More "Jeep Jockey Jumper"!
Really don't know how long the next update will take. I will have actual work to do next week, plus some other writing obligations, and I'm still working out the plot for the next chapter.
Edit (9/12): Ack, somehow I got the time zone wrong when I looked up the sunrise/sunset/moonrise/moonset data! Fixed now.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Elevating Medicine to Actual Science
Beckett did not take the scanner with him to the other barracks; the chance that the virus had spread beyond Barracks 2 was miniscule, and the risk of discovery was too great. Instead, as Hogan waited outside each door, Beckett explained the situation and asked for a few volunteers to be “sick” to lend credence to the cover story. The men were only too happy to comply.
One wiseacre in Barracks 15 sidled up to Teyla and said he wouldn’t mind volunteering if the pretty nurse didn’t mind taking care of him. Teyla knocked him down with a single punch, and Ronon threw him onto a bunk and pinned him there.
“Ronon,” Beckett said with a wry smile, “if ye break him, I’ll have to fix him.”
“Ah, you’re no fun,” Ronon grumbled.
“I do not believe Col. Hogan would be pleased to hear of the private’s remarks,” Teyla stated cooly.
“I don’t think they need to be repeated--by anyone,” the barracks leader replied with a pointed look at Ronon’s prisoner. “Right?”
“R-r-right,” stammered the man in question.
None too gently, Ronon released him and stood up. “Y’know, Doc, he does look sick.”
Beckett’s eyes glittered with amusement as he watched the private watching him and growing paler the longer Beckett rubbed his chin and held his doctor-pondering-torture expression. “Aye,” he finally said, “probably with a dangerously high fever--delirious, possibly having seizures. Sergeant, do you have any rope?”
Hogan had no idea why the three Lanteans were fighting giggles when they came out until he caught a glimpse of Pvt. Cochrane attached to his bunk with clothesline tied with... medical precision. He looked questioningly at Beckett as the door closed.
“Delirious,” Beckett said, looking innocent. “There are two hundred men in this camp; I can’t spare Ronon to keep one man restrained.”
Hogan smiled knowingly and led the way to the next barracks.
By lunchtime, Beckett had collected a dozen names of additional “patients.” He met with Klink after lunch to go over his findings, probable causes, how to clean up the camp, and what to do when the quarantine was lifted to disinfect the barracks. They had just about concluded their discussion when Langenscheidt poked his head in.
“Entschuldigung, Herr Kommandant, Herr Doktor,” Langenscheidt said worriedly, “but Col. Pungenhorst has been taken seriously ill and requests that Dr. Beckett examine him at once.”
Beckett took a deep breath and let it out again. “Right. I’m on my way.”
Now, Beckett had never been opposed to treating the enemy; for him, the Hippocratic Oath was absolutely binding, no matter who or what was in need of help. But he found he had to restrain himself when it came to Pungenhorst. The man reminded him far too much of Michael, his half-Wraith tormentor, even without the fact that Pungenhorst was Gestapo and had been one part of the sorrow of the Zelenkas.
“What’s wrong with me, Doctor?” Pungenhorst demanded as Beckett scrubbed his hands with carbolic soap in the bathroom after his examination.
“Well, it’s not meningitis. I’ve not seen the tremors before with the flu, but it’s probably naught more serious than that.” Beckett shut off the water and selected a clean hand towel.
“Are you saying you don’t know what it is?!”
“I’m saying we don’t need to be worried about it yet.” Beckett came back into the bedroom and began packing his medical bag. “Your lungs sound clear, so for the moment, there’s no reason to suspect a bacterial infection. All we can do is keep the fever down with aspirin and wait it out. You just rest. We’ll add you to the rounds.”
“Don’t... don’t go, Doctor,” Pungenhorst pleaded as a wave of tremors began.
“I’m here to treat a meningitis epidemic, not to be your bloody personal physician, Colonel,” Beckett said sternly and left.
Ronon had just come up onto the porch when Beckett slammed the door behind him and reeled as another flashback hit. The Satedan braced the Scot until the moment passed.
“Thank you, big man,” Beckett whispered.
“You sure you’re okay, Doc?”
“Aye.”
Ronon looked at him closely. “It’s time for your shot, isn’t it?”
Beckett sighed wearily. “I suppose it is.”
“C’mon.” Ronon gently herded him back to Barracks 4.
Thursday morning, Beckett felt considerably better and Pungenhorst felt considerably worse. The fever was proving to be impervious to aspirin and was pushing past 104. Beckett turned off the heat, banked the fire in the stove, and had Klink detail a guard to keep closer watch on Pungenhorst than his scheduled rounds would allow. “I’ll not neglect two hundred men to keep one supplied with cold compresses, and I’ll not have my nurses exposed to an exotic virus and possibly spreading it all over the camp,” he stated firmly when Klink tried to wheedle him into giving more attention to Pungenhorst.
“Do you know what kind of virus he has?” Klink asked.
Beckett shook his head. “Not without a blood test. It’s not one I’ve encountered in Europe, though it may be the sort of thing he could have picked up overseas years ago and have it dormant in his system all this time. I’m afraid viruses are still pretty poorly understood. The high fever is what makes me think it’s not flu; flu fevers can get up to 104, but I’ve a feeling it’s not peaked yet. I think the tremors could be a result of the fever affecting his nervous system, but I can’t be certain.”
Klink nodded, clearly worried. “How are the prisoners?”
“Three new cases in Barracks 9, but Sgt. Wilson seems to be handling things well there. Only the one dangerously high fever in Barracks 15, and no complications yet that I can see.”
Klink sighed. “Thank you, Doctor.”
By dinnertime on Friday, McKay and Zelenka had a firm enough handle on the remaining repairs to the Jumper and the time drive to have run a final plan for the lab assault by Sheppard. The one remaining problem they discussed on their way to the officers’ mess was how to get the information to Hogan, since Barracks 4 had no tunnel entrance and Hogan had told Beckett not to jeopardize his cover by staying in Barracks 2 longer than his rounds would normally take.
“I guess it makes most sense for us to go down through the emergency tunnel,” Sheppard shrugged.
“Yes, but how will Hogan know to meet us?” Zelenka frowned.
“We stage an argument,” McKay suggested. “Tempers are getting short, right? So nobody’s gonna think twice if you and I blow up at each other and I go out to the Jumper alone. You and Sheppard come out a few minutes later after we’ve all supposedly calmed down.”
Then Cpl. Hinkelman served him Wienerschnitzel instead of the Jägerschnitzel McKay had ordered and seemed not to understand allergisch gegen Zitronen even when Zelenka said it, which made McKay genuinely grumpy. Sheppard’s joining Zelenka in softly humming “Vergammelte Speisen,” on the harmony no less, didn’t help.
After dinner, Zelenka and McKay had a spectacular multi-lingual argument in the middle of the compound while Sheppard rolled his eyes and threw in a sarcastic comment on occasion--though not, it must be said, in his usual semi-slouch, but standing imperiously like the Luftwaffe officer he was supposed to be. McKay gesticulated rather more wildly than usual before stomping off toward the Jumper while Zelenka stomped off to Barracks 4, swearing heatedly in Czech. Sheppard snorted and followed Zelenka.
All three of them had seen the periscope in their peripheral vision. They knew Hogan had gotten the message.
And sure enough, Hogan, LeBeau, and Kinch met McKay in the radio room five minutes later. Seated at the radio table, McKay had the lab schematics pulled up on the tablet in front of him and was sketching a hard copy on Kinch’s clipboard.
“Dr. McKay,” Hogan said by way of greeting. “What do you have for us?”
“This,” McKay said slowly as he finished the sketch, “is a floor plan of the lab.” He set down pencil and clipboard, turned the tablet to the prisoners so that they could see more clearly, and manipulated the 3D image with the stylus. “Now, from what Teyla and Ronon described, the actual door is up here. There’s obviously some kind of staircase or hatch leading down into the main room, but it doesn’t show on the sensors. The ventilators appear to lead into these rooms.” He traced probable shafts. “But from the radiation readings, the uranium or plutonium or whatever they’re using is probably stored here.” He pointed to one of the deepest rooms in the small facility that did not have a direct connection to a ventilator shaft.
Hogan frowned at the computer. “Carter didn’t think we could stuff enough grenades down the ventilators to do much damage.”
McKay shook his head. “No, and it won’t be easy to get anything through the door, either. Carter said it looked like a cellar door, and it’s probably made of lead and concrete if the people who built the place are as smart as they appear. C-4 could probably blow the door open, but it wouldn’t give us time to get in, plant the second bomb, and get out before the Gestapo showed up.”
LeBeau was clearly having some trouble keeping up with the speed at which McKay was talking, but Hogan and Kinch nodded. “What’s C-4?” Kinch asked.
“Oh, uh, plastic explosive, hasn’t been invented yet.” McKay waved his hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter--bad idea to use that anyway. So pretty much our only other option is to use one drone to blow open the door and send a second drone to blow up the lab. We should be able to get it down into the room where the radioactive material is, but even if we can’t, the explosion should take out the whole facility.”
“Ronon said something about using the shield to block radiation,” Hogan noted.
“Yes, and he’s right,” McKay nodded. “We’d need to lower the cloak anyway to be able to fire the drones, but we don’t need to expose the town to the radiation, and there’s no guarantee that the rockfall will be enough to keep the area from being irradiated. So what we can do is to use the shield to block the radiation from coming to the surface long enough to be safe. There is the risk that we’ll be seen, but if we can get it done before moonrise, we might get away with it.”
Kinch sighed. “Sunset’s around 1800. Dunno about moonrise; it’ll depend on what day we go. But that’ll probably mean going out right after dinner, maybe even before.”
“How about Sunday?” McKay suggested. “We should be good to go by then. I mean, the time drive won’t be ready yet, but we’ll have the Jumper repaired.”
Kinch found an almanac in the desk and checked times for Hohenstaufen. “Sunset’s 1746, moonrise is 2223. Half moon is Monday... sunset then is 1744, moonrise is 2319.”
Hogan shook his head. “We shouldn’t wait any longer than we have to. We have no way of knowing how far along they are.”
“Moonrise on Sunday is 10:23,” McKay repeated to himself. “If we want to be certain we get past the guards here, we’ll need to be back well before then. Took us an hour to get there, an hour back, allow enough time to leave the shield in place....” His fingers snapped almost of their own accord. “We’d need to leave here by 7 just to be safe.”
Hogan nodded. “Sunday at 7. They don’t change the guard until 9, but we can find some kind of cover story. Be easiest if it’s just you, Sheppard, and Zelenka supposedly working on the Jumper.”
“That makes sense,” McKay agreed.
“What about us?” Sheppard asked as he and Zelenka entered from the emergency tunnel, having heard only the last sentence.
Hogan repeated his conclusion.
“Yes, I think we can do that,” Zelenka stated.
Sheppard bit his lip and nodded.
“Something wrong, Colonel Sheppard?” LeBeau asked.
“I dunno,” Sheppard shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just keep waiting for something else to go wrong.”
Hogan looked at him for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Marya’s been too well behaved.”
“I guess that’s it. She just reminds me too much of Todd.” At the prisoners’ questioning look, he explained, “Todd’s a Wraith--ah, enemy alien species, feed on humans. Only this one likes me. Sometimes. When he thinks we can help him.”
“He has given us valuable intel and assistance before,” McKay noted.
“But only when it suits his purposes,” Zelenka returned.
“And things always go sideways when he’s involved,” Sheppard concluded.
“Yep, that sounds like Marya,” Kinch nodded.
“Well, don’t tell her anything,” Hogan sighed. “She’ll probably guess, but we may as well play it safe.”
“Yes, sir,” Sheppard replied.
Hogan checked his watch. “We’d better get back upstairs. Thank you, gentlemen.”
“Sir.” Sheppard saluted.
“I can think of one difference between Marya and Todd,” Zelenka admitted as the Lanteans went back to the Jumper.
“What’s that?” Sheppard asked.
“Marya has a heart.”
Sheppard smiled wryly and patted Zelenka on the back.
The mood was sour in the NCO club Saturday evening, and the more so the more beers were consumed. A number of the guards had been scheduled to go on leave, which made the quarantine irksome enough, but several of those had family alarmingly close to the front lines and were now unable to go check on them. And more than one was cut off from his wife.
“I know,” Cpl. Wolfschmidt said suddenly. “Let’s have some fun with that pretty little nurse.”
Several of the other young corporals murmured their agreement, including some unprintable comments about her body and ethnicity.
Schultz, who was still mostly sober, set down his beer with a bang. “No, Wolfschmidt.”
“What about that bodyguard of hers?” Sgt. Richter asked, ignoring Schultz. “He watches her like a brother.”
Wolfschmidt snorted. “He’s no match for the master race. Besides, it’ll be easy enough to catch her alone.”
“She looks almost as strong as him,” observed Cpl. Grimsel.
“Good,” Cpl. Schweinhardt leered. “I like a woman with spirit.”
Langenscheidt shook his head vehemently. “No, no, this is wrong.”
Wolfschmidt threw his beer in Langenscheidt’s face. “Stay out of this. You coming, Richter?”
“No, not tonight,” Richter decided. “The quarantine will last long enough for me to take my turn.” And he took a long, suggestive drag on his cigar while the corporals laughed.
“Wolfschmidt, I order you to stay away from Fräulein Emmagan!” Schultz thundered.
“You’re off duty!” Wolfschmidt roared, staggering to his feet. “Come on, boys.”
Not recognizing or stopping to question the non sequitur, Schweinhardt, Grimsel, and two other corporals joined Wolfschmidt on his way out the door. They were outside before Schultz could get across the room to be a one-man roadblock. But block the door he did, and the handful of other men who had started to follow Wolfschmidt knew better than to try to stare the big toymaker down. They backed away and went back to their seats.
Langenscheidt ran up to Schultz. “Sergeant, what should we do?!”
Schultz put a hand on his favorite subordinate’s shoulder. “Where is Col. Schäfer, Karl?”
“In the barracks, I think.”
“Go. I will get the commandant.” He moved aside, and Langenscheidt ran out. “Hauschild, you guard the door. And all of you! Anybody who leaves this building before I return goes to the Russian Front!”
Sgt. Hauschild, a tough older man who had served with Schultz for a time in World War I, locked the door behind his friend and held his machine gun ready, practically daring anyone to challenge Schultz’s order.
Teyla said good night to the men of Barracks 2 and latched the door behind her. She turned around to see five guards coming toward her. Warily but casually, she began walking toward Barracks 4, but she had not yet reached Barracks 3 before they caught up with her and surrounded her.
“Is something wrong?” she asked the man in front of her evenly.
He replied in German, but she didn’t need a translator to recognize the look on his face. He reached for her, and she grabbed his wrist.
“Let. Me. Pass.”
He laughed, and she broke his nose.
Sheppard had just finished shining his boots when Ronon walked in. “Where’s Teyla?” Sheppard asked.
“One of the guys in Barracks 10 needed her to take something to LeBeau,” Ronon shrugged. “She’ll be back in a minute.”
Sheppard nodded and frowned.
“What?”
“Something doesn’t feel right.” Sheppard started pulling on his boots. “I’m gonna go check on her.”
“Won’t that look suspicious?” McKay asked, looking up from the calculations he and Zelenka were going over. “You’re not even supposed to speak English.”
“So I pretend I’m going for a walk and happen to wander past Barracks 2 just as she’s coming out,” Sheppard shrugged, tugging on his boot. He stood and stamped his heel a couple of times, then pulled on his coat and cap. “If I’m not back in five minutes, Ronon, come after us.”
“Right,” Ronon nodded.
Just then Langenscheidt burst through the door. Sheppard could barely make out his panicked words, but there were two phrases that even Ronon knew: “Hilfe” and “Fräulein Emmagan.”
Sheppard and Ronon were out the door before Langenscheidt had finished speaking. The three doctors were only seconds behind, and Langenscheidt ran after them.
“Don’t shoot unless you have to,” Beckett cautioned McKay and Zelenka as they ran, handguns at the ready.
Teyla was holding her own when they arrived, but it was clear she was about to need help. Grimsel ducked a kick only to be grabbed from behind and spun to face a furious Ronon. A left to the head, a right to the stomach, and a shove to the back of the neck flipped him over and left him sprawled on his back, too winded to rise. Ronon then kicked the broken-nosed guard in the gut in mid-jump and landed with a mighty blow on the other Teyla shoved toward him. Sheppard flung Schweinhardt against the wall of Barracks 3, then leveled him with a punch to the head. By the time Wolfschmidt realized he was alone, he was also surrounded. He raised his hands in surrender, and the Lanteans with guns lowered their weapons.
“DUMMKOPF!” Sheppard yelled, grabbing Wolfschmidt by the collar. “Soll ein deutschen Soldat sich so verhalten?!”
“Nein, Herr Oberst,” Wolfschmidt squeaked.
Sheppard shoved Wolfschmidt away from him. Zelenka and Langenscheidt pulled the other corporals to their feet and dragged them to stand beside Wolfschmidt, while Beckett and Ronon flanked Teyla in silent support and Sheppard mentally composed a tirade that would keep him in character. His teammates had seldom seen John Sheppard in a truly towering rage, but they were not at all surprised at the fury he unleashed on the corporals, knowing that he spoke for all of them. Klink and Schultz, arriving too late to be of help, could only stare.
For all his laid-back Irish charm, McKay thought idly about halfway through the rant, Sheppard played German aristocracy frighteningly well.
Finally, Sheppard stopped shouting and glanced over at Klink. “Your commandant will assign your punishment,” he said in German in a low, dangerous voice. “But I assure you, were you under my command and were we not under quarantine, you would be on the first train to Warsaw--if I didn’t shoot you myself.”
Schweinhardt actually whimpered.
“I am terribly sorry, Fräulein Emmagan,” Klink stated in English. “These men will be severely punished, I assure you.”
Teyla simply nodded her acceptance.
Marya had run out of Klink’s quarters by this time, thinking to offer her support to Teyla, and had just stopped beside Schultz when Sheppard turned to Teyla. Though their eyes met very briefly and Teyla’s nod to him was barely perceptible, Marya could see something pass between the American and the Athosian that spoke of more than general concern. And suddenly she understood Sheppard much better.
Sheppard returned Teyla’s slight nod, nodded more obviously to Marya, and gestured for Klink to come deal with his men. Without a word, the Lanteans followed Sheppard back to Barracks 4.
Klink pulled himself together. “Langenscheidt, take these men to the guardhouse at once. They will remain there until the quarantine has been lifted, at which time they will be transferred....” He paused as inspiration struck. “No, not to Warsaw. To Norway. We’ll see if they feel like making trouble above the Arctic Circle!”
Langenscheidt saluted and hustled the battered corporals to the guardhouse while Klink and Schultz made their way to the NCO club. Suddenly hesitant, Marya wavered a moment, then continued on to Barracks 4. She drew a deep breath before knocking.
Zelenka answered the door. “Dobriy vecher, Marya.”
“Is Gaspaszha Emmagan all right?” Marya asked in Russian.
Zelenka glanced over his shoulder, and Marya caught a glimpse of Sheppard, McKay, and Ronon holding Teyla in a team hug with Beckett hovering nearby. “We have been through worse,” Zelenka confessed, then added with a wry smile, “but usually our enemies only want to kill us.”
Marya chuckled.
“I will tell her that you called.”
“Harasho. Spasiba. Do zavtra.”
“Do zavtra.”
Yes, Marya thought as she headed back to Klink’s quarters, that explains a great deal... a very great deal indeed.
As if the events in camp the previous evening had not made things tense enough, an overnight air raid on both Hammelburg and Düsseldorf left everyone on edge Sunday morning. And between Sheppard spending his time on work and Pungenhorst being ill, Marya was particularly bored. So she went to Klink with an idea. Klink agreed that it might be amusing, and they went to find the Lanteans. Sheppard, McKay, and Zelenka had gotten a late start for a change, so they had just left the officers’ mess when Klink and Marya found them.
“Good morning, gentlemen!” Klink began in German as they approached. “Fräulein... er....”
“Marya,” Marya shrugged.
“Marya and I were wondering if you might be interested in joining us for dinner tonight in my quarters, possibly play a rubber or two of bridge... say, around 7?”
The Lanteans exchanged a look but managed to conceal their alarm.
“That’s very kind of you, Col. Klink,” Sheppard replied, “but we had planned to finish our repairs tonight, possibly even take a test flight.”
“But Hansie...” Marya pouted.
“Colonel, even if we complete the repairs tonight, we cannot leave until the quarantine is lifted,” Zelenka observed in a tone he usually reserved for news like the ZPM being depleted.
Sheppard looked at Marya and sighed. She was supposed to be his old flame, and he had been avoiding her. “Perhaps if the doctor agrees that it is safe for us all to spend so much time together.”
McKay looked around and caught Beckett’s eye as he came out of Barracks 2, then motioned him toward them.
“Aye, Dr. McKay, what can I do for you?” Beckett asked.
“Marya was wondering if it would be safe for us all to have dinner and play cards in Klink’s quarters tonight,” McKay replied in English.
Beckett thought for a moment and found no ready excuses. “I don’t see why not.”
“Well, Klink’s personal chef is one of the prisoners from Barracks 2, Cpl. LeBeau.”
Beckett shook his head. “No, that’s out o’ the question. LeBeau’s been tending to Carter and Newkirk, and even though they’re on the mend today, it’s too soon to say for sure that he’s not caught the virus from them.”
“So we get Hinkelman from the officers’ mess,” Marya shrugged.
McKay grimaced.
“Perhaps you would care to join us, Doctor?” Klink asked.
“If I’m not needed elsewhere,” Beckett agreed, his reluctance obvious only to the other Lanteans.
“You will invite Col. Hogan, too, Klink?” Marya said.
Now it was Klink’s turn to hesitate briefly. “Yes, of course.”
Marya slapped him on the back. “Marvelous! Then I shall go and talk to Hinkelman. Tschüssi!”
Sheppard swore softly as soon as Klink and Marya were out of earshot. “There goes the plan. Even if they were well enough, Carter and Newkirk don’t have the ATA gene. And even if Hogan does, he’ll be stuck here with us.”
“I can make excuses for Teyla and Ronon,” Beckett stated, “but we’ll still need a pilot. I didn’t bring any of the gene therapy with me.”
Sheppard shook his head. “Even if you had, it would be a bad idea.”
McKay thought for a moment, snapping his fingers. “There’s a life-signs detector in the tunnel, in my tac vest. Hand that around, see if anyone else has the gene naturally.”
“Aye,” Beckett nodded.
The Lanteans separated as casually as possible. Beckett made his way to Barracks 5 and thence to the tunnel, retrieved the life-signs detector, and checked all fifteen men in Barracks 5 to no avail. Barracks 3, 6, and 9 were also devoid of gene carriers. He was just about to go to Barracks 12 when Teyla and Ronon caught up with him, and he explained the situation.
Ronon thought for a moment. “What do we know about the natural gene carriers in Atlantis?”
Beckett shrugged. “They’re in all modes of service, all ranks, from all countries.”
Teyla caught Ronon’s drift. “Yes, but do they not also strike you as natural leaders, whatever their station may be? Not that it is solely a quality of the gene, but if you think of John, Evan, Miko, you....”
Beckett blinked and looked immediately at Barracks 2.
“That’s where I’d start,” Ronon nodded.
“Aye, and I think I know who to test first.” Beckett gave Ronon a grateful pat on the arm and hurried off to test his hunch.
Hogan and Kinch were talking outside Hogan’s office when Beckett came in. “What can I do for you, Doctor?” Hogan asked.
“Just a quick test,” Beckett replied and explained the problem. Then he held out his medical bag to Hogan. “Now, there’s a piece of technology in here a little larger than a prescription notepad. Would you take it out, please?”
Hogan shrugged and fished the life-signs detector out of the bag. The screen was blank.
“Hand it to Kinch, now.”
Hogan complied. As soon as Kinch touched the device, the screen flared to life.
Hogan stared. “What did you just do?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Kinch frowned. “It just... came on.”
Beckett grinned. “Aye. You’ve the gene.”
“So Kinch is the only other person in camp who can fly the Jumper?” Hogan asked.
“Of the people we’ve tested, aye.”
“Doc, I’m not a trained pilot,” Kinch stated nervously. “I’m just the radio man.”
“Don’t worry, Sergeant,” Beckett returned, taking the life-signs detector back from him. “The Jumper will respond to you naturally, and Teyla and Ronon will talk you through what you need to do to accomplish the mission. But if I can do it--aye, if Rodney can do it, so can you. He’s supposed to be the smartest man in two galaxies, but when it comes to the Jumper, he’s a wee bit thick.”
Hogan looked at his chief of staff. “I’m not sure, but I think I’m jealous.”
“Schultz!” cried Olsen, who was watching the door.
Beckett stuffed the life-signs detector back into his bag and pretended to be finishing an examination on Kinch as Schultz came in. “Oh, hullo, Sergeant,” he said over his shoulder.
“Excuse me, Herr Doktor,” Schultz replied. “But you are needed immediately in the VIP quarters. Col. Pungenhorst has gotten worse, and he is coughing up blood.”
“Aye, o’course,” Beckett frowned.
Schultz escorted Beckett to the VIP quarters, where Klink and Marya were waiting outside with very worried faces. Stepping just inside the doorway, Beckett took one look at the coughing figure on the bed and started calculating. It had now been four days since Carter sneezed on Pungenhorst. The virus had as short a period of contagion as it did of incubation and should have run its course, meaning that Pungenhorst could be released from the quarantine without spreading the Pegasus bug. But the sound of his cough and the gobs of bloody phlegm he was coughing up probably meant pneumonia, which in 1944 was still more or less a death sentence as a flu complication. Beckett couldn’t use modern antibiotics without jeopardizing the timeline, and in the few cases of morbus horrens that had moved into pneumonia, all the signs had pointed to it being viral pneumonia anyway. Of course, that cough sounded enough like the respiratory failure he’d seen with the Hoffan drug, and since he had had to admit that this wasn’t actually the flu....
“It looks like respiratory distress,” he said aloud. “We’ve got to get him to a hospital right away.”
“There’s no room at the hospital,” Klink fretted. “I called them after I sent Schultz to get you. They’re flooded with wounded from yesterday’s bombing, and the flu is running rampant in town.”
“A rest camp, then. He’s got to get better care than we can give him here. He’ll die if he stays.”
“Otto!” Marya wailed and made a show of trying to run to the bedside.
Beckett made an equally dramatic show of stopping her. “No, lass, ye cannae help him. He needs oxygen, possibly an iron lung. Colonel, will ye call for an ambulance?”
“Yes, of course,” Klink replied and hurried away.
The private who had been attending Pungenhorst stepped into the bathroom and out of sight. Beckett gently steered Marya out of the room, though both of them paused in the doorway to shoot a final venomous look at Pungenhorst. It was Pungenhorst’s last sight of Stalag 13 before another coughing fit sent him into an exhausted sleep.
A/N: I suspect that if most German soldiers considered the Eastern Front a fate worse than death, being sent to the Scandinavian portion thereof would be worse yet. The occupation of Norway lasted until the end of the war, but the Russians were already pushing past the Finnish border in October of '44.
The Zero Point Module, or ZPM (or ZedPM, if you're Rodney) is a power source that draws vacuum energy from subspace. Atlantis is designed to run on three of them, though for most of the series the expedition has had at best one, which is enough to power the city's defenses and make short scheduled dialouts to Earth.
Allergisch gegen Zitronen = allergic to lemons (German)
Soll ein deutschen Soldat sich so verhalten?! = Is this how a German soldier ought to act?! (German)
Dobriy vecher = Good evening (Russian)
Harasho. Spasiba. Do zavtra. = Great. Thank you. Until tomorrow. (Russian)
Tschüssi = Toodles (German)
Next