sam. "On my word, Sam."
She gave a very un-military grunt of agreement and he heard the clicks as she entered the coordinates she'd just figured out into the launching navigational unit.
Come on, Daniel. One more time...
++
Daniel tore up the long grass that was tickling his chin as he lay in a patch of weeds on the ridge. Something was buzzing in his ear and he shrugged his shoulder up high to nudge it away. Up here, away from the rest of the battle, he could hear the faint echoes of small noises. Truck brakes and someone chopping a tree down with an axe, for firewood most likely. A small voice here and there. Mostly though, there was silence. Unnatural.
He settled more firmly on his elbows and dug his toes into the ground. Shoving his glasses up over his forehead, he slowly folded himself around the sniper rifle and snugged the stock up against his cheek as he brought his eye down to the scope. The world snapped into clear focus as the alien-made scope adjusted to his vision. He watched the man behind the enemy line. He was still moving, talking to his field commanders. Daniel focused in, following the shape until he couldn't hear the buzzing or the far off thunder or the leaves rustling in the wind anymore.
The target stopped moving and stood next to a table, looking down.
Daniel took a long, slow breath and let it out. He curled his finger around the trigger. When he felt the calmness, he moved minutely, lining up the cross hairs. He stilled and, between one heartbeat and the next, he squeezed the trigger.
The sharp retort of the rifle had barely filled his ears when red mist exploded out around the man's head and he dropped below the sight of Daniel's scope. For a moment the world was silent save for the long, fading echoes of the shot rolling through the hills. Seconds later the enemy alarms sounded, but by then Sam's salvo was peppering the bunker with mortar rounds and missiles. They were always more effective in the confusion after an assassination.
Daniel shuffled backwards on his belly, out of the line of fire from the enemy snipers that would be hunting furiously for him.
When he was safe, he stood and ran back toward camp, rifle bouncing against his back, his heart in his throat.
++
Alamar hesitated outside of the Governor’s chambers. His place as Chief Liaison was not an easy one, especially with this governor, and he so disliked delivering dubious news. He dispersed and drifted through the wall, triggering the tone that announced the arrival of another Treyan.
The Governor hovered in his energy bath and motioned at him to report.
Alamar reported, “There are aliens making inquiries about the Tau’ri in the galaxy where they were abducted.”
“Aliens?” The Governor made a show of raising his cloudy eyebrows.
“A Jaffa and a Tau’ri woman. They are asking for the Tau’ri by name.”
The Governor scowled. “A Jaffa?”
Alamar shimmered slightly. “The Jaffa have recently risen up against the Goa’uld and created their own society.”
The Governor looked thoughtful at that. “Jaffa are stronger than Tau’ri. Perhaps we need some Jaffa to fight this war…”
Alamar felt fairly alarmed. “Sir, the larvae they store in their body cavities are not fully grown Goa’uld, but they are still strong. The software…”
“Right.” The Governor waved his insubstantial hand at Alamar. “Do not worry. We have covered our tracks carefully. We have nothing to fear. Tell the scouts to scale down acquisitions in that galaxy for the time being, and to make sure they take no Tau’ri. That should be easy enough considering how rare their species is. Mitchell is the first general that has been effective in our fight against the Palladians. We must guard him closely.”
“As you wish,” Alamar said quietly. He bowed as he backed out of the room.
++
++
The evening was blissfully quiet. It would be for some time now as the Palladians and their allies regrouped. According to preliminary and ongoing scout reports, Sam’s salvo had been devastating.
Half a click from the trenches was their immediate support camp. As the sun set, Daniel sat alone using an old tree stump as a table. He carefully disassembled the sniper rifle, laying the parts out on the stump. The sunset was brilliant, reflecting off the settling mists. Yellow and orange and a bright blood-red. He watched it, fingers slowly sliding across each small piece of the rifle, cold metal warming in his hands. He cleaned and oiled the components carefully. The gun was cleaner than he was. This is my rifle, this is my gun…
He felt homesick.
He watched the sunset and remembered warm winds over his skin, sand and temples and knowledge of ancient cultures. There had been so many evenings like this, when the sun had set brilliantly and he’d been safe in his knowledge. When the weariness he’d felt had been a good thing, a satisfying thing. When the sounds of his friends laughing had been common. When he’d occasionally touched someone else in a way that hadn’t been laced with fear and desperation and gut wrenching worry.
He was getting old, because he could barely remember how Earth had landed in this war in the first place. He realized he had no idea how long he’d been out here, fighting on the frontlines with Cameron and Sam. He wondered where Jack was… He glanced down, locking the last part of the rifle into place.
There was misted blood on the back of his hand.
He stared at it for a moment, his heart seeming to pause inside his chest. How the hell? He’d been 500 yards away from his target, and his brain wouldn’t see anything but that red cloud as the officer’s brain had vaporized inside his skull.
He dropped the rifle, and rubbed frantically at the blood. It smeared and then faded, but not completely. The small dots were still distinct and stubborn. He grabbed a scouring pad from his rifle cleaning kit and rubbed at the dots until they disappeared and the pad was black with dirt and grime. The skin on his hand was bright red and raw. He swallowed.
When he put the pad down, he saw more dots on his opposite hand. He stared, mouth open, until… he realized it wasn’t blood at all. Just mud turned crimson in the sunset.
He felt his eyes getting wet, and he slumped a bit.
Sometimes this all felt so wrong, it was painful. It was more than the blood. More than how they’d never asked him what he wanted to do, but had just downloaded the sniper skill into his head. It was the way he couldn’t remember joining the Air Force. He couldn’t remember lots of things. And it made no difference. He was here with the rest of Earth’s allies fighting for survival, and as much as he felt oddly disconnected from all of it, he couldn’t leave Sam or Cameron.
“Jackson.” Cam’s voice behind him was soft and tentative.
Daniel didn’t turn. He knew what Cam wanted. What he always wanted after Daniel had made a kill. Daniel smoothed over the abrasion on his hand, smudging the dirt over the top of the freshly uncovered skin. “It’s okay, General. It’s just a job, right?” He put some extra emphasis on the word ‘General’.
There was a silence and then Daniel felt Cam slide down behind him and sit, back to back with him. Daniel turned his head slightly.
Cam drew his knees up and locked his arms around them, crossing his ankles as he dug his heels into the grass. “I hate making you do that.”
Daniel turned back to his impromptu table and watched the last fading tones of the sunset, absently rubbing his hand. He ignored the comment, unsure how to make it better for Cameron and for himself. It wasn’t anything they could help, it just was. He hated how they couldn’t look each other in the eye afterward. One man gave the order, one man took it, and one man died. Again and again.
Degrade. Daniel thought. I’m degrading. Eroding. Pieces crumbling away and washing downstream.
“Jackson…” Cam’s voice was soft and rasping, catching and dragging against Daniel’s ears in that deceptively despondent tone he had.
Daniel leaned back a bit, letting the warmth of Cam’s back, the solid structure of it, take his weight and comfort him. “Do you remember the day this all started?”
Cam leaned back as well, relaxing into it, relief evident. Forgiveness accepted. “Which day? The day we came to the front lines?”
“No, the day Earth was attacked. The day they… must have shut down the SGC and sent us away to fight.”
“I…” Cam trailed off and was silent.
“I don’t remember joining the Air Force.”
“We can ask Commander Verlok. I’m sure he’ll know.”
Daniel stared at the sunset. “That’s not really the point, Cam.”
Cam rocked a bit again, pushing against Daniel’s back. “What do you want to do, Daniel? We’re here and it’s miserable, but Earth is safe as long as we stay.”
“Is it? How do we know?”
Cam took a deep breath. “What do you want me to do, Daniel?”
“Ask a few questions the next time you’re summoned to the council.”
Cam nodded, feeling defeated. “Okay.”
Daniel was silent then, and the Palladians remained distant and wounded. The sunset remained undisturbed for the first time in months.
++
Alamar stood quietly behind the Governor, waiting to be noticed. It was a long time coming. The Governor preferred to make his officers wait. To studiously show them their place in the world.
Alamar played the game, but he was silently eager for the new elections, when this Governor might be toppled and replaced with someone less… distasteful.
“Report, Alamar.” His summons finally came.
“General Mitchell has eliminated the Palladians’ Chief of Staff, sir.”
The Governor turned with a flourish, a delighted smile on his face. His accompanying aides and the two members of council he’d been conversing with also looked appropriately happy. “Excellent!”
Alamar let the group go through a round of self-congratulation before clearing his throat. “Umm…”
The Governor’s blue-tinted face shimmered in the air, and he frowned at Alamar, making himself rigidly corporeal. “What is it.” It was a demand, not a question.
“He’s asking questions, sir.” Alamar told him. “About the war and how it started. About his past.”
The Governor thought about this, his form drifting back to insubstantial. He shimmered again. “You said the downloads were secure, Braneer.” He aimed his glare at a delicately robed officer, the Chief of Science.
Braneer’s form flickered wildly for a moment before he got himself under control. “The imprinting software wasn’t designed to be used in this way, Governor. It isn’t meant to create falsehoods. It is only meant to instantly imprint military skill sets.”
“I thought you said their old memories would not be affected.”
“They will not, but we couldn’t foresee how the program would affect them since we haven’t used it in this fashion before. It seems to have different effects on different species. The only memories we created for them were of an alliance between Earth and Treya. But, as I have said, the software was not meant for such a use. We have no idea how strong or durable the integrity of these memories will be. I told you I did not think they would be permanent. They will degrade over time.”
“It does not matter what you told me, Braneer,” the Governor replied, shifting the blame as was his way. “You are my Chief of Science. It is your job to make things work. We cannot fight this war ourselves with an enemy so primitive. You will destroy us all if this does not work!”
Braneer’s blue form paled slightly. “Yes, sir. I will increase my staff and work harder.”
“You’d better.” The Governor’s form solidified alarmingly.
+++
The distant firefight was starting to calm down. Only sporadic firing split the air now, and Cam took a moment to relax. The coming night would signal the shift to scouting and guard duty rather than active attack. He sank down with a sigh into a camp chair, feeling it dig down into the mud under his weight.
In front of him, Daniel sat on a similar chair, perching patiently while Sam cut his hair. She circled around him, cutting the hair up close against his head, leaving the top long. Cam listened to the snip-snip of the ancient scissors. He’d have killed for one piece of modern technology from the SGC. A zat or a long-range radio or even some battery-operated socks to keep his feet warm. Shit, he’d take a goddamned pen right about now so Sam didn’t have to whittle at her pencils all day long.
The Treyans had outfitted them with the oddest mishmash of vintage gear he’d ever seen. Some of the stuff was alien and might have been high-tech. Or not, he just wasn’t sure. Some of it seemed right out of 1942 as the German Army battled the allied forces. They were effortlessly progressive in some ways with their instant military skills and alien scopes that could adjust to eyesight, but in other ways they were utterly bass-ackward. He’d asked it about it once, but the Commander had only told him that both Treya and Earth were stretched thin as it was. They took what they could get.
“Cam.”
He looked up at Sam’s voice and then caught the MRE she threw him. Bacon and egg omelet. He met her gaze over the top of Daniel’s head. The bacon and egg omelets were his favorite. He found them at least palatable with lots of hot sauce. Sam knew that, but they’d run out of that particular flavor nearly a month ago.
“What is this?” he demanded.
She quirked a smile at him. “Food. You eat it and metabolize it into energy and fat.”
He tilted his head sardonically at her. “Sam…”
She shrugged and bent over Daniel, bending the top of his left ear down so she could snip the hair above it. “I traded some homemade whiskey for it. Third platoon still had a few left.”
Cam stared at her, feeling something break and go soft in his chest. The batches of homemade whiskey she’d managed to make over the past few months were few and far between. The ingredients had to be carefully traded for and kept fresh. Her whiskey was the only thing worth trading for on the ground like this, and Sam risked court-martial by even having it, much less making it.
Daniel glanced up at him and held a small book up. “She got me a new journal.”
Cam glanced back at Sam. She ignored him, tilting Daniel’s head away from her so she could make an even cut at his temples. Cam knew she didn’t want him to make a big deal out of it, but it was. These were precious gifts in the war zone. He felt a curling tendril of longing as he watched her. It had been there since the day they’d met and had only grown as they’d gotten to know each other.
He supposed he was a little in love with her. Maybe more than a little. He was sure she knew it, but she kept him at arm’s length, rarely letting him get closer. He enjoyed the friendship, it was just… there was something there, between them, and sometimes she let him know that she felt it too. Sometimes, but not often. Not even here.
He ripped open the MRE, suddenly famished. Daniel shoved his pack at Cam with his toe, and Cam dug the small gas stove and the metal bowl from the depths, taking the rare luxury of heating his food before eating it this time.
It was wonderful. Smoky and spicy and comforting in a familiar way. Odd the way you missed the little things when the big things were all going wrong around you. He ate it all, knowing that neither Sam nor Daniel would accept a portion of this meal from him. He took care of them in other ways, and they’d resigned themselves to that.
By the time he was finished, Sam was sitting in the camp chair and Daniel was carefully trimming the ends of her hair up out of her eyes. She’d initially shaved it up high like the men, but then the cold weather had hit and she’d been too cold. It was long enough now to tie back if she needed it out of the way.
Cam knew he should take a turn in that chair as well. He could feel the hair curling around his ears and down under his collar. He needed to brief the night crew though. He stood, walked over, and leaned down over Sam, pulling her into an embrace. She made a soft, surprised sound, but she hugged him back and he felt her lips press in against his neck. There. He felt it there. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, relaxing into her warmth and her softness, and then he released her and walked on, grabbing Daniel’s shoulder briefly in affection on his way past.
They were the reason he fought these days. He’d long ago given up on Earth.
++
Alamar motioned toward the hologram of words. “These are the supplies we need for the army, sir. General Mitchell has given us a list.”
The Governor frowned and shimmered. “Have the scouts found more sources of the required technology?”
Alamar wavered. “Not yet, sir, but Elos has offered more of their surplus from the Erosian Moon wars. It is remarkably similar to some of the Tau’ri gear.”
“Barter for it and tell them we need it as soon as possible. Until then the army will have to make do with what they have. Nothing else is effective against the Palladians.”
Alamar nodded and backed away. He knew that last comment was dismissive.
++
It was cold, even in the wooden shanty. The wind and icy rains were blocked, but the cracks between the boards let any residual warmth out into the night. Cameron pulled the long, thin, overcoat tighter around himself and watched as Sam cut the last of the gunpowder and packed it into the small explosive boxes. She'd insisted she wasn't cold, but her fingers fumbled a bit with the last of the boxes, even in the fingerless gloves she wore. They were all so tired.
Cam leaned against the wall, unmoving. He stared at the flame on the candle next to Sam. It flickered wildly in the stray currents of air leaking into the shanty. It kept them both in shadow, and he watched it warily even as Sam carefully kept the gunpowder far away from its reach. It was quiet for now, but he felt the impending weight of combat. It would liven up again, sooner or later. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in 30 seconds. He was tired and cold and wet and sick of it all. He watched Sam shiver and wipe fruitlessly against the mud on her cheeks and lips. He listened to her sniff against the virus that seemed to constantly stalk them all. He thought about Daniel lying in the wet grass on the ridge, a plastic poncho the only thing covering him from the elements and the enemy's eye. Daniel who tried really hard not to resent Cameron for the orders he gave, but Cam knew it was all building in the man. Daniel spent his days silent and removed, but Cam would catch glints of anger now and then. It chilled him and made him want to batter that ridge, where Daniel kept his post, into a river of mud and sand.
He was so damn tired.
"Get some sleep, Cam." Sam's voice was quiet and maybe a bit hoarse. "We need you alert."
He huffed out a bitter laugh at that. Awake. Alert. Fresh. He might never be those things again. "We're going to run out of luck soon," he said. His breath puffed out white into the candlelight.
Sam taped up the last box and slid it into her pack. She looked up at him from the table, flickering shadows over her face. "I know."
His chest ached. He could feel it coming. His big mistake. The one that would send them all into the ground. Something was breaking inside of him. Something to do with duty and honor and survival and longing.
He walked over and extinguished the candle with his fingers, enjoying the little burn of heat on his skin. He grabbed Sam's hand, dragging her up from the table and through the shanty's door. She walked silently with him back to the trenches. It was unsafe to sleep anywhere else but down in the mud, now crusty with ice.
He pulled her down on a reasonably dry tarp, pulling a torn canvas tent over the top of them. She settled in closely beside him, her rifle ready by her hip. He listened to the wind and the whispers of soldiers along the trenches, all of them speaking in tongues he'd never heard before.
++
He dreamed about a car, black and powerful, rumbling beneath his hands as he steered it down a long, straight road. All he felt was the wind ripping through the open windows. All he heard were the crickets chirping in a chorus as the night fell. The world blurred beside him, and the centerline of the road, dashes of white, seemed to hurtle toward him.
He woke with a start some time later. The night was silent. His back and legs were cramped and uncomfortable and cold. Sam was pressed against his right side, and there was wonderful warmth between them. He shifted, easing the stiffness in his legs, and he pulled the canvas up further to block the wind from his face. Sam shifted with him, waking.
"What time?" she murmured.
"Late," was all he said. He brought his hands in between them, trying to warm his fingers. Her hands closed around his, pressing warmth into them. He glanced up at her, holding her gaze. She just looked at him, tilting her head against the side of the trench in exhaustion. He heard her swallow, and felt the warm puff of her breath against his lips and chin. He said nothing, not wanting to somehow break the moment.
Eventually, she let his fingers go, and he felt her hands find his coat and slip between the buttons. He didn't ask, he just put his arms around her and drew her close, pressing his palms against her back for warmth. He pulled the canvas up over their heads. Her breath was warm and moist against his face as her fingers worked the buttons of his coat open and then she practically slid inside with him.
Oh god, it was deliciously warm. He found himself focused on her scent and her movement, on the sounds she made as she breathed and sighed. There were equal parts relief and desire in this small effort. He’d been up for over a day, and they’d all been fighting for months. There never seemed to be a rest.
He buried his nose in her neck briefly. "I'm so tired." he sighed.
He meant more than sleepy. He meant bone-weary, and she knew it. In the darkness beneath the canvas, he felt her fingers touch his jaw and rub against the scrape of his beard. She didn't tell him he could walk away, and he didn't tell her how much he thought about it every night. There was nothing to run to.
“There’s something here, Sam, right? Just tell me. Nothing has to happen.”
“Cameron…” She murmured it, an ache in her voice like he was someone she missed. Someone already long gone away from her. Her hands caught his head between them, and she leaned against him, resting her forehead against his temple.
“Please,” he said, and he’d never felt less like a General in his life.
Her lips touched his cheek and then slid down to his jaw. She kissed him chastely, but then her lips lingered. He hesitated, and then turned his head, just a bit. Her lips brushed against his, and then she pressed her mouth to his. He responded almost lazily, letting her lead until she licked against his bottom lip, and he opened his mouth, letting her in. She kissed him with slow movements and short, shallow licks. It was so god damned nice...
She made a soft sound, and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, bringing her closer and shutting them off from the sounds around them. Her mouth was warm and wet and it was Sam… It made the heat in his body roll outward. He kissed her cheek and then her jaw, and then he tasted the coppery tang of dried mud and faint sweat blended together on her skin. Beneath it was her, and he sucked and licked at side of her neck, savoring it.
Sex in a trench would have been ridiculous. He realized after a few moments that both of them knew this, that she was content with the slow, easy touching that didn't escalate into something else. He was torn for a moment, wanting to press and just go with it, and knowing that this just wasn’t the place
"Sam..." He was surprised at the amount of longing in his voice.
She shushed him and went back to kissing him, her tongue teasing his lightly, her hand holding his nape, her thumb rubbing circles into his jaw. He relaxed against her and moved as close as he could. It helped. . He pulled his shirt-tails from his pants, letting her slide her hands up beneath to get warm on his skin. She let him do the same. The bulk of the clothes slowed him down even more. The feel of her mouth as it slid hesitantly to his neck sent warmth down to his toes. His fingers dragged up the smooth skin of her back and touched just the swell of breast under her arms. He got hard, but his body was tired. She stroked his cheek soothingly, finally stopping to rest her head against his again.
When she finally rested and fell asleep, he held her and closed his eyes, still feeling the hum in his exhausted body.
When he woke again it was early dawn. He was cocooned in warmth, and when he glanced left, he found that Daniel had crawled into the trench beside them. He slept with his shoulder pressed to Cam's, his opposite arm hooked around his sniper rifle. He rested his head against the scope.
It was an uneasy alliance, Daniel and that rifle. He took better care of it then he took of himself, and it went everywhere that Daniel went, but sometimes his fingers trembled as he touched it. He thought no one saw.
Cam grabbed his wrist and pulled gently, bringing Daniel closer to he and Sam before shifting the canvas around all of them and then settling down again. He had a whole battalion of aliens beneath him on the ground. He had alien officers and platoon commanders and troops he could barely communicate with, but they all understood one thing: Sam and Daniel were his, and they took orders from no one but him. They'd wake him in less than an hour, but he was going to take every ounce of sleep and human contact he could get until then.
++
“Sir,” Commander Verlok stood before the council, his form rigidly corporeal, as it usually was. “General Mitchell would like an audience with you.”
The Governor frowned and flickered. “Impossible. You know the laws. What does he wish? We will give him whatever he needs to be successful.”
The Commander shifted, his boots scuffing on the floor. He rarely became insubstantial these days. He was a military man, and it did not suit his mindset. “He is worried about Doctor Jackson. He wishes to give Jackson a new designation.”
The Chief of Science, shimmering next to the Governor, broke in. “Doctor Jackson was specifically chosen for the ancient sniper designation. He has all the proper qualifications. Our tests proved that his psyche was capable of handling the stress of such a position, both morally and mentally.”
The Commander ground his figurative teeth against his irritation. Scientists often thought their abstract theories should transfer directly into real life, with no quarter given for the quirks of humanity. Foolish. “Perhaps concessions should be made to the General on behalf of his success.”
The Governor was already becoming more substantial; never a good sign. “No. Half of the major victories against the Palladians came with the help of Doctor Jackson’s skill. He will remain what he is.”
“What do you wish me to tell the General?” Commander Verlok asked.
The Governor smiled. “Tell him we will revoke Doctor Jackson’s sniper designation if Doctor Carter will take it in his stead.”
The Commander hesitated, only the slightest flicker in his form. “You know he will refuse.”
The Governor’s smile only grew wider. “That is, of course, acceptable as well.”
++
Cameron eased himself silently down into the trench in the darkness. The cold weather had had one positive effect. The air was dryer and had soaked up much of the standing water, turning the mud to hard-packed silt. It was late but he wasn’t tired. He walked along through the sleeping bodies and past the sentries until he reached the two familiar forms huddled together under the canvas tarp.
He sank down to his heels across from them, back against the trench wall. Daniel slept, leaning against his rifle, a sight Cameron still wasn’t used to seeing. It drove a spike through his chest every time. Sam slept with her knees drawn up, body leaning against Daniel’s, conserving heat.
They’d fought together long before Cameron had ever come along, and sometimes he wondered about that. About what they’d gone through before they’d met him, what might have passed between them and what part O’Neill had really played in their lives. There were rumors at the SGC, of course, and he’d read the files, but those didn’t tell the emotional story.
He’d asked them once, on a Friday night at his house, while they’d all been joking and laughing and full of his good beer.
”Why didn’t you two ever get together? You’re two of a kind, you know?”
They’d glanced at each other and laughed, their gazes a little flirtatious. Sam had shrugged. ”There’s a window for every friendship, where you either go beyond or stay as you are. And our window has passed.
Daniel had nodded in agreement. The timing was never right, and our chance passed by. And by then, there was…” Jackson had hesitated then, his smile faltering. Cameron had grown alert then, wondering what he was thinking, but Daniel hadn’t said anything else. He’d glanced at Sam, and she’d returned the glance, holding his gaze with serious eyes, and Cam had seen unspoken understanding passing between them.
He’d known he couldn’t ask about it, but he’d been dying to know. O’Neill, he’d thought. It’s about O’Neill.
The party had picked up again. They’d spent the night watching movies and getting drunk. But he’d never looked at the relationship between them in the same way again.
A stiff, cold wind whistled down into the trench. It sent a chill down Cameron’s back. Across from him, Sam huddled closer to Daniel.
For a brief moment, Cam wished O’Neill were here. Had he felt like this when he was in charge? Had he felt this weight on his shoulders, this utter, paralyzing…fear that his fuck-ups would take the lives of those closest to him? Had he loved them because they’d kept him going? Because they’d saved him?
Fuck him. Of course he had.
++
Daniel laid quietly on the ridge, slowly stretching out one leg and then the other. He scanned the wide valley with his scope, fingertips freezing to the metal. His breath rose white and misted. It was so quiet.
Movement startled him, and he brought the scope back a few degrees. There. A Palladian solder creeping just this side of a line of brush. His back was to Daniel, and he carried something in his hand. Daniel squinted and then tapped the scope. It zoomed in. A grenade.
He paused on the figure, lining him up in the crosshairs. It was an easy shot.
Something tugged at his shoulder. He was shrugging it away even as the distant crack of a high-powered rifle echoed across the valley. His breath caught in his throat.
Oh, Jesus… was he already dead?
He rolled away just as another shot ricocheted off the scope of his rifle, kicking it back against his cheek to cut into his skin. He rolled and kept rolling. When he hit a stump, he scrambled backwards, beneath the dead, brown cover of weeds and brush.
Something liquid trickled down his arm. He struggled to keep his breathing under control as he stood up and ran, stumbling down the path, waiting for the last beat of his heart.
++
Sam ducked her head against the spray of hard dirt and gravel. The mortar had hit only yards down the trench from her, its impact jarring her bones and collapsing the reinforced wall of the trench in that section. She heard cries from the soldiers who’d been stationed there. When she stood, the hard kernels of rock scratched at her nape and fell down beneath her collar.
Soldiers ran by, dragging the wounded. She stuffed her notebook and pencil back into her pocket and ran along the length of trench. She could hear the peculiar whistle and whir of bullets over her head, the strange impact of metal on air as they whizzed by. The machine guns chattered constantly from the bunkers on all sides of the camp. Not good.
She climbed the ladder out of the trench, scrambling behind the wall of logs set nearby for cover, as the ground dissolved into a torn mess at her feet, slugs searching for her flesh. She hesitated behind the wall for a moment, catching her breath. They fired at the wall, knowing she was there, the slugs tapping violently at the wood, splintering and cracking it.
The cover of the forest was barely 30 yards away, but it might as well have been miles under this heavy fire. She was pinned down.
The bunker behind her position suddenly became silent.
Oh shit. Shit, shit.
She could chance running. 30 yards in the open. If she ran as fast as she could…
The splintering blitzkrieg against her wall stopped. They were stopping for fear of hitting their own men. She had to get out now. She took a deep breath, counted three, and then launched herself from behind the wall, running for all she was worth.
The trailing fire began immediately, and the bullets popped around her. She changed direction, not wanting to run into a waiting hail of bullets. She felt something hit her boot and changed direction again. She was already half-way there.
The trees of the forest loomed closer, and the bullets stopped.
She ran, afraid a sniper was taking careful aim. Her own breath was loud in her ears.
She had just made the tree line when a shadow suddenly loomed out of the fog. She veered away, but he grabbed her by the sleeve, jerking her up short, her momentum spinning her around him and twisting the fabric in his fingers. He grunted, trying to hold on, and she saw the silver flash of a knife. She knocked his arm away, struggling to bring her rifle up. He grabbed the barrel, forcing it up and out, trying to twist it in her hands and disarm her. She kicked him in the shin, his high boots protecting him. She tried to knee him in the crotch, but he turned his hip, blocking her. The blade of the knife caught against her wool jacket, digging in until she felt the pressure. She punched him in the throat, a glancing blow but it connected and he buckled at the waist, releasing her rifle. She stepped back from him, and he was already recovering, gasping but rising up and coming at her. As she watched, his head suddenly jerked sideways, dark mist settling over his cheeks. His body fell away, shot cleanly.
She glanced up toward the path to the ridge. Daniel rose from his place in the rocks. He slung his rifle quickly over his shoulder and disappeared down the short path into the woods. She turned and ran to meet him.
“You okay?” he asked immediately, nearly crashing into her as they came together. He crushed her to him with one arm, and she muffled a positive answer into his shoulder. He cupped the back of her head as she drew back, holding her close so he could look into her face. “Is that your blood or his?”
“His,” she said, grabbing a fistful of his sleeve. “Thanks to you.” He winced as her fingers found muscle. “Daniel?”
“They drew me out with a decoy. Winged me. I’m okay. Cam’s second is calling orders over the radio.”
Sam lifted her eyes to his, startled. “He might just be too busy.”
“For once, I really hope so.”
She glanced at the dark spot on his sleeve, but they had no time. They ran toward camp.
The camp was a massive confusion of soldiers and action. She ran through it, Daniel at her heels, searching for Cameron. He wasn’t there. One of the battalion commanders shouted at her to get a short-distance salvo ready. She veered off toward the mortar pit. Daniel followed her.
She did the math and fed the mortar soldiers coordinates as Daniel took the information from the scouts and fed it to her. The rain of missiles thundered through the nearby forests and along the ridge and forward trenches. The gun crews from the outer perimeter of bunkers poured into the camp and lined the tree line, forming a barrier against the oncoming enemy.
By evening, the Palladians had fallen back. Sam kept up the salvo, moving it back toward the enemy camp, trying to wound them enough to put them out of action for a while.
When Cameron’s second called a ceasefire, just after nightfall, she was exhausted and dirty and reeked of gun powder. The scouts declared an all-clear soon afterward, and she and Daniel trudged toward the command center to find Cameron.
Instead they found Commander Verlok, crisp and clean in his officer’s uniform, countenance grim. “General Mitchell has been shot,” he told them. He’d never been one to mince words.
“Is he okay?” Daniel demanded, hand finding Sam’s in the dim light of the tent.
The Commander stared at them for a long moment, eyes appraising and cold. “Come. I will take you to him.”
++
The stark, empty rooms of the Treyan’s council building were little comfort. They watched as Cameron dressed, bandage on his head where the bullet had ricocheted off his skull.
“Too hard for lead,” he’d told them, but they hadn’t laughed.
Alamar led them to a small sleeping room, empty save for three military cots that still had mud on their legs. They sat down on the cots and stared at each other and the sterile room around them. The white bandages around Cameron’s head and Daniel’s shoulder looked brilliant next to their soiled uniforms and grimy skin.
When they spoke, the words echoed against the silver, antiseptic walls.
“How did we get here?” Sam finally whispered, knowing they understood she meant more than this room.
“I don’t think it matters,” Cameron answered. He rubbed at his eyes and sniffed. “Nothing matters.”
“I’m too tired,” Daniel murmured, and there was a hitch in his voice. “I don’t think I can sleep.”
Sam put an arm around him, and he slowly leaned into her, his weight taking them both down prone on the cot.
Cameron turned off the light so they could sob in the cover of darkness.
++
“What is his state of mind?” The Governor was less confident today, his form wavering and showing bits of wall through the stripes of his body.
Commander Verlok was as substantial as always. “It is acceptable, considering he was nearly assassinated yesterday.”
“They did not succeed. Our army remains strong and united. The Palladians were driven back.”
“Mitchell is asking more questions today. They all are. He is slowly refusing our explanations, Governor.”
The Governor thought about this, his form flickering rapidly. “He is tired,” the Governor reasoned. “It’s been several moons since they were brought here. Perhaps he could do with some rest.”
Commander Verlok shrugged. “He is due leave, if that is what you are suggesting.”
The Governor’s form solidified. "Pull them from the front lines and send them to one of the uninhabited farms on Toshin. Give them 7 cycles there."
Braneer looked worried. "Is that wise? If they're regaining their bearings, they might remember everything if given time alone together."
"It doesn't matter,” the Governor replied. “There's no gate on Toshin nor any ports. They have to return."
The Commander arched one brow. “If Jackson and Carter return, Mitchell will follow. He hasn’t been fighting for us for a very long time now.”
The Governor gave him a confused glance, but the Commander never expected him to understand. It was the reason they would eventually lose this war.
++
The farm was among shallow, rolling hills, thick with forest and long, waving prairies. It was early autumn in the Northern hemisphere of Toshin, and the treetops were brilliantly colored in reds and golds. The farm was thick with fruit orchards and olive groves, most of the produce already harvested, except the apples that still ripened on the trees.
Cameron climbed from the transport ship with Sam and Daniel and stood with them, watching the ship climb back into the sky. He felt remarkably out-of-place and a bit numb as the virtual silence settled down upon them. It was startling; to stand there out in the open and hear the breeze in the leaves, feel the warmth of the sun. There was still grime under his fingernails and pressed into his scalp, and he felt deaf surrounded by the quiet peace of the farm.
He suddenly wondered if this had been a good idea.
“Oh God,” Sam groaned, dragging her duffel bag toward the house. “Dibs on the shower!”
Daniel took off after her, protesting and racing her for it.
Cameron stood in the silence of the yard, listening to the wind and just breathing. He’d been weighted down for months, with responsibility and worry and second-guesses, and now it had all receded in a moment. It was eerily terrifying, despite his combat experience over the years.
At least on the line, he hadn’t had time to dwell on it all.
++
It was a small house, with a well-stocked kitchen and an amazing array of Earth-like furniture. The early afternoon sun shone through the windows and onto the wooden floors. The pantry and cellar were full of bottles, sealed in old-fashioned wire-locked lids. Vinegar, wine and ale. Apple cider, some of it hard with alcohol.
The grounds outside were vast and unpopulated. Workers from nearby towns came in to gather fruit. The fields were long-tilled and the dead leaves were starting to litter the ground. They could wander as far as they wished, as long as they were back in seven days, when their leave would end. The house was surrounded by shallow hills, a small orchard just to the east and forests everywhere else.
Sam reached the shower first and took her time in the seemingly limitless (he hoped) hot water. There was one bathroom, one bedroom, and Cameron wondered about that. Wondered at the freedom of the Treyan military and the way relationships were ignored, even encouraged.
He sat heavily in a bedroom chair just outside of the bathroom feeling odd. Daniel sat silently across from him, both of them listening to the rush of water in Sam’s shower, waiting for their turn. The silence had been too much when they'd first arrived. He was rested but could still feel the exhaustion behind his eyes and filling the space between his bones and his skin. There was a numbness that suffused him and made him feel as if he were standing still, the world still rushing around him. Indeed, he'd come to realize as they'd flown here in the ship, as he'd gazed out over fields and ports and people, that the rest of the universe had not stopped to battle along with them. It went on, living and breathing. But they'd stopped some time ago to stand in one place and look at one thing, to wait for one bullet.
It was a disquieting thought.
Sam gave a moan then. Faint but unmistakable. He understood why. Hot water-any water to wash in-had been a rarity in the field, but it didn't matter. It was still a sound full of pleasure and surrender, and it made his dick thicken rapidly.
He glanced at Daniel waiting in the other chair and saw him swallow hard.
The sound of the water was hypnotic. The sound of the spray hitting skin and tile conjured images. He could almost feel the heat of the water, the steam, as it slid over smooth, pale skin. He could feel it washing away the grime on his own body, and he could see the soap sliding down Sam's. He saw her hands helping it along, pushing the water and the soap along rounded breasts and hips.
And now he could smell the soap wafting from the shower room.
Daniel looked up and met his gaze. They didn't speak, but they both shifted and then glanced away. Cam closed his eyes.
She came out in a towel, the warm steam following her. Her skin was shiny clean, her hair still damp and falling in her eyes. She groaned, “Next.” Then she fell onto the bed and laid there, eyes closed.
Cameron couldn’t help it. He took in every inch of bare skin that she was offering. It wasn’t much. Shoulders, arms and some leg from mid-thigh down, but it was enough to make his mouth dry. The bathroom door closed as Daniel snuck in ahead of him.
“You feel okay?” Cam asked her, voice a bit unsteady. He wondered if either of them felt as jumpy as he did.
She turned to look at him, hands grabbing her towel to hold it in place. “Getting there,” she said softly.
He nodded. She held his gaze, a bit too long, and he finally looked away. She was washed clean of the battlefield, he wasn’t. Not yet. He was just going to sit here until his turn came to wash the last few months off of his skin. Then he’d feel better.
++
Except he didn’t.
They were both gone, and the house was silent when he finally walked out of the bathroom. He pulled on jeans and a black T-shirt and a pair of new boots that had never seen the mud of the trenches. He walked out through the house, looking for them.
He felt a bit punchy now. Restless.
When he’d been at the front, he’d dreamed of a place like this, where he could get clean and sleep for days. Some place he could sit and do nothing and feel safe from the bullets and responsibility. Now… he couldn’t slow down. It felt strangely stifling here, and they’d only been here for a couple hours. He was tense, wound-up, ready for battle, still aching with exhaustion and the sharp edge of fear but unable to let it go.
Sam was swinging slowly in a hammock out back. She had a pair of worn, soft jeans on and a flannel shirt that looked much too masculine to have belonged to her. Her bare feet were crossed at the ankles, and she smiled slightly, eyes closed. Her hair had dried to pale, wispy chaos.
He leaned down over her, smelling the soap they’d all used. She opened her eyes and stared up at him. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He wondered if there was room for two in the hammock. “What’re you doing?”
“Nap,” she said, with a happy grin.
He smiled back, feeling a little heat settle in his groin. Punchy and tense and horny. He’d been prepared for this. How the desire for sex comes crashing back on furlough from combat. It never really leaves, but it goes into remission while you think about more important things. Kissing Sam under a tarp in a trench hadn’t helped.
She reached up and gingerly touched the place on the side of his head where the sniper’s bullet had grazed him. “Thank God he was a lousy shot.”
“I think it was more about me not holding still for him.”
She pulled his head down and kissed his forehead. “Whatever.”
He thought about kissing her on the mouth, seeing how she responded, but she looked so blissful as she closed her eyes, settling in for her nap. They had a week.
“Where’s Daniel?” he asked.
She waved in the general direction he’d gone. “Went for a walk.”
Cam pressed a quick kiss to her mouth and set off, walking briskly away before she could say anything.
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Read Part 2