SG: Wings of the Apocalypse [9-11]
Parts 1-4
Parts 5-6
Parts 7-8
---
PART NINE
---
Nuclear Facility
5:23pm
“Any ideas yet?”
“Give her a break, Maybourne, she hasn’t had to save the world for the last three years - she needs time to get back into it,” Jack muttered, spinning a pencil between his fingers.
Maybourne sighed and dropped onto the chair opposite Jack. “Any inklings?”
“All we’ve got so far is an EMP, but then you already know that one. Fraiser’s pushing for it, but we don’t really know how effective it will be.”
“So what do we do?”
“Did you know the bugs were only released on US soil?” Jack asked.
Maybourne nodded. “But they’ll spread across the islands and oceans within a few weeks at most.”
“Fraiser doesn’t think they’ll get that far, and I’m inclined to agree with her.”
“You are?” Maybourne questioned. “Why?”
“We’re the example, Maybourne,” Jack said quietly. “Once they’ve destroyed us, the Goa’uld will stop the bugs before they’ve spread too far. But the threat will always be there, and the rest of the world will be well aware of it.
“And?”
“Relatively easy way to win a war, don’t you think?”
Maybourne was quiet, considering.
“Fraiser wants us to set off as many EMPs as possible. Make a viable dent in the bugs. Problem is, Maybourne, we don’t know who’s compromised and who’s not, so who do we tell about our brilliant plan of resistance?”
Maybourne stared at Jack. “Don’t tell me you’re giving up, Jack. Jack O’Neill doesn’t know how to give up.”
Jack remained silent, the pencil still spinning between his fingers.
“The longer we sit here watching you spin that pencil, the more people die.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Jack sighed again, and the pencil ceased its spinning. “I don’t see any other options, Maybourne. The Goa’uld are here. They’ve got the Stargate. We’ve got the bugs from hell attacking with no realistic way of stopping them. You tell me what to do, Maybourne, and I’ll do it.”
“You are giving up,” Maybourne realised.
“Harlowe and Davis both think detonating and EMP would do more harm than good,” Jack said at length. “It would wipe out hospital systems and communications for miles - and it wouldn’t get rid of the bugs. Keep them away, maybe, but not stop them indefinitely.”
“They’re destroying everything, Jack.”
Jack shrugged. “I don’t know, Maybourne. I don’t have any bright ideas, and neither does Carter. How about you?”
“Fresh out.”
“I’m not usually Mr. Negativity, Maybourne, but the only way I see clear of this mess is to get access to the gate, like Davis suggested, and beg for help.”
Maybourne sighed. “There’s no way we’ll get access to that mountain, Jack.”
“No,” Jack agreed, “pity Carter can’t just whip another gate together.”
Maybourne gaped. “It couldn’t be that easy again. Could it?”
Jack frowned. “What?”
“Another Stargate.”
---
Nuclear Facility
6:22pm
“After their disastrous attempts at running their own off-world missions, the Russian government agreed to put their Stargate program on hold, and work co-operatively with the American government at the SGC,” Paul Davis said, passing out several sheets.
“When their DHD was destroyed several years ago while on loan to the SGC, it finalised the ending of the Russian Stargate Program - the time it takes to get computer systems for a Stargate online and offline made it virtually impossible for them to run the program without our knowledge.”
“We all know about this already, Davis,” Jack snapped.
“I don’t, Jack,” Cassandra inserted.
Jack shrugged, and Davis continued. “According to Dr. Svetlana Markhov, who Major Carter managed to get hold of, the Stargate is still kept in the same facility - unused. She doesn’t know if her government has been compromised - it is highly likely, though - but at this stage there has been no indications the Goa’uld are going to attempt to take the second Stargate at this point in time. The fact that the Russian government hasn’t used the Stargate to launch a counter-attack or at least evacuate their people does indicate they are compromised.”
“Our biggest problem is manpower,” Jack cut in. “Carter and I need to get to Russia where the second gate is. Carter can get the gate going, with Markhov, and hopefully we can find Thor and convince him to help us.”
“How are you planning to get to Russia, Jack?” Maybourne asked.
“You ever flown in a death glider, Maybourne?”
“Why risk stealing a death glider? Why not raid an airfield instead? Wouldn’t it be safer?” Janet asked.
“The Goa’uld technology operates on crystals, Janet,” Sam explained. “We’re going to be out in the open, whether we’re attempting to get an aircraft or a death glider, so will have to consider that we might need to set off an EMP if the swarms arrive in the middle of it. Also, death gliders are faster, and less likely to attract attention flying around than an earth-built craft. And if need be, they can leave the atmosphere too.”
Cassandra nodded to herself - it made sense.
“So what do you want me to do?” she asked.
Jack looked across at her mother almost guiltily before he answered. “Anything you can do, Cass.”
---
5:04am
The SUV rolled to a gentle stop beside the large, shadowed building. There were several minutes of silence in the vehicle, tension saying all that was needed to be said. Sam scrubbed her fingers nervously through her downy hair, accidentally knocking Cassie with her elbow.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“Not like there’s much room,” Cass pointed out with a trace of humour in her voice.
No, Sam mused, with ten people somehow crammed into the vehicle, there definitely wasn’t a lot of room.
“This is it, people,” the Colonel said, his voice a low rumble through the vehicle. “Davis, you and your man ready?”
“Yes, sir,” Paul Davis said, and Sam imagined he would have saluted had there been the room and it was light enough for them to see him.
“Good. You have the rendezvous?”
“Yes, Colonel. Good luck, sir.”
“Good luck, Paul,” O’Neil murmured. “Carter, are you and Samuels good to go?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then we go,” he said.
Silently, and almost exactly synchronised, the doors of the SUV opened and the five of them clambered out - Paul, a Marine who Sam now knew was called Tom, Samuels, herself, and the Colonel.
“We’ll see you at the rendezvous, Colonel,” Paul murmured. “Good luck.”
The grass whispering under their boots was the only sound made as Paul and Tom disappeared into the darkness.
“Carter,” O’Neill whispered, his hand finding hers in the still air. “I… Good luck, Major.”
“Thank you, sir,” she whispered back, squeezing his fingers. “I’ll see you at the rendezvous too, sir.”
“We’ll be waiting,” he said, letting go. “Good luck to you too, Samuels.”
Sam reached back into the SUV and pulled out the pack she’d been seated on for the trip from the shelter, holding it close to her chest. “First light, sir,” she whispered, watching as he climbed back into the SUV and smoothly started the engine.
“You ready?” Samuels asked, his voice almost gentle as it came out of the darkness.
“As I’ll ever be.”
Inside the hanger, as Davis had promised, was a small aircraft, its white paintwork glinting under the narrow beam of light from Samuel’s flashlight.
“Nice,” Sam murmured, letting her eyes follow the smooth lines of the Cessna. “Haven’t played with one of these for a while.”
“You sure you remember how?”
“Just like riding a bicycle. Open the hanger doors wider, Samuels, I want to check the fuel lines. It’s not long now until sunrise.”
---
5:45am
The P-90 was heavy in Walter’s hands. He shifted it uncomfortably against his legs, wriggling his fingers and trying to dislodge the pins and needles from his limbs.
“Nervous?” Maybourne asked.
Walter swallowed and shrugged. “Haven’t been on the frontlines for a long, long time.”
“But you work at the SGC,” Cassandra whispered.
“As a technician,” Walter pointed out.
“Okay, break it up, people,” O’Neill murmured. “Maybourne, you take Cassandra and Walter. Position them on the left flank, and get into position. The sun’ll come up soon, and we don’t want those bugs anywhere near us. Cass, are you right with the detonator?”
“Yes, Jack,” Cassandra said firmly.
“Great. Bek, you and Andrews are with me on the right flank. Once you’re in position, not a sound until Carter and Samuels arrive, okay?”
Murmurs of understanding sounded through the group, and O’Neill nodded. “Good luck, people. Let’s go.”
By the time Maybourne was satisfied with Bek and Walter’s positions, the night sky had faded to a soft grey, and Walter could see the detail of his boots. Crouching against his tree, his firearm resting on his knees, Walter bit his lips and prayed as he watched morning come.
---
6:21am
“Okay,” Sam murmured, wrapping her fingers around the controls, “let’s get this bird in the air, Samuels.”
“It’s your call, Carter,” Samuels returned.
The small plane jumped to life, and Sam idled it neatly out of the hanger, the thick purr of the Cessna rumbling through her with a familiarity that surprised her. As the sun appeared over the mountaintops, the Cessna lifted easily into the air, the stillness of the morning giving them an extraordinarily smooth ride.
“Nice,” Samuels said appreciatively, and Sam was gratified to note that his hold on the supports relaxed somewhat.
From the air, the view was spectacular, Sam thought, and then frowned. Spectacular, but strangely empty. “Nothing’s moving down there,” she observed.
“Everyone’s fled the bugs, Carter,” Samuels explained.
“There’s not much animal movement either,” Sam commented.
“It’s 6:38, Carter,” Samuels said. “You ready?”
“Time to get this show on the road.”
Sam turned the plane to the North, heading them straight toward the large mountain now crowned by an alien ship, an image she had hoped she’d never see.
“Holy shit,” Samuels breathed as they moved closer, “that thing is huge.”
“Oh yeah,” Sam agreed. “Can you see any small ships?”
“There,” Samuels said after several seconds, “to the left.”
“They’ll have gliders guarding that,” Sam said confidently. “Here we go.”
“How fast exactly are the gliders?” Samuels questioned worriedly.
“A lot faster than we are.”
“Then we better get moving, because there are at least three coming to us.”
“Three? Shit,” Sam grunted. “That’s more than we hoped for.”
“Well, they’re coming our way, Carter, let’s get out of here.”
Sam banked the plane back around to the south, pressing it as fast as she dared. The plane shuddered and whined angrily at the demand. “How far away are they?” she demanded.
“They’re gaining, quickly,” Samuels yelled. “Can’t this thing go any faster?”
“I’m doing the best I can, Samuels!” Sam snapped. “How many are there?”
“Two, one of them fell back.”
“Good,” Sam grunted. “Are they within range?”
“How close is in range?”
“Samuels, you’re fucking useless!” Sam yelled, jerking on the sticks and dropping them into a nosedive. A bolt of energy flew over head, disappearing into a dark cloud. She rolled plane to the left and then pulled up sharply, hoping the clumsy movements of the plane could help them evade the gliders for just a little longer.
“DROP CARTER, DROP. I REPEAT, DROP. THEY’RE TOO FUCKING CLOSE, SAM, DROP!” O’Neill’s voice sputtered on the radio.
“Drop!” Samuels screamed. “He said to drop!”
“We’re too far away!” Sam yelled. The plane shuddered and jerked, rocking as an explosion tore through the left motor.
“We’ve been hit!” Samuels yelled.
“I KNOW!” Sam yelled. “Just - oh, crap,” she breathed, looking ahead. The dark cloud they were approaching was moving; the swarms had arrived.
---
6:57am
The morning had dawned still and quiet, and Cassandra had peered up at the sky visible between the branches of the tree she was hiding against. Several metres away from her, its casing shining artificially in the dappled sunlight, the launch was nestled in a clearing. Her sweaty fingers clutched at the detonator, the small remote feeling horribly slippery in her clumsy hands.
The stillness of the air was shattered by a distant droning, and she peered up at the blue sky searching for a sign of the small plane Sam was flying. Instead, she saw a dark cloud writhing and twisting and buzzing in the sky. Seconds later the small aircraft flew into view, smoking horrifically from a broken and damaged wing. It flew straight at the swarm, spinning drunkenly.
“CASS! Hit the EMP, NOW!” Jack screamed on the radio. Her fingers fumbled with the detonator. “CASS!”
“Not yet, Cass!” Sam’s voice disagreed over the radio. “Wait!”
She watched the plane lurch, waiting, waiting, waiting until two small rag dolls fell from the plane.
“CASSANDRA! NOW!” Jack ordered across the radio.
The swarm raged and arrowed toward the falling bodies as their parachutes opened into bright white sails, turning a silent fall into a graceful descent.
There was a buzzing sound, and Cassandra stared up at the single bug hovering above her.
Her finger touched the detonator, but the bug was faster and her body was on fire as the world turned dark and the buzzing faded.
---
PART TEN
---
7:04am
The bugs rained down around them, vicious missiles aimed at no-one but trying to hit everyone. There was a thundering roar as the Cessna exploded somewhere in the distance, and a thick plume of smoke bruised the cornflower blue sky.
“CARTER!” Jack screamed, fighting through the undergrowth toward the burning aircraft. “Damn it, Carter, where the hell are you?”
“O’NEILL!”
“CARTER?”
“Here!”
It was Samuels, his chute wrapped around a tree and his legs dangling centimetres from the ground. “Get me down, sir!”
“Where’s Carter?”
“West,” Samuels grunted, wriggling in his harness.
A crashing behind Jack alerted him to Andrews’ presence. “Cut him down, Andrews, and head west, toward the plane. We’ll rendezvous there.”
“I saw the gliders land, sir. There are four Jaffa on foot, headed this way.”
“Good - are Maybourne and Walter securing the gliders?”
“I don’t know,” Andrews confessed.
Jack swore loudly, gripped his P-90 tightly and continued west, searching for her.
Cassandra’s friend, Bek, had beaten him though. She was leaning over Carter, checking her pulse when he stumbled across them several minutes later. His blood turned cold - Carter wasn’t moving.
“She’s breathing,” Bek announced, “but she’s bleeding.”
He checked her pulse anyway - it fluttered firmly beneath his fingers - and then checked her head wound. “Carter?” he said quietly, tapping her cheek gently. “Come on, Sam, open your eyes.”
Nothing.
“Damn it, Carter, I knew I should have flown that plane. You always know better though,” he grunted, running his hands across her ribs and limbs, checking for injuries. “What do you know about first aid?” he demanded, looking across at Bek.
“I’ve done a few courses,” she said, “but I’ve never used it.”
“Stay with her,” Jack ordered. “Don’t move her, and if she wakes up, don’t let her move either.”
“What about the J… bad guys?” she demanded worriedly.
“You’ve got a gun,” Jack snapped, “use if they turn up. But they won’t.”
He’d no sooner spoken, than the sound of a staff weapon powering up echoed in his ears. “Kree!”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he hissed, turning around slowly. “Kree yourself, asshole.”
The Jaffa held the staff weapon trained on him, when a single gunshot sounded loudly. The Jaffa’s legs buckled and he collapsed to the ground, revealing Andrews holding his P-90. “Samuels is on his way, sir, but he’s hurt his leg pretty bad.”
“Carter’s in bad shape too,” O’Neill muttered. “Thanks, by the way.”
“No problem, sir.”
“One down, three to go. Samuels, there you are. Stay with Carter and the girl. Andrews and I are going to secure those gliders.”
An explosion cracked in the distance.
“Green smoke,” Andrews called, “we’re clear, sir. Maybourne and Walter must have gotten the other three.”
O’Neill grinned with relief. “Yes,” he cheered quietly. “Okay, Samuels, stay here. Wait until Davis turns up with the transport, and make sure Carter and the girls get back okay. Shit, where’s Cassandra?”
“With Maybourne, probably,” Bek said. “You grouped him with her.”
“Wait,” Samuels called as Jack turned to leave.
“What?”
“Who are you taking to Russia? You needed Carter for the gate electronics.”
“I’ll still take Walter, like we planned.”
“What sort of electronics?” Bek asked. “I can do systems and programming.”
Jack stared at her. “Do you have any idea about the technology?” he demanded.
“No,” she admitted, “but I can help. I was helping Walter back at the shelter, and with Sam not going… I can take her place,” she offered. “Please. I want to do this.”
Jack hesitated. “Okay. You can fly with me, Walter can go with Maybourne in the second glider.”
Samuels nodded. “Good luck, Colonel.”
“Get my people home, Samuels,” Jack ordered, looking at Carter still lying on the ground. “Come on, kid, let’s go.”
---
8:19am
There was still a thin plume of smoke bleeding into the sky from the trees, and Paul Davis used it as his marker. The horses were uneasy, dancing sideways and fighting at the bit as he tried to guide them toward the area of destruction he was headed toward. Not much of a horseman, Paul didn’t know what he would have done if Tom hadn’t been with him.
“Not much further now, sir,” Tom murmured, attempting to ease his own mount as it picked its way between the fallen bodies of the bugs that had tumbled out of the sky over an hour earlier.
“Thank god for that,” Paul muttered.
The words had barely left his mouth when they found the people they were searching for. It took Paul a second to realise that Samantha Carter was lying unresponsive on the ground, and another two seconds to realise the two teenagers were both missing from the group he was supposed to take home.
“What’s going on?” he demanded.
“The one girl, Bek, went with Colonel O’Neill,” Samuels explained, stepping forward. “We don’t know where Cassandra Fraiser is.”
“Shit,” Paul muttered. “Fraiser is going to kill us.”
“She launched the EMP, sir,” Andrews said. “I saw where it was launched from - maybe she’s still waiting there.”
“What direction?” Paul demanded.
“East of here, sir.”
“How’s Major Carter doing?”
“She hasn’t woken up since she hit the ground,” Andrews said. “We’re not sure about the extent of her injuries, but her pulse is steady.”
“Can you get her up on the horse with Tom?” Paul asked.
Samuel’s face pulled into a grimace. “Oh god,” he sighed, “I hate horses.”
“I hate bugs more,” Tom said cheerfully. “We’ve got two spares,” he added.
“Samuels can take one, and Andrews can have the other. You take Carter with you, Tom, and I’ll go find Cassandra.”
“You want us to go now, sir?” Tom asked, frowning with disapproval.
“Yes. There’s no knowing how long it will take before the next swarm comes, and as far as I’m aware we don’t have another big EMP, only the smaller ones Carter rigged for us. We need to get back to that shelter ASAP.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And take care of Carter, otherwise the Goa’uld and the bugs will be the last thing on your mind when O’Neill gets back,” Paul warned.
“Yes, sir!”
Leaving his men to get Carter onto the horse and start back to the shelter, Paul nudged his horse to the east and set off looking for Cassandra. The horse, irritated at leaving her friends, swished her tail irritably and pranced to the side, almost unseating Paul. He managed to hold on though and regain his balance, kicking his heels in annoyance. Snorting in resignation, the mare shook her head and let him guide her where he wanted her to go.
It took him twenty minutes to find Cassandra Fraiser, and when he did find her he felt something akin to grief stab at him. She was lying in the shade of a large tree, a pale hand clutched around the remote and an oozing wound on her calf, the flesh red and angry and accusing.
“Oh, god,” he whispered, biting his lip.
---
Russia
His hands were sweating profusely as they clutched at the steering of the death glider, and Maybourne hoped to God he didn’t crash the thing.
“How’re you doing, Maybourne?” O’Neill asked through the Goa’uld communications device attached to his temple.
“Okay,” Maybourne lied, his fingers tightening involuntarily around the controls.
“Take it easy. Have a look around,” Jack said breezily.
Easy for him to say, Maybourne scowled, but it wasn’t his first time flying a death glider, let alone taking a ride in one.
“We’re almost there,” Jack added, almost gently. “Just do what I tell you, Maybourne, and you’ll be fine.”
Maybourne refused to listen to the strangled gulp emitted by Walter behind him.
Five tense minutes later, his glider touched down with minimal bumping, and he climbed out of it hastily, followed closely by Walter.
“That was so cool!” Bek was enthusing, grinning, “I didn’t know it was possible to overcome the-”
“Ah!” Jack snapped, holding his hand up. “I don’t do technical. Now, is everyone good to go?” he asked as he snapped his P-90 into place.
They left the gliders where they’d landed them and carefully picked their way across the open field to the large stone warehouse which looked strikingly out of place.
“It isn’t any prettier in the summertime,” Jack muttered, lifting a set of binoculars to his eyes. “It looks clear.”
“Should we move in?” Maybourne asked.
“Markhov said the building was clear,” Jack pointed out. “We need to make contact.”
“I’ll go,” Maybourne said. “I know the building better than you do.”
“Check in if it hits the fan,” Jack said brusquely. “I’ll set down some surprises in case we get a problem.”
“Be good,” Maybourne muttered, and then stood up. “Blue if you’re good to go, Jack.”
“Got ya, Harry,” Jack called after him in a low voice.
The area was quiet, Maybourne thought, but then this has always been a quiet place. Especially in the middle of winter with ice and snow and nothing moving for miles. He suppressed a slight shiver and flattened his body against the warehouse wall in relief, looking around him quickly. Nothing moved, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anything out there.
He ran alongside the wall until he found the door, and listened intently for sounds from inside. Again, nothing. The door opened easily when he tried it, and he peered into the darkness before stepping inside and again flattening his body against the wall.
“Seems clear, Jack,” he whispered, turning on his flashlight. “I’m going to look for Markhov.”
“We’ll move in to the entrance,” Jack replied.
His footsteps echoed loudly through the empty room as he climbed the metal stairs, and the railings were cold and dusty when he brushed against them. There hadn’t been anyone here for a long, long time, Maybourne mused.
There was a click, and Maybourne froze, holding his breath.
“Who are you?” a roughly accented voice asked.
“Dr. Markhov?” he responded.
“Who are you?” the voice demanded again.
“Harry Maybourne. I’m looking for Dr. Svetlana Markhov.”
“Maybourne,” the voice said. “I should have recognised you.”
Markhov stepped out from behind the large pipe which had hidden her in its shadows, but she didn’t lower her gun. “Svetlana,” Maybourne smiled, “lovely to see you again.”
“Where are Colonel O’Neill and Major Carter?”
“Carter’s back in the US,” Maybourne admitted, “she got hurt while we secured our transport. Jack’s waiting for all-clear from me before he comes in.”
He saw Svetlana frowning with doubt at his words. “That seems unlike Colonel O’Neill,” she said cautiously.
“It does,” Maybourne agreed. “But Jack’s… Jack’s not really up to running around playing hero at the moment, if you know what I mean.”
“No, I do not know what you mean,” Svetlana said bluntly.
“Are you alone here?” Maybourne asked.
The hand on the gun still at him tightened reflexively, and he suddenly realised just how on edge the woman was. “I’ll get Jack, okay?” Maybourne cautioned. “Jack, do you read?”
“Loud and clear, Maybourne.”
“I’ve found Dr. Markhov. She wants to see you. We’re in the blue.”
“We’ll be there in two minutes. Oh, crap.”
“What is it?” Maybourne demanded.
“We’ve got company, Maybourne.”
“Shit.”
---
Nuclear Facility
It was barely midday, but it felt like years had passed. Janet sat outside on a rock overlooking the road, alert for any indications of not only the bugs, but of the people who had left before sunrise. There was no sign of either bugs or people however, and she felt her attention wandering. She would have liked to be working on the vaccine, but she was out of her depth and with Timothy taking a well earned break, there was nothing she could do.
Behind her, the large door to the underground facility was open a crack, ready for her to run behind and slam shut should the bugs make an appearance. Twisting on her seat, Janet let her eyes track over the empty buildings making the rest of the complex; tracing concrete pillars and gaping holes which had once been windows.
It was only then that she realised something. This was where Sam had brought Cassandra to die years ago, when they’re first found her. This cold, empty place of concrete walls and thick doors. Shivering despite the warm sunlight, Janet wrapped her arms around her middle and stood up, ready to head back and see if there was anything she could continue with without the need of Timothy’s supervision.
She’d made it back to the door when she heard noises in the distance. Cautiously pulling the door closed and leaving herself a small crack to peer through, she watched as a group on horseback appeared in her line of sight. A flicker of relief rippled through her, and she pushed the door open to greet them.
“Dr. Fraiser!” Samuels called, catching sight of her. “We need your help.”
She saw Sam a second later, unconscious in his arms.
“Oh God,” she whispered. “What happened?”
“She had a bad landing. There were too many trees; she’s got a head injury,” one of the men Paul Davis had arrived with called out. Andrews, Janet thought, his name was Andrews. “I think she has a few broken ribs too, but I can’t find any sign of anything else.”
“You have medical training?” she asked, running out to help Andrews as he jumped down from his horse and started getting Sam down off another horse.
“Field,” he grunted, taking her friend’s dead weight in his arms “Shit, she doesn’t look this heavy,” he muttered, carrying Sam toward the entrance.
“What do we do with the horses?” Tom asked, still seating on his horse.
“Bring them in,” Janet said. “They can’t stay out here, we might need them.”
She caught sight of Samuels grimacing in distaste, and forced herself to hide a smile of amusement. The smile died when she realised neither Cassandra nor Bek were with the group. “Where’s Cassandra?” she demanded.
The sudden quiet in the small group turned her insides cold with fear.
“Samuels?”
“We’re not sure. Paul Davis went to get her, but we haven’t seen him since he left to get her.”
“Fuck,” Janet hissed.
“He’ll find her, Dr. Fraiser,” Tom said gently. “He likes Cassandra; I don’t think he’d have let anything happen to her.” Janet swallowed. “Go help Major Carter,” he said gently.
She nodded, and disappeared inside the building, following Andrews as he carried Sam to their makeshift infirmary.
---
PART ELEVEN
---
Russia
It felt like his lungs were splintering in his chest with each breath he took. He fought for each breath, drawing it in gingerly and raggedly, trying to get enough oxygen into his body to meet its demands.
“Jack, you okay?” Maybourne asked, his voice low.
“Fine,” Jack managed, knowing his lie fell flat but grateful neither Maybourne nor anyone else called him on it. He coughed, and felt his breathing settle again. “God,” he muttered, wiping at his sweaty forehead and straightening himself up. “Shit, I am too old for this crap. This is the last time,” he promised no one in particular. “Dr. Markhov, nice to see you again,” he said, holding his hand out to shake hers.
“The feeling is mutual, Colonel O’Neill,” Markhov said, smiling. “I was most upset when I heard of your apparent death; to find you are still alive is a good turn of events.”
“As lovely as this reacquainting is,” Maybourne cut in sharply, “we don’t have much time left.”
“Does this facility have an automated destruction built in?” Jack questioned Markhov, motioning that she lead the way to the control room.
“This is a Russian facility, Colonel,” she responded dryly, her lips curling with bemusement. “Surely you do not have to question our methods.”
O’Neill met her eye with a smile of shared understanding, and nodded. “You can activate it?”
“No,” she admitted. “However, I do believe I can over-write the programming with Sergeant Davis’ help and a bit of time.”
“I don’t know if time is something we have,” Maybourne countered.
“We can hold them for a time,” Jack mused, “but not long. How long do you need?”
“Twenty minutes?” Markhov theorised. “We need to get in the backdoor to do it. I’ve already connected the gate - we only need to activate it and that takes only a few minutes.”
“Shit,” Jack hissed. “We won’t have that much time. I’m guessing it’s going to take all of ten minutes before this place is swarming with Jaffa.”
“How many entrances to the control room and gate room are there?” Davis asked.
“Three in total,” Markhov replied. “Two into the gateroom, and one into to the control room.”
“Maybourne and I can hold the gateroom, and Walter will have to hold the control room once the Jaffa get through the building,” Jack said. “Bek, can you help Dr. Markhov with the computers?”
“I should be able to,” Bek said, her voice sounding quiet and unsteady.
“Bek, listen to me, I have to know if you can do this or not.”
She licked her lips, her eyes wide with fear. “I can,” she whispered.
Jack nodded. “Good. Maybourne, we’ll go and block the doors. Hold them up a bit with C4. Walter, you take Markhov and Bek and get started on the countdown. Watch their sixes. Get a rope and break the control room window down onto the gate - you can get into the gateroom that way if you can’t get the autodestruct set in time and the Jaffa are there. Get the wormhole to Cimmeria up as soon as possible - even if you can’t get the autodestruct programmed we can still get out.”
“Okay,” Davis agreed. “Sir?”
“Walter?”
“Good luck.”
Jack smiled briefly. “You too. All of you.”
Nodding to Maybourne, they turned around and jogged back to the entrance to the facility.
The hollow clanking of the Jaffa’s armour echoed loudly through the empty warehouse. Jack swore internally, dropping to his knees and peering cautiously around a corner.
The Jaffa were gathering at the entrance of the warehouse, staff weapons raised and ready for resistance. Jack motioned ‘fall back’ and both he and Maybourne dropped back to the first doorway between them and the Jaffa. Without needing to communicate, they pushed the large iron door shut and bolted it.
“That should keep them for a few,” Maybourne said hopefully. “I’ll go west and blow the stairs to the landings if you take the east side and blow a few doors to throw them off track.”
Not commenting about the way Maybourne appeared to be taking control, Jack followed his orders and several minutes later found himself in the gateroom, staring at the rippling blue of the wormhole that would take them to Cimmeria.
“How’s it going?” he called out.
“Getting there,” Walter answered. “It’s going faster with three of us.”
“Keep working on it!” Jack yelled, spinning as Maybourne skidded into the gateroom. The door slid shut behind him. “Blow it?” Jack questioned.
“Blow it,” Maybourne affirmed.
Several shots into the control panel from Jack’s handgun and the door was sealed shut, only way it was going to be opened was by brute force or a large explosion. Jack hoped they were well out of the way before the Jaffa tried to blow it open.
“Here they come!” Walter yelled.
“Get down here!” Jack ordered.
“Nearly there,” Markhov yelled. “Two more minutes!”
“We don’t have two more minutes, damn it!” Jack yelled. “Maybourne, get up there!”
Maybourne nodded abruptly and ran to the rope hanging through the broken window of the control room. He’d grabbed hold of it when the sound of gunfire and staff blasts split the air. There were two windows in the control room overlooking the gate room - Walter had only broken one earlier. Jack watched with horror as a staff bolt threw a body backwards straight through the glass. It seemed to take days for the body to start falling, and the dull thud as it crunched into the ground rose up above the sound of staff blasts and screaming.
Bek was screaming; she came flying out the window and down the rope, panic on her face as she ran toward Jack. “We’re done!” she screamed. “Let’s go, we’re done!” Markhov slid down the rope seconds later, her clothes blood splattered and a burn on her cheek.
“Walter!” Jack yelled, “Maybourne!”
Maybourne let go of the rope he’d been holding and skidded across the floor to Walter’s unmoving form. “He’s dead, Colonel!” Maybourne gasped, his voice strangled in his throat. “They killed him!”
“Oh, fuck,” Jack whispered, casting another glance at the body lying unmoving on the floor. Staff blasts were raining down into the gateroom, skidding along the concrete floors and burning gashes into it.
They ran toward the gate, blasts firing down around them. Grabbing Bek’s hand, Jack pulled her forward and they fell through the gate, the sudden cold of the wormhole jerking through him, a long forgotten sensation almost unexpected as he was pulled apart and spun around and put back together, tumbling into the sunshine on the hard, dusty earth of Cimmeria.
Energy bolts whizzed over head, and he dragged Bek out of range, ignoring her vomiting and gasping. Maybourne and Markhov rolled through, dragging themselves off to the side.
“Colonel O’Neill!” someone was calling, and he looked around the pretty landscape turning dark and hazy as pain radiated along his arm.
Hit. He was hit.
And so was Maybourne.
Shit.
---
Nuclear Facility
Her body was hot and damp in his arms. The sweat sticking her dirty clothes to her flushed skin had nothing to do with the morning sun beating down on them and everything to do with the angry red swelling of the sting as inflammation streaked up the pale skin of her leg.
Paul Davis cursed as Cassandra shuddered in his arms, her breathing coming in oddly strangled hiccups and gasps.
Between his legs, the horse was straining, sweat lathering its tan coat and sticking his BDU’s to the insides of his calves. The smell of hay and leather and animal was thick in the air, and the only sounds he could hear was the heavy breathing of the mare and the thunder of her hooves over the dried summer earth.
“Come on,” he whispered, urging the animal faster. He hated pushing the beast; hated the way its breathing sounded so laboured and the way it was straining to meet his demands of faster, faster, faster, but they had no choice. Not if they wanted to live.
It wouldn’t be long before the bugs were back, buzzing and swooping in the air around them.
Over the sounds of hooves and breathing, he heard something else. Something whining and insistent, a mosquito on a summer’s night that circled and swooped its prey until it could strike and draw blood.
Paul kicked his heels into the mount, urging her faster and faster.
The whine grew louder, and he chanced a glance up and over his shoulder.
A death glider.
Pulling on the reins he turned the horse off the gravel road and into the forest, following the curve of the road under the shade of trees. It was dangerous, insane even, to gallop a horse through the woods, but he had little choice. Branches whipped at him, stinging his cheeks and his arms and he knew they were battering Cassandra and the horse as well.
The horse slowed, and he kicked it faster, hoping against hope the animal was smart enough to avoid the trees.
Next to him the trees exploded in a flash of hot fire, and the horse screamed in fear, skittering to the side and running him into a tree branch. He felt the crack of his shoulder popping out of its socket before he felt the pain, but the horse was panicking and the forest was on fire.
He yanked the reins again, trying to keep the horse close to the road where the trees were thinner. The animal was breathing heavily, hacking sounds rising from its ribs, but Paul didn’t have to kick it faster; it was bolting as fast it as it could and he was simply along for the ride.
The next charge from the energy weapons hit the trees directly ahead of them, and the horse shied. As it spun to the side, Paul felt his feet slip out of the stirrups and he was flying through the air, still holding Cassandra.
A tree broke his fall, and it dazed him as he lay on the ground, watching the horse gallop with its stirrups and reins flying. A second later a bolt hit the animal, and the stench of burning meat and singed hair filled the forest which was suddenly too quiet.
Paul clutched Cassandra close, staring fearfully at the sky through the leaves of the trees.
The glider swooped once, twice, and then he didn’t see it.
The world spun as he struggled to his feet, his right arm dangling uselessly. He hesitated, staring down at it and feeling his stomach twist and roil as the pain forced his breakfast from long ago up and past his throat. He retched into the bushes, his torn fingers - when had they gotten so torn and ragged, he wondered dimly - clutching at the rough trunk of a tree to hold him steady while he retched until nothing was left inside.
Swallowing, he tried to erase the vile taste left in his mouth, and found the world was starting to fade with little flecks of light dancing across his vision.
He couldn’t pass out. Not now. Not when he was so close.
Gritting his teeth, he grabbed his useless arm with his other hand, holding it steady for a second.
He knew the physics about popping the bone back. He’d been trained on it in case of an emergency. But no one had told him how to work up the courage to do it to himself, or how it hurt and felt like his arm was being pulled out of his body by gravity alone.
Bracing himself against a tree, Paul shut his eyes and took a deep breath, paused, and jerked. The head of his humerus slid back in with a sickening crunch, and his nerves felt as though they were on fire. But he could use his arm.
Using his tree as a brace for a few more seconds, he got his breath back, waiting until the dizzying spinning of the world settled down and he could look around without feeling as though he was going to pass out.
Cassandra whimpered on the ground where she had fallen, and he leant over her cautiously, checking her pulse and feeling the heat of her skin against his fingertips.
“Come on, Cassandra,” he whispered hoarsely, leaning down and gracelessly dragging her over his shoulders. “Come on. We’re almost there. You just need to hang on a little longer.”
The facility was in view when the death gliders came back, swooping angrily overhead. By the time he was inside and the door bolted behind him, he knew they had landed and it would only be a matter of time before they were found.
“They’re here,” he whispered, and everything went black.
---
Parts 12-13
Parts 5-6
Parts 7-8
---
PART NINE
---
Nuclear Facility
5:23pm
“Any ideas yet?”
“Give her a break, Maybourne, she hasn’t had to save the world for the last three years - she needs time to get back into it,” Jack muttered, spinning a pencil between his fingers.
Maybourne sighed and dropped onto the chair opposite Jack. “Any inklings?”
“All we’ve got so far is an EMP, but then you already know that one. Fraiser’s pushing for it, but we don’t really know how effective it will be.”
“So what do we do?”
“Did you know the bugs were only released on US soil?” Jack asked.
Maybourne nodded. “But they’ll spread across the islands and oceans within a few weeks at most.”
“Fraiser doesn’t think they’ll get that far, and I’m inclined to agree with her.”
“You are?” Maybourne questioned. “Why?”
“We’re the example, Maybourne,” Jack said quietly. “Once they’ve destroyed us, the Goa’uld will stop the bugs before they’ve spread too far. But the threat will always be there, and the rest of the world will be well aware of it.
“And?”
“Relatively easy way to win a war, don’t you think?”
Maybourne was quiet, considering.
“Fraiser wants us to set off as many EMPs as possible. Make a viable dent in the bugs. Problem is, Maybourne, we don’t know who’s compromised and who’s not, so who do we tell about our brilliant plan of resistance?”
Maybourne stared at Jack. “Don’t tell me you’re giving up, Jack. Jack O’Neill doesn’t know how to give up.”
Jack remained silent, the pencil still spinning between his fingers.
“The longer we sit here watching you spin that pencil, the more people die.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Jack sighed again, and the pencil ceased its spinning. “I don’t see any other options, Maybourne. The Goa’uld are here. They’ve got the Stargate. We’ve got the bugs from hell attacking with no realistic way of stopping them. You tell me what to do, Maybourne, and I’ll do it.”
“You are giving up,” Maybourne realised.
“Harlowe and Davis both think detonating and EMP would do more harm than good,” Jack said at length. “It would wipe out hospital systems and communications for miles - and it wouldn’t get rid of the bugs. Keep them away, maybe, but not stop them indefinitely.”
“They’re destroying everything, Jack.”
Jack shrugged. “I don’t know, Maybourne. I don’t have any bright ideas, and neither does Carter. How about you?”
“Fresh out.”
“I’m not usually Mr. Negativity, Maybourne, but the only way I see clear of this mess is to get access to the gate, like Davis suggested, and beg for help.”
Maybourne sighed. “There’s no way we’ll get access to that mountain, Jack.”
“No,” Jack agreed, “pity Carter can’t just whip another gate together.”
Maybourne gaped. “It couldn’t be that easy again. Could it?”
Jack frowned. “What?”
“Another Stargate.”
---
Nuclear Facility
6:22pm
“After their disastrous attempts at running their own off-world missions, the Russian government agreed to put their Stargate program on hold, and work co-operatively with the American government at the SGC,” Paul Davis said, passing out several sheets.
“When their DHD was destroyed several years ago while on loan to the SGC, it finalised the ending of the Russian Stargate Program - the time it takes to get computer systems for a Stargate online and offline made it virtually impossible for them to run the program without our knowledge.”
“We all know about this already, Davis,” Jack snapped.
“I don’t, Jack,” Cassandra inserted.
Jack shrugged, and Davis continued. “According to Dr. Svetlana Markhov, who Major Carter managed to get hold of, the Stargate is still kept in the same facility - unused. She doesn’t know if her government has been compromised - it is highly likely, though - but at this stage there has been no indications the Goa’uld are going to attempt to take the second Stargate at this point in time. The fact that the Russian government hasn’t used the Stargate to launch a counter-attack or at least evacuate their people does indicate they are compromised.”
“Our biggest problem is manpower,” Jack cut in. “Carter and I need to get to Russia where the second gate is. Carter can get the gate going, with Markhov, and hopefully we can find Thor and convince him to help us.”
“How are you planning to get to Russia, Jack?” Maybourne asked.
“You ever flown in a death glider, Maybourne?”
“Why risk stealing a death glider? Why not raid an airfield instead? Wouldn’t it be safer?” Janet asked.
“The Goa’uld technology operates on crystals, Janet,” Sam explained. “We’re going to be out in the open, whether we’re attempting to get an aircraft or a death glider, so will have to consider that we might need to set off an EMP if the swarms arrive in the middle of it. Also, death gliders are faster, and less likely to attract attention flying around than an earth-built craft. And if need be, they can leave the atmosphere too.”
Cassandra nodded to herself - it made sense.
“So what do you want me to do?” she asked.
Jack looked across at her mother almost guiltily before he answered. “Anything you can do, Cass.”
---
5:04am
The SUV rolled to a gentle stop beside the large, shadowed building. There were several minutes of silence in the vehicle, tension saying all that was needed to be said. Sam scrubbed her fingers nervously through her downy hair, accidentally knocking Cassie with her elbow.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“Not like there’s much room,” Cass pointed out with a trace of humour in her voice.
No, Sam mused, with ten people somehow crammed into the vehicle, there definitely wasn’t a lot of room.
“This is it, people,” the Colonel said, his voice a low rumble through the vehicle. “Davis, you and your man ready?”
“Yes, sir,” Paul Davis said, and Sam imagined he would have saluted had there been the room and it was light enough for them to see him.
“Good. You have the rendezvous?”
“Yes, Colonel. Good luck, sir.”
“Good luck, Paul,” O’Neil murmured. “Carter, are you and Samuels good to go?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then we go,” he said.
Silently, and almost exactly synchronised, the doors of the SUV opened and the five of them clambered out - Paul, a Marine who Sam now knew was called Tom, Samuels, herself, and the Colonel.
“We’ll see you at the rendezvous, Colonel,” Paul murmured. “Good luck.”
The grass whispering under their boots was the only sound made as Paul and Tom disappeared into the darkness.
“Carter,” O’Neill whispered, his hand finding hers in the still air. “I… Good luck, Major.”
“Thank you, sir,” she whispered back, squeezing his fingers. “I’ll see you at the rendezvous too, sir.”
“We’ll be waiting,” he said, letting go. “Good luck to you too, Samuels.”
Sam reached back into the SUV and pulled out the pack she’d been seated on for the trip from the shelter, holding it close to her chest. “First light, sir,” she whispered, watching as he climbed back into the SUV and smoothly started the engine.
“You ready?” Samuels asked, his voice almost gentle as it came out of the darkness.
“As I’ll ever be.”
Inside the hanger, as Davis had promised, was a small aircraft, its white paintwork glinting under the narrow beam of light from Samuel’s flashlight.
“Nice,” Sam murmured, letting her eyes follow the smooth lines of the Cessna. “Haven’t played with one of these for a while.”
“You sure you remember how?”
“Just like riding a bicycle. Open the hanger doors wider, Samuels, I want to check the fuel lines. It’s not long now until sunrise.”
---
5:45am
The P-90 was heavy in Walter’s hands. He shifted it uncomfortably against his legs, wriggling his fingers and trying to dislodge the pins and needles from his limbs.
“Nervous?” Maybourne asked.
Walter swallowed and shrugged. “Haven’t been on the frontlines for a long, long time.”
“But you work at the SGC,” Cassandra whispered.
“As a technician,” Walter pointed out.
“Okay, break it up, people,” O’Neill murmured. “Maybourne, you take Cassandra and Walter. Position them on the left flank, and get into position. The sun’ll come up soon, and we don’t want those bugs anywhere near us. Cass, are you right with the detonator?”
“Yes, Jack,” Cassandra said firmly.
“Great. Bek, you and Andrews are with me on the right flank. Once you’re in position, not a sound until Carter and Samuels arrive, okay?”
Murmurs of understanding sounded through the group, and O’Neill nodded. “Good luck, people. Let’s go.”
By the time Maybourne was satisfied with Bek and Walter’s positions, the night sky had faded to a soft grey, and Walter could see the detail of his boots. Crouching against his tree, his firearm resting on his knees, Walter bit his lips and prayed as he watched morning come.
---
6:21am
“Okay,” Sam murmured, wrapping her fingers around the controls, “let’s get this bird in the air, Samuels.”
“It’s your call, Carter,” Samuels returned.
The small plane jumped to life, and Sam idled it neatly out of the hanger, the thick purr of the Cessna rumbling through her with a familiarity that surprised her. As the sun appeared over the mountaintops, the Cessna lifted easily into the air, the stillness of the morning giving them an extraordinarily smooth ride.
“Nice,” Samuels said appreciatively, and Sam was gratified to note that his hold on the supports relaxed somewhat.
From the air, the view was spectacular, Sam thought, and then frowned. Spectacular, but strangely empty. “Nothing’s moving down there,” she observed.
“Everyone’s fled the bugs, Carter,” Samuels explained.
“There’s not much animal movement either,” Sam commented.
“It’s 6:38, Carter,” Samuels said. “You ready?”
“Time to get this show on the road.”
Sam turned the plane to the North, heading them straight toward the large mountain now crowned by an alien ship, an image she had hoped she’d never see.
“Holy shit,” Samuels breathed as they moved closer, “that thing is huge.”
“Oh yeah,” Sam agreed. “Can you see any small ships?”
“There,” Samuels said after several seconds, “to the left.”
“They’ll have gliders guarding that,” Sam said confidently. “Here we go.”
“How fast exactly are the gliders?” Samuels questioned worriedly.
“A lot faster than we are.”
“Then we better get moving, because there are at least three coming to us.”
“Three? Shit,” Sam grunted. “That’s more than we hoped for.”
“Well, they’re coming our way, Carter, let’s get out of here.”
Sam banked the plane back around to the south, pressing it as fast as she dared. The plane shuddered and whined angrily at the demand. “How far away are they?” she demanded.
“They’re gaining, quickly,” Samuels yelled. “Can’t this thing go any faster?”
“I’m doing the best I can, Samuels!” Sam snapped. “How many are there?”
“Two, one of them fell back.”
“Good,” Sam grunted. “Are they within range?”
“How close is in range?”
“Samuels, you’re fucking useless!” Sam yelled, jerking on the sticks and dropping them into a nosedive. A bolt of energy flew over head, disappearing into a dark cloud. She rolled plane to the left and then pulled up sharply, hoping the clumsy movements of the plane could help them evade the gliders for just a little longer.
“DROP CARTER, DROP. I REPEAT, DROP. THEY’RE TOO FUCKING CLOSE, SAM, DROP!” O’Neill’s voice sputtered on the radio.
“Drop!” Samuels screamed. “He said to drop!”
“We’re too far away!” Sam yelled. The plane shuddered and jerked, rocking as an explosion tore through the left motor.
“We’ve been hit!” Samuels yelled.
“I KNOW!” Sam yelled. “Just - oh, crap,” she breathed, looking ahead. The dark cloud they were approaching was moving; the swarms had arrived.
---
6:57am
The morning had dawned still and quiet, and Cassandra had peered up at the sky visible between the branches of the tree she was hiding against. Several metres away from her, its casing shining artificially in the dappled sunlight, the launch was nestled in a clearing. Her sweaty fingers clutched at the detonator, the small remote feeling horribly slippery in her clumsy hands.
The stillness of the air was shattered by a distant droning, and she peered up at the blue sky searching for a sign of the small plane Sam was flying. Instead, she saw a dark cloud writhing and twisting and buzzing in the sky. Seconds later the small aircraft flew into view, smoking horrifically from a broken and damaged wing. It flew straight at the swarm, spinning drunkenly.
“CASS! Hit the EMP, NOW!” Jack screamed on the radio. Her fingers fumbled with the detonator. “CASS!”
“Not yet, Cass!” Sam’s voice disagreed over the radio. “Wait!”
She watched the plane lurch, waiting, waiting, waiting until two small rag dolls fell from the plane.
“CASSANDRA! NOW!” Jack ordered across the radio.
The swarm raged and arrowed toward the falling bodies as their parachutes opened into bright white sails, turning a silent fall into a graceful descent.
There was a buzzing sound, and Cassandra stared up at the single bug hovering above her.
Her finger touched the detonator, but the bug was faster and her body was on fire as the world turned dark and the buzzing faded.
---
PART TEN
---
7:04am
The bugs rained down around them, vicious missiles aimed at no-one but trying to hit everyone. There was a thundering roar as the Cessna exploded somewhere in the distance, and a thick plume of smoke bruised the cornflower blue sky.
“CARTER!” Jack screamed, fighting through the undergrowth toward the burning aircraft. “Damn it, Carter, where the hell are you?”
“O’NEILL!”
“CARTER?”
“Here!”
It was Samuels, his chute wrapped around a tree and his legs dangling centimetres from the ground. “Get me down, sir!”
“Where’s Carter?”
“West,” Samuels grunted, wriggling in his harness.
A crashing behind Jack alerted him to Andrews’ presence. “Cut him down, Andrews, and head west, toward the plane. We’ll rendezvous there.”
“I saw the gliders land, sir. There are four Jaffa on foot, headed this way.”
“Good - are Maybourne and Walter securing the gliders?”
“I don’t know,” Andrews confessed.
Jack swore loudly, gripped his P-90 tightly and continued west, searching for her.
Cassandra’s friend, Bek, had beaten him though. She was leaning over Carter, checking her pulse when he stumbled across them several minutes later. His blood turned cold - Carter wasn’t moving.
“She’s breathing,” Bek announced, “but she’s bleeding.”
He checked her pulse anyway - it fluttered firmly beneath his fingers - and then checked her head wound. “Carter?” he said quietly, tapping her cheek gently. “Come on, Sam, open your eyes.”
Nothing.
“Damn it, Carter, I knew I should have flown that plane. You always know better though,” he grunted, running his hands across her ribs and limbs, checking for injuries. “What do you know about first aid?” he demanded, looking across at Bek.
“I’ve done a few courses,” she said, “but I’ve never used it.”
“Stay with her,” Jack ordered. “Don’t move her, and if she wakes up, don’t let her move either.”
“What about the J… bad guys?” she demanded worriedly.
“You’ve got a gun,” Jack snapped, “use if they turn up. But they won’t.”
He’d no sooner spoken, than the sound of a staff weapon powering up echoed in his ears. “Kree!”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he hissed, turning around slowly. “Kree yourself, asshole.”
The Jaffa held the staff weapon trained on him, when a single gunshot sounded loudly. The Jaffa’s legs buckled and he collapsed to the ground, revealing Andrews holding his P-90. “Samuels is on his way, sir, but he’s hurt his leg pretty bad.”
“Carter’s in bad shape too,” O’Neill muttered. “Thanks, by the way.”
“No problem, sir.”
“One down, three to go. Samuels, there you are. Stay with Carter and the girl. Andrews and I are going to secure those gliders.”
An explosion cracked in the distance.
“Green smoke,” Andrews called, “we’re clear, sir. Maybourne and Walter must have gotten the other three.”
O’Neill grinned with relief. “Yes,” he cheered quietly. “Okay, Samuels, stay here. Wait until Davis turns up with the transport, and make sure Carter and the girls get back okay. Shit, where’s Cassandra?”
“With Maybourne, probably,” Bek said. “You grouped him with her.”
“Wait,” Samuels called as Jack turned to leave.
“What?”
“Who are you taking to Russia? You needed Carter for the gate electronics.”
“I’ll still take Walter, like we planned.”
“What sort of electronics?” Bek asked. “I can do systems and programming.”
Jack stared at her. “Do you have any idea about the technology?” he demanded.
“No,” she admitted, “but I can help. I was helping Walter back at the shelter, and with Sam not going… I can take her place,” she offered. “Please. I want to do this.”
Jack hesitated. “Okay. You can fly with me, Walter can go with Maybourne in the second glider.”
Samuels nodded. “Good luck, Colonel.”
“Get my people home, Samuels,” Jack ordered, looking at Carter still lying on the ground. “Come on, kid, let’s go.”
---
8:19am
There was still a thin plume of smoke bleeding into the sky from the trees, and Paul Davis used it as his marker. The horses were uneasy, dancing sideways and fighting at the bit as he tried to guide them toward the area of destruction he was headed toward. Not much of a horseman, Paul didn’t know what he would have done if Tom hadn’t been with him.
“Not much further now, sir,” Tom murmured, attempting to ease his own mount as it picked its way between the fallen bodies of the bugs that had tumbled out of the sky over an hour earlier.
“Thank god for that,” Paul muttered.
The words had barely left his mouth when they found the people they were searching for. It took Paul a second to realise that Samantha Carter was lying unresponsive on the ground, and another two seconds to realise the two teenagers were both missing from the group he was supposed to take home.
“What’s going on?” he demanded.
“The one girl, Bek, went with Colonel O’Neill,” Samuels explained, stepping forward. “We don’t know where Cassandra Fraiser is.”
“Shit,” Paul muttered. “Fraiser is going to kill us.”
“She launched the EMP, sir,” Andrews said. “I saw where it was launched from - maybe she’s still waiting there.”
“What direction?” Paul demanded.
“East of here, sir.”
“How’s Major Carter doing?”
“She hasn’t woken up since she hit the ground,” Andrews said. “We’re not sure about the extent of her injuries, but her pulse is steady.”
“Can you get her up on the horse with Tom?” Paul asked.
Samuel’s face pulled into a grimace. “Oh god,” he sighed, “I hate horses.”
“I hate bugs more,” Tom said cheerfully. “We’ve got two spares,” he added.
“Samuels can take one, and Andrews can have the other. You take Carter with you, Tom, and I’ll go find Cassandra.”
“You want us to go now, sir?” Tom asked, frowning with disapproval.
“Yes. There’s no knowing how long it will take before the next swarm comes, and as far as I’m aware we don’t have another big EMP, only the smaller ones Carter rigged for us. We need to get back to that shelter ASAP.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And take care of Carter, otherwise the Goa’uld and the bugs will be the last thing on your mind when O’Neill gets back,” Paul warned.
“Yes, sir!”
Leaving his men to get Carter onto the horse and start back to the shelter, Paul nudged his horse to the east and set off looking for Cassandra. The horse, irritated at leaving her friends, swished her tail irritably and pranced to the side, almost unseating Paul. He managed to hold on though and regain his balance, kicking his heels in annoyance. Snorting in resignation, the mare shook her head and let him guide her where he wanted her to go.
It took him twenty minutes to find Cassandra Fraiser, and when he did find her he felt something akin to grief stab at him. She was lying in the shade of a large tree, a pale hand clutched around the remote and an oozing wound on her calf, the flesh red and angry and accusing.
“Oh, god,” he whispered, biting his lip.
---
Russia
His hands were sweating profusely as they clutched at the steering of the death glider, and Maybourne hoped to God he didn’t crash the thing.
“How’re you doing, Maybourne?” O’Neill asked through the Goa’uld communications device attached to his temple.
“Okay,” Maybourne lied, his fingers tightening involuntarily around the controls.
“Take it easy. Have a look around,” Jack said breezily.
Easy for him to say, Maybourne scowled, but it wasn’t his first time flying a death glider, let alone taking a ride in one.
“We’re almost there,” Jack added, almost gently. “Just do what I tell you, Maybourne, and you’ll be fine.”
Maybourne refused to listen to the strangled gulp emitted by Walter behind him.
Five tense minutes later, his glider touched down with minimal bumping, and he climbed out of it hastily, followed closely by Walter.
“That was so cool!” Bek was enthusing, grinning, “I didn’t know it was possible to overcome the-”
“Ah!” Jack snapped, holding his hand up. “I don’t do technical. Now, is everyone good to go?” he asked as he snapped his P-90 into place.
They left the gliders where they’d landed them and carefully picked their way across the open field to the large stone warehouse which looked strikingly out of place.
“It isn’t any prettier in the summertime,” Jack muttered, lifting a set of binoculars to his eyes. “It looks clear.”
“Should we move in?” Maybourne asked.
“Markhov said the building was clear,” Jack pointed out. “We need to make contact.”
“I’ll go,” Maybourne said. “I know the building better than you do.”
“Check in if it hits the fan,” Jack said brusquely. “I’ll set down some surprises in case we get a problem.”
“Be good,” Maybourne muttered, and then stood up. “Blue if you’re good to go, Jack.”
“Got ya, Harry,” Jack called after him in a low voice.
The area was quiet, Maybourne thought, but then this has always been a quiet place. Especially in the middle of winter with ice and snow and nothing moving for miles. He suppressed a slight shiver and flattened his body against the warehouse wall in relief, looking around him quickly. Nothing moved, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anything out there.
He ran alongside the wall until he found the door, and listened intently for sounds from inside. Again, nothing. The door opened easily when he tried it, and he peered into the darkness before stepping inside and again flattening his body against the wall.
“Seems clear, Jack,” he whispered, turning on his flashlight. “I’m going to look for Markhov.”
“We’ll move in to the entrance,” Jack replied.
His footsteps echoed loudly through the empty room as he climbed the metal stairs, and the railings were cold and dusty when he brushed against them. There hadn’t been anyone here for a long, long time, Maybourne mused.
There was a click, and Maybourne froze, holding his breath.
“Who are you?” a roughly accented voice asked.
“Dr. Markhov?” he responded.
“Who are you?” the voice demanded again.
“Harry Maybourne. I’m looking for Dr. Svetlana Markhov.”
“Maybourne,” the voice said. “I should have recognised you.”
Markhov stepped out from behind the large pipe which had hidden her in its shadows, but she didn’t lower her gun. “Svetlana,” Maybourne smiled, “lovely to see you again.”
“Where are Colonel O’Neill and Major Carter?”
“Carter’s back in the US,” Maybourne admitted, “she got hurt while we secured our transport. Jack’s waiting for all-clear from me before he comes in.”
He saw Svetlana frowning with doubt at his words. “That seems unlike Colonel O’Neill,” she said cautiously.
“It does,” Maybourne agreed. “But Jack’s… Jack’s not really up to running around playing hero at the moment, if you know what I mean.”
“No, I do not know what you mean,” Svetlana said bluntly.
“Are you alone here?” Maybourne asked.
The hand on the gun still at him tightened reflexively, and he suddenly realised just how on edge the woman was. “I’ll get Jack, okay?” Maybourne cautioned. “Jack, do you read?”
“Loud and clear, Maybourne.”
“I’ve found Dr. Markhov. She wants to see you. We’re in the blue.”
“We’ll be there in two minutes. Oh, crap.”
“What is it?” Maybourne demanded.
“We’ve got company, Maybourne.”
“Shit.”
---
Nuclear Facility
It was barely midday, but it felt like years had passed. Janet sat outside on a rock overlooking the road, alert for any indications of not only the bugs, but of the people who had left before sunrise. There was no sign of either bugs or people however, and she felt her attention wandering. She would have liked to be working on the vaccine, but she was out of her depth and with Timothy taking a well earned break, there was nothing she could do.
Behind her, the large door to the underground facility was open a crack, ready for her to run behind and slam shut should the bugs make an appearance. Twisting on her seat, Janet let her eyes track over the empty buildings making the rest of the complex; tracing concrete pillars and gaping holes which had once been windows.
It was only then that she realised something. This was where Sam had brought Cassandra to die years ago, when they’re first found her. This cold, empty place of concrete walls and thick doors. Shivering despite the warm sunlight, Janet wrapped her arms around her middle and stood up, ready to head back and see if there was anything she could continue with without the need of Timothy’s supervision.
She’d made it back to the door when she heard noises in the distance. Cautiously pulling the door closed and leaving herself a small crack to peer through, she watched as a group on horseback appeared in her line of sight. A flicker of relief rippled through her, and she pushed the door open to greet them.
“Dr. Fraiser!” Samuels called, catching sight of her. “We need your help.”
She saw Sam a second later, unconscious in his arms.
“Oh God,” she whispered. “What happened?”
“She had a bad landing. There were too many trees; she’s got a head injury,” one of the men Paul Davis had arrived with called out. Andrews, Janet thought, his name was Andrews. “I think she has a few broken ribs too, but I can’t find any sign of anything else.”
“You have medical training?” she asked, running out to help Andrews as he jumped down from his horse and started getting Sam down off another horse.
“Field,” he grunted, taking her friend’s dead weight in his arms “Shit, she doesn’t look this heavy,” he muttered, carrying Sam toward the entrance.
“What do we do with the horses?” Tom asked, still seating on his horse.
“Bring them in,” Janet said. “They can’t stay out here, we might need them.”
She caught sight of Samuels grimacing in distaste, and forced herself to hide a smile of amusement. The smile died when she realised neither Cassandra nor Bek were with the group. “Where’s Cassandra?” she demanded.
The sudden quiet in the small group turned her insides cold with fear.
“Samuels?”
“We’re not sure. Paul Davis went to get her, but we haven’t seen him since he left to get her.”
“Fuck,” Janet hissed.
“He’ll find her, Dr. Fraiser,” Tom said gently. “He likes Cassandra; I don’t think he’d have let anything happen to her.” Janet swallowed. “Go help Major Carter,” he said gently.
She nodded, and disappeared inside the building, following Andrews as he carried Sam to their makeshift infirmary.
---
PART ELEVEN
---
Russia
It felt like his lungs were splintering in his chest with each breath he took. He fought for each breath, drawing it in gingerly and raggedly, trying to get enough oxygen into his body to meet its demands.
“Jack, you okay?” Maybourne asked, his voice low.
“Fine,” Jack managed, knowing his lie fell flat but grateful neither Maybourne nor anyone else called him on it. He coughed, and felt his breathing settle again. “God,” he muttered, wiping at his sweaty forehead and straightening himself up. “Shit, I am too old for this crap. This is the last time,” he promised no one in particular. “Dr. Markhov, nice to see you again,” he said, holding his hand out to shake hers.
“The feeling is mutual, Colonel O’Neill,” Markhov said, smiling. “I was most upset when I heard of your apparent death; to find you are still alive is a good turn of events.”
“As lovely as this reacquainting is,” Maybourne cut in sharply, “we don’t have much time left.”
“Does this facility have an automated destruction built in?” Jack questioned Markhov, motioning that she lead the way to the control room.
“This is a Russian facility, Colonel,” she responded dryly, her lips curling with bemusement. “Surely you do not have to question our methods.”
O’Neill met her eye with a smile of shared understanding, and nodded. “You can activate it?”
“No,” she admitted. “However, I do believe I can over-write the programming with Sergeant Davis’ help and a bit of time.”
“I don’t know if time is something we have,” Maybourne countered.
“We can hold them for a time,” Jack mused, “but not long. How long do you need?”
“Twenty minutes?” Markhov theorised. “We need to get in the backdoor to do it. I’ve already connected the gate - we only need to activate it and that takes only a few minutes.”
“Shit,” Jack hissed. “We won’t have that much time. I’m guessing it’s going to take all of ten minutes before this place is swarming with Jaffa.”
“How many entrances to the control room and gate room are there?” Davis asked.
“Three in total,” Markhov replied. “Two into the gateroom, and one into to the control room.”
“Maybourne and I can hold the gateroom, and Walter will have to hold the control room once the Jaffa get through the building,” Jack said. “Bek, can you help Dr. Markhov with the computers?”
“I should be able to,” Bek said, her voice sounding quiet and unsteady.
“Bek, listen to me, I have to know if you can do this or not.”
She licked her lips, her eyes wide with fear. “I can,” she whispered.
Jack nodded. “Good. Maybourne, we’ll go and block the doors. Hold them up a bit with C4. Walter, you take Markhov and Bek and get started on the countdown. Watch their sixes. Get a rope and break the control room window down onto the gate - you can get into the gateroom that way if you can’t get the autodestruct set in time and the Jaffa are there. Get the wormhole to Cimmeria up as soon as possible - even if you can’t get the autodestruct programmed we can still get out.”
“Okay,” Davis agreed. “Sir?”
“Walter?”
“Good luck.”
Jack smiled briefly. “You too. All of you.”
Nodding to Maybourne, they turned around and jogged back to the entrance to the facility.
The hollow clanking of the Jaffa’s armour echoed loudly through the empty warehouse. Jack swore internally, dropping to his knees and peering cautiously around a corner.
The Jaffa were gathering at the entrance of the warehouse, staff weapons raised and ready for resistance. Jack motioned ‘fall back’ and both he and Maybourne dropped back to the first doorway between them and the Jaffa. Without needing to communicate, they pushed the large iron door shut and bolted it.
“That should keep them for a few,” Maybourne said hopefully. “I’ll go west and blow the stairs to the landings if you take the east side and blow a few doors to throw them off track.”
Not commenting about the way Maybourne appeared to be taking control, Jack followed his orders and several minutes later found himself in the gateroom, staring at the rippling blue of the wormhole that would take them to Cimmeria.
“How’s it going?” he called out.
“Getting there,” Walter answered. “It’s going faster with three of us.”
“Keep working on it!” Jack yelled, spinning as Maybourne skidded into the gateroom. The door slid shut behind him. “Blow it?” Jack questioned.
“Blow it,” Maybourne affirmed.
Several shots into the control panel from Jack’s handgun and the door was sealed shut, only way it was going to be opened was by brute force or a large explosion. Jack hoped they were well out of the way before the Jaffa tried to blow it open.
“Here they come!” Walter yelled.
“Get down here!” Jack ordered.
“Nearly there,” Markhov yelled. “Two more minutes!”
“We don’t have two more minutes, damn it!” Jack yelled. “Maybourne, get up there!”
Maybourne nodded abruptly and ran to the rope hanging through the broken window of the control room. He’d grabbed hold of it when the sound of gunfire and staff blasts split the air. There were two windows in the control room overlooking the gate room - Walter had only broken one earlier. Jack watched with horror as a staff bolt threw a body backwards straight through the glass. It seemed to take days for the body to start falling, and the dull thud as it crunched into the ground rose up above the sound of staff blasts and screaming.
Bek was screaming; she came flying out the window and down the rope, panic on her face as she ran toward Jack. “We’re done!” she screamed. “Let’s go, we’re done!” Markhov slid down the rope seconds later, her clothes blood splattered and a burn on her cheek.
“Walter!” Jack yelled, “Maybourne!”
Maybourne let go of the rope he’d been holding and skidded across the floor to Walter’s unmoving form. “He’s dead, Colonel!” Maybourne gasped, his voice strangled in his throat. “They killed him!”
“Oh, fuck,” Jack whispered, casting another glance at the body lying unmoving on the floor. Staff blasts were raining down into the gateroom, skidding along the concrete floors and burning gashes into it.
They ran toward the gate, blasts firing down around them. Grabbing Bek’s hand, Jack pulled her forward and they fell through the gate, the sudden cold of the wormhole jerking through him, a long forgotten sensation almost unexpected as he was pulled apart and spun around and put back together, tumbling into the sunshine on the hard, dusty earth of Cimmeria.
Energy bolts whizzed over head, and he dragged Bek out of range, ignoring her vomiting and gasping. Maybourne and Markhov rolled through, dragging themselves off to the side.
“Colonel O’Neill!” someone was calling, and he looked around the pretty landscape turning dark and hazy as pain radiated along his arm.
Hit. He was hit.
And so was Maybourne.
Shit.
---
Nuclear Facility
Her body was hot and damp in his arms. The sweat sticking her dirty clothes to her flushed skin had nothing to do with the morning sun beating down on them and everything to do with the angry red swelling of the sting as inflammation streaked up the pale skin of her leg.
Paul Davis cursed as Cassandra shuddered in his arms, her breathing coming in oddly strangled hiccups and gasps.
Between his legs, the horse was straining, sweat lathering its tan coat and sticking his BDU’s to the insides of his calves. The smell of hay and leather and animal was thick in the air, and the only sounds he could hear was the heavy breathing of the mare and the thunder of her hooves over the dried summer earth.
“Come on,” he whispered, urging the animal faster. He hated pushing the beast; hated the way its breathing sounded so laboured and the way it was straining to meet his demands of faster, faster, faster, but they had no choice. Not if they wanted to live.
It wouldn’t be long before the bugs were back, buzzing and swooping in the air around them.
Over the sounds of hooves and breathing, he heard something else. Something whining and insistent, a mosquito on a summer’s night that circled and swooped its prey until it could strike and draw blood.
Paul kicked his heels into the mount, urging her faster and faster.
The whine grew louder, and he chanced a glance up and over his shoulder.
A death glider.
Pulling on the reins he turned the horse off the gravel road and into the forest, following the curve of the road under the shade of trees. It was dangerous, insane even, to gallop a horse through the woods, but he had little choice. Branches whipped at him, stinging his cheeks and his arms and he knew they were battering Cassandra and the horse as well.
The horse slowed, and he kicked it faster, hoping against hope the animal was smart enough to avoid the trees.
Next to him the trees exploded in a flash of hot fire, and the horse screamed in fear, skittering to the side and running him into a tree branch. He felt the crack of his shoulder popping out of its socket before he felt the pain, but the horse was panicking and the forest was on fire.
He yanked the reins again, trying to keep the horse close to the road where the trees were thinner. The animal was breathing heavily, hacking sounds rising from its ribs, but Paul didn’t have to kick it faster; it was bolting as fast it as it could and he was simply along for the ride.
The next charge from the energy weapons hit the trees directly ahead of them, and the horse shied. As it spun to the side, Paul felt his feet slip out of the stirrups and he was flying through the air, still holding Cassandra.
A tree broke his fall, and it dazed him as he lay on the ground, watching the horse gallop with its stirrups and reins flying. A second later a bolt hit the animal, and the stench of burning meat and singed hair filled the forest which was suddenly too quiet.
Paul clutched Cassandra close, staring fearfully at the sky through the leaves of the trees.
The glider swooped once, twice, and then he didn’t see it.
The world spun as he struggled to his feet, his right arm dangling uselessly. He hesitated, staring down at it and feeling his stomach twist and roil as the pain forced his breakfast from long ago up and past his throat. He retched into the bushes, his torn fingers - when had they gotten so torn and ragged, he wondered dimly - clutching at the rough trunk of a tree to hold him steady while he retched until nothing was left inside.
Swallowing, he tried to erase the vile taste left in his mouth, and found the world was starting to fade with little flecks of light dancing across his vision.
He couldn’t pass out. Not now. Not when he was so close.
Gritting his teeth, he grabbed his useless arm with his other hand, holding it steady for a second.
He knew the physics about popping the bone back. He’d been trained on it in case of an emergency. But no one had told him how to work up the courage to do it to himself, or how it hurt and felt like his arm was being pulled out of his body by gravity alone.
Bracing himself against a tree, Paul shut his eyes and took a deep breath, paused, and jerked. The head of his humerus slid back in with a sickening crunch, and his nerves felt as though they were on fire. But he could use his arm.
Using his tree as a brace for a few more seconds, he got his breath back, waiting until the dizzying spinning of the world settled down and he could look around without feeling as though he was going to pass out.
Cassandra whimpered on the ground where she had fallen, and he leant over her cautiously, checking her pulse and feeling the heat of her skin against his fingertips.
“Come on, Cassandra,” he whispered hoarsely, leaning down and gracelessly dragging her over his shoulders. “Come on. We’re almost there. You just need to hang on a little longer.”
The facility was in view when the death gliders came back, swooping angrily overhead. By the time he was inside and the door bolted behind him, he knew they had landed and it would only be a matter of time before they were found.
“They’re here,” he whispered, and everything went black.
---
Parts 12-13