Another British section came back through the Stargate into Atlantis. Sheppard looked over expectantly. The lieutenant in charge just shook his head.
"Damn it! All we keep finding is dead Hive ships and destroyed Wraith outposts. Not a sign of a Nephilim in almost two months now!" the colonel said angrily.
"Well, we've had a few problems of our own to deal with. Getting rid of Michael was a major outcome," Ronon said. Sheppard looked at him with his narrowed eyes.
"Since when did you become the voice of reason?"
"Since the Nephilim and Wraith have been going at each other, saving us the bother of killin' em both," the big man replied. "We can sort out whatever's left."
Sheppard walked to the balcony and leaned over the railing. Ronon joined him looking out over the city.
At the moment, the Lorcan and the Iwo Jima were docked. The Victory was returning from Earth with supplies and the Frasier was on patrol.
The pier that Lorcan was docked on had well and truly become British. Although the troops occupied a relatively small part of the arm of the city, up towards the central tower, they still had made an impact. Hanging from some windows were Saltires, George's Crosses, Red Hands and even the odd Red Dragon. And, Hamilton had made them set up a Union Flag from one of the top level barrack rooms, at a diagonal slant out the balcony. It was brought in every night at sunset, and put out at Dawn.
"I'll have to talk to him about that," Sheppard muttered.
"What?" Ronon grunted back.
"Nothing, nothing." Sheppard replied. "I wonder what Macara would make of all this."
"Don't worry about it. Let's go," Ronon punched his arm lightly. "You owe me another fight anyway,"
"That wasn't a fight, that just a training session for you," Sheppard grinned, following Ronon. "Still, I wonder what he's up to just now?"
"Move it! Into cover, quickly! Keep away from those wrecked cars, you don't know what sort of IED nonsense they put in there," Macara bellowed at the platoon.
The men from 45 Commando darted between the low mud huts towards the Walled Taliban stronghold. Already, two Warrior IFVs had lost tracks to RPGs being fired from it, and RAF Intelligence at Kandahar was sure their recon flights had picked up mortar pits that were responsible for firing on Coalition convoys.
An unlucky A10 had even been taken out by high calibre machine gun fire from around the area, as the Taliban fired-and-faded between local villages. Building this fort amongst one of those villages had given them the best protection from Coalition forces they could ever want; fear of collateral damage.
The US senior officer in Kandahar had suggested just letting one of his F-15s going and 'tear it up', but the area of Helmand the British were in was starting to come round to the foreign soldiers through painstaking hearts and minds operations, and Colonel Oliver Lee (MBE,) had decided that dropping massive poundage of bombs on a Taliban fort, surrounded by tightly packed houses and families, would probably not help anything.
So two companies of 45 under Major Micklewhite, with Major Macara as 2IC, were storming the bugger instead.
Fire from two American Apaches had weakened the walls and were keeping the defenders pinned down. Snatch Land Rovers and Warriors were in support with their automatic weapons, and the Commandos advanced.
Macara darted forward as his men made their fire-and-manoeuvre advances perfectly. Desultory AK fire pattered by, but nothing too serious.
Thirty yards away, an RPG hit and Macara could hear calls for a medic. At least there was no 'KIA' coming through.
He and the section he was with made it to one of the holes in the mud wall. These forts were usually a warrens nest of small huts and rooms surrounded by a 10ft wall. This one would need to be carefully taken out to avoid casualties to his own men.
"Okay, smoke and flashbangs!" he called. Three devices went through the hole.
With a triple *crump*, Macara turned to them "Usual drill, first through secure front, every second secure left and every third secure right. Move!" he barked.
Macara went through first. Ata first he couldn't see any assailants thanks to a muddy wall, but as he rounded the corner, he saw two Taliban staggering from the flashbangs.
Depressing the trigger quickly, he downed both men.
"Move up!" he called, as his section came through the breach.
A second later, an explosion went off behind them, showering his men with debris.
"IED in the wall!" his sergeant, Johnstone, called out.
Macara heard a man screaming and doubled back.
Marine Gerrard had taken some of the blast, and his right leg was a good twenty feet away from the rest of him. Bright blood was pumping out rather too quickly. The Marine snarled in a mix of pain and anger.
"Medic! Jenkins, get over here!" Macara snarled, trying to tourniquet the grisly leg stump.
"Jenkins, watch him, keep him safe. Section, move up,"
"Sir, he's losing too much blood. We need to get him out of here," Jenkins stated, dressing the wound as best he could, his aid kit open and bits falling into the sand.
The rest of the platoon was streaming through the breach now, and their Captain was doing a good job of taking charge. Macara shouldn't really have been with the section anyway, and now their captain was here they could advance without him.
"I'll take him. Move up with the lads,"
"Yes, sir," Jenkins muttered, packing his aid kit away.
Macara hauled the screaming Gerrard onto his shoulders and ran for the nearby Snatch Land Rovers which were moving up into support.
Major Micklewhite was directing the attack from one, radioing all his subordinates, keeping a damned fine eye on all the events, and he knew where everyone was and what their job was.
Macara ran past his Landy to the one that could get Gerrard to a medivac and handed him to fully trained trauma medics, before turning and heading back to the fight.
As he reached the CO's Landy, Micklwhite turned to him.
"You don't need to go running about like that anymore, major. You are a senior officer now, try to keep the plan in action and show over-all command." The older man advised. Macara knew what he meant; he himself had commanded almost a full Battalion in Pegasus, so he knew better than running forward with the sections like a 2nd Lieutenant.
"Of course sir. Just trying to find something useful to do,"
"No need to call me sir, Nathan. I need you to take command of the western flank. They're getting a little panicked."
"Of course, major. Will do," Macara replied. He hitched up his rifle and ran off.
Above him, Apache's rained Cannon fire into the Taliban in the fort.
Macara staggered back to his tent at Camp Bastion after the debriefing. They had done a good job today. Twelve confirmed Taliban casualties, with another eight unconfirmed, and six prisoners, including one high level commander. For the cost of seven injured Marines, a wrecked Warrior and a broken L85, it was a very good job.
He entered, and lay his kit on his bed, and noticed a letter waiting for him.
He went to pick it up, when his sleeping bag moved.
Macara jumped back to see a camel spider emerge, fangs poised in defence.
"Damn!" Macara spluttered involuntarily. "Camel Spider in my fecking bed, that's all I need." He said, realising whoever brought in the letter must have left the tent flap open.
Picking up a spare boot, Macara slammed it down on the vicious thing, smearing it across his sleeping bag.
"Oh, hell," the major breathed. He shook the body off his boot onto the floor, but a nice little patch of wet arachnid-innards was now on his sleeping bag. Now he'd have to hope he could get another in stores.
Sitting cautiously on the end of the cot, he took the letter and opened it.
It was from MacGregor.
Macara, out of respect for MacGregor, read the letter instead of scrunching it up and throwing it in the bin straight away.
It mentioned what was happening with the Nephilim, mentioned how sorry he was about the death of Rai, and asked if he'd heard about Sussana Valenski. Macara shook his head sadly; he'd heard rumours, but no confirmation.
The letter also asked him to come back, and if the rumours about Major General Salmon and he convincing the RN to abandon the UKGTF were true.
It ended by wishing him well, and again telling him to reconsider.
Macara scrunched it up and tossed it across the tent, before lying back.
A moment later he felt the sticky wet patch forming on his shirt, went to move, and just decided he didn't care.
"God damn it," he breathed.
MacGregor winced in pain as Carolyn restitched his leg, he refused a local much to her dismay, so she made him feel every thread and repeatedly admonished him for his hijinks that had undone the work to begin with.
"Admiral you were told to stay of your feet for a week at least, now this is not going to heal well at all, doing it over a second time." She looked at him sternly as she stood and put the tray away. Landry and O'Neill seemed to take great pleasure in their friend's pain, as they both stood by the door of the infirmary.
He pulled his trousers back on and looked at the two men. "Having fun lads?" He said sarcastically. He was in no mood for anything at the moment. With the Alliance falling apart and now news with the scrunched letter he held, that his son a captain in the famed SASR had been accepted for the SGC training programme. That was bad enough, but the letter was two months old as it had been redirected so many times. "This is a bloody mess, and I have several suspects to blame for it. Anyway, the three of us have a lot of work to do." He grabbed his crutches and stood, wobbled a bit and thanked Carolyn for her work, then hobbled out the door.
Jack turned to Landry as they both watched MacGregor head for the elevator. "You should have at least told me about his son Hank, I could have withdrawn the kids posting, well delayed it anyway...I think."
"I thought about it Jack, but if that got out, we'd be both answering every damned parent of every kid on the programme, favouritism does not go down well you know."
"Yeah there is that. Where is Ben now?"
"On the Victory."
"Damn, does he know?" He shoved his thumb in the direction of the elevator.
"No, but he'll find out soon enough, if his leg holds together, he'll be on the Britannia and heading for Atlantis in a week, with four new C403 heavy armed transports aboard, with an element of the 38th Marine Armoured group, under Colonel Douglas Sharpe, with a Abrams for each 403. She's also carrying a great deal of badly needed supplies for the city as well, so Chicago will escort her only as far as Atlantis and return immediately. "
"Sharpe eh, nice. A real hard ass. Though I gotta say, I would not like to be on the receiving end of Mac's temper when he lets loose, it's not pretty Hank I can tell ya. "
"Yes I know." The two of them headed for the briefing room and met with SG1 in the passageway, Cam saw the looks on their faces and decided it was best not to say what he had meant to, now did not seem to be the best time for his smartass-ness. The team followed a respectful distance behind.
"Say Hank, why do they need heavy armour in Pegasus? That's a little overkill dont'cha think?" Jack said with a puzzled look on his face.
"The Nephilim Jack, can't stand ballistics, so we send in the biggest we can. Oh and you'll be pleased to know, Davis fully recovered and is Chicago's captain." Hank seemed rather proud of his revelations.
Thousands of kilomtres away, Macara tossed in his bedding, then finally he could stand it no more, he got up and said. "Stuff it, if he wants me that bad, he'll have to pick me up." He then began writing a letter to his CO.
One Week on
"Here they come, sir," Chuck said to Woolsey.
"Thank you Che…Chu…erm, thank you," Woolsey replied. Chuck simply sighed.
One their scanner screen, two blips appeared from hyperspace…
The Britannia appeared first, followed quickly by the almost identical form of the Chicago. The two 340's came about and entered an orbit of Atlantis.
Aboard the Chicago, the newest ship, Commander Gordon, standing in for Davis, looked from the viewpoint.
"Wow, they must really be taking this threat seriously. Daedalus and Iwo Jima here in orbit, Frasier and Lorcan on patrol, and Victory on pier two." Gordon whistled. The commander was impressed by such a show of Earth's space power.
"Orders, sir?" Gordon's rather humourless XO asked.
"Yes, beam down supplies, and then get us back to Earth, please," Gordon ordered.
In the gate room, supplies began to appear. Squadron Leader Dale and the eight Rock Apes who were providing guard began moving crates out of the way, to make sure people could still get through to them.
Several figures appeared with the supplies; Two in USMC ACU, and one, a captain, in AusCam.
The USMs were Major Sharpe and Captain Harris respectively. Sheppard went to greet them and took their salutes. The Australian captain just nodded.
"Nice to meet you guys. I'm colonel Sheppard, this is Warrant Officer…."
"Warwick Spencer!" the Australian beamed a smile.
"Ben!" Wacca said in delight, before remembering himself. "Captain MacGregor, sir,"
Ben ignored the informality and walked over, hugging Wacca tight. "Good to see you old man. Where's my platoon?"
"They are in the Australian mess, sir. This way," Wacca said, still smiling. He began leading Ben away. "How's the leg?"
"Fine, fine…"
Yamato looked over from the control room with interest.
"He's pretty damn fine," she muttered, checking both Ben's tanned face, and his rear when he walked away.
"Wait...I thought you liked the lady?" Chuck asked, surprised.
"And? Even I can appreciate a perfect specimen," she smiled slyly. Chuck stammered slightly, a little jealous.
"He's not that perfect…anyway, are you free tonight? Maybe you'd like to…."
"Nope. I said appreciate, not be turned by." Yamato smiled sweetly before going back to work.
Sheppard watched the two Australians walk off before continuing.
"Well, major Sharpe, let's get you to you billets," Sheppard began.
"No, sir. I would just like a quick debriefing as to the critical situation since we left Earth, and then I will have my vehicles transferred to the Victory," Sharpe said, his tone hard.
Sheppard seemed a little taken aback, but made a weak smile and nodded.
"Very well major. I'll take you to the briefing room right away,"
As the colonel led the USMs to meet Woolsey, Sqd Ldr Dale heard one of his Gunners mutter.
"More bloody Yanks. And Marines at that. Worst kind of anything, Marines,"
"Too right, mate. You know what they say; Muscles are required, intelligence not expected," another laughed in reply.
"Stow it. Now" Dale said quietly. "They're on our side,"
"Sorry, sir," he received from both.
Dale shook his head, but secretly, silently, he agreed with them.
"Ma'am, a visitor for you," Wacca said from the infirmary door.
Cate, Sydney and Anne were sitting chatting away, and turned to see Ben enter.
Cate dashed across and hugged her brother, and Anne looked on in pleasant surprise.
"How are you, Ben?" Cate asked, still squeezing tight.
"Fine sis. How are you?"
"She recovered, finally, after doing nothing that her mother would tell her to," Anne replied, coming across and hugging him in a much more controlled matter. "Surely you father wouldn't send you out with both of us here?"
"He doesn't know. And I have new orders for Cate," he said, looking a little sadder now.
"What is it, Ben?" Cate asked quickly.
"In light of recent events, and the fact they've sent me and mum out here too, ASIS and the IOA want you, and Sydney, back on Earth for a debrief,"
Cate let it sink in for a moment. "But we have been working too hard here to go now…"
"Listen, I have no say in these orders. I have already sent Boondah round to Woolsey with a coy. You are to go by Gate, as soon as possible," Ben finished firmly, but with a saddened look on his handsome face.
Cate nodded, anger clouding her own. It was Anne who kept her calm.
"Honey, it makes sense; the IOA needs to be fully debriefed, and I'm not sure they can trust the US military to do it," Anne shrugged an apology at the CIA agent standing with them. "And I'm not happy having two of my children here at the same time as me, in the current crisis. Please, head home, see you father,"
Cate nodded again, some of the hard lines on her face softening.
"Come on sis, we can go and get a drink in the British bar before you leave. I know the Pommes always have one set up," Ben began.
"Ah…" Cate started. "There might be a problem there."
"What? No bar?" Ben asked, only partly in jest.
"No. Colonel Hamilton," Anne replied, her voice cold.
"Incoming message!" Chuck called, and Yamoto ran over.
"What now?" She asked.
"The medical team on L9X-391 is under attack! Doctor Keller and Doctor Beckett request immediate assistance!" Chuck said, worry on his face. Woolsey paled.
"The Nephilim have attacked? But we have twenty three people there!"
"The planet has twenty six thousand," Yamoto said pointedly.
Sheppard and Sharpe ran in, quickly followed by Squadron Leader Dale.
"What's wrong?" the colonel asked.
Woolsey recited the message.
Sheppard didn't take long to decide. He ordered three city security teams to arm up, and sent for Hamilton, before getting Yamoto to patch him through to General Caldwell's office.
Caldwell listened without interrupting, before issuing his orders.
"Right, I want the Victory, Iwo Jima and Daedalus to head out now. It'll only take them a couple of hours to get to L9X-391. Major Sharpe, get aboard Victory with your tanks. Sheppard, get Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton to bring a Company of his Grenadiers. Major Dale is to take command of the military left in the city," that comment made Squadron Leader Dale look up in shock, but still fairly pleased. "And I want Captain MacGregor's team to come too. We have a chance to pound these creatures into the dust, and with the Abrams hopefully we can do it quickly. I'll be beaming straight to the Victory. Sheppard, you and Hamilton take the infantry through now and engage," the comm went dead.
No one moved for a heartbeat, then Sheppard barked.
"You heard the general. Get to it!"