Title: The Last Full Measure
Author: DizzyDrea
Summary: Never forget what they have done. Carry in your hearts the sacrifice they made. Fight well the battles that still remain, that your cause will not be diminished by their loss. If you do this, they will have died well.
Rating: T for conversations on death
Spoilers: Set in Season 7, but no particular references to episodes
Author's Notes: This story was inspired by the pictures recently released by the Pentagon of our soldiers—God rest their souls—as they made their final journey home. The controversy over whether or not to release pictures of the fallen in flag-draped caskets rages on. This is my way of reminding everyone that each one of those caskets holds someone's father or mother, brother or sister, son or daughter, husband, wife, friend. May we honor them with how we treat them after they've given their lives for us.
Disclaimer: Stargate and all its particulars are the property of MGM, Gekko, Double Secret, Acme Shark and anyone else not mentioned here who owns a piece of this enterprise. This story was written for fun and not profit. All original characters and situations are the property of the author.
AN 4/27/11: I wrote this story back in 2009, at the height of the controversy over the release of the photos of our servicemen and women making their final journey home. I felt strongly then, and still do, that the families should have the last word on whether or not they share their grief with the world. Regardless, please remember these brave men and women, not just on Memorial Day, but every day. And resolve to live your life to its fullest, so that their sacrifice will have meaning.
~&O&~
The shrieking alarm had finally stopped and in its place, silence filled the gate room. SG-1 strode down the ramp and joined General Hammond at the bottom, each one looking drawn and haggard.
Behind them, emerging one at a time from the event horizon, three caskets draped in fine white silk descended the ramp. Each was carried by four men, dressed in the finest armor anyone had ever seen. Fine shimmering silk in rich blue was covered by expertly tooled leather armor, studded with rivets and intricately embroidered in silver thread. Each man carried a sword belted to his side, etched and gleaming in the harsh fluorescent light, and a knife equally as intricately etched secured at his waist.
Behind each of the caskets walked a man in simple white robes belted with sashes of the same rich blue, head down, hands pressed together in a prayerful gesture, whispering benedictions over the caskets—men of faith and not of war. All the men—both the priests and the warriors—were similar in appearance, tall, with long dark hair pulled neatly back into ponytails at the nape of the neck, with dark eyes and fine features.
The procession reached the bottom of the ramp, and the warriors, under the watchful eyes of the priests arranged each casket side by side in the gate room behind where Hammond and SG-1 remained standing. The pall bearers lowered each casket to a waiting cart, then stood at attention beside them facing the gate as the priests stepped behind the caskets and continued with their duties.
Finally, the last member of the procession strode down the ramp. He was dressed in the same simple robes as the other men, though his were a rich black shot through with silver embroidery, belted with a white sash and topped by the same intricately woven armor. He stopped at the bottom of the ramp, hands clasped behind his back in a parade rest pose, eyes forward and unseeing. He, too, had a sword and knife of similar quality belted to his waist, and carried a regal air that identified him as the highest ranking member of the cortege.
Hammond turned in a circle, taking in the transformation of his gate room. The warriors stood at attention, as if guarding the caskets. His own security force stood at attention behind them, rifles at their sides out of respect for the fallen men. The room held a somber silence as the full impact of the moment hit each person in attendance.
"SG-1, what's going on here?" Hammond asked quietly, turning back to the team.
"The Jem feel responsible for the deaths of SG-9, sir," Colonel Jack O'Neill said. "They wouldn't let us return without the honor guard."
"It wasn't necessary," Hammond said.
"Excuse me, sir, but I think it was," Doctor Daniel Jackson said.
"Why?" Hammond asked, turning his attention to the archeologist.
"Sir, the P'Jem are a militaristic society, much like the Samurai of our history," Major Sam Carter said. "The honor guard is part of that tradition."
"I'm aware of that," Hammond said.
"They feel responsible, sir," Daniel said, filling in what Sam hadn't said. "They say the Pao acted without honor when they attacked the encampment during the negotiations, and that's why our men are dead."
"It wasn't their fault the Pao attacked," Hammond said, pointing out the truth even though he knew it wouldn't matter.
"I know," Daniel said, hand fluttering in front of him, "but they still feel responsible. Our safety was their responsibility. They feel the need to honor our men for their sacrifice. They feel it's the least they can do."
"The Jem have acted with honor in this, General Hammond," Teal'c said. "I believe we should do the same."
"I see," Hammond said. Glancing around the gate room once more, he asked, "How long will the Jem be our guests?"
"Until after the funeral services," Jack said, wincing slightly at Hammond's surprised reaction.
"Very well, I'll have quarters prepared for their delegation."
"That won't be necessary, sir," Daniel said, giving his own wince, knowing that the General wouldn't like what was coming. "They've prepared the bodies according to P'Jem funerary traditions, and part of that tradition is that a warrior is to be guarded at all times until his soul is released by his family into the afterlife."
Hammond sighed. "Very well," he said, though it was clear he wasn't happy. "What about him?" he asked, indicating the man currently standing at the foot of the ramp.
"Master Jinno was the head of the security delegation," Jack said. "He's okay."
"He feels as though it's his own personal honor at stake, sir," Daniel said.
"We've tried explaining it to him, but it's like he needs to do some sort of penance," Sam said, distress clear in her voice.
Daniel glanced back at the man behind him. "He'd like to speak at the funeral, if he's allowed to."
He knew Jinno, had gotten to know him during the past few days, and knew him to be an honorable man, as all P'Jem were. Their code of honor had developed as a direct result of their dealings with the Goa'uld, and the lack of honor with which they conduct themselves. The two tribes of the P'Jem homeworld, Pao and Jem, had a long history alternating cooperation and enmity, but Jinno had said that they were in a period of closer cooperation, and he saw this treaty with Earth as a way to move forward into closer ties with the Pao. In addition to deposits of naquadah, the P'Jem had metallurgical advancements that would be of great value to Earth, and Jinno was eager to learn more about the original home of his ancestors.
However, there were factions of the Pao that were suspicious of the outsiders, as SG-1 and 9 had been called. Daniel had worked hard to secure the trust of both tribes before the negotiations began, but the fact that the SG teams were staying in the Jem encampment had only made the situation worse. So when the Pao faction attacked the negotiations, it had caught everyone off guard, including SG-1. They had been asked to return with the SGC's diplomatic team, SG-9, because the P'Jem had gotten to know and trust Jack O'Neill and his companions. Believing that the negotiations would proceed peacefully, none of them had been especially concerned, a feeling they now all regretted.
"Offer him guest quarters, Doctor Jackson," Hammond said gently, bringing Daniel's thoughts back to the here and now. "Tell him it would be an honor to have him speak. I'll have a storage room converted so we can move the caskets until the service."
With that, Hammond turned and left the room.
~&O&~
George Hammond sat alone in his office later that day, staring at the page in front of him, blank save for the Air Force logo at the top. The stark white of the paper seemed to be mocking him. What could he write that would bring peace to the families of the SG-9 team members that had been lost? He couldn't tell them anything about the mission they were on, save that it had been important. He couldn't tell them how each one of them had fought bravely at the side of the P'Jem as the camp was attacked. All he could write would be platitudes and empty assurances.
It was the part of his job he hated the most. He'd had to write far too many of these letters over the years; even more since he'd taken command of the SGC. He felt each loss deeply, personally. It was as though a part of his own heart was being ripped out, and the pain only got worse as the years passed.
And what about the lone surviving team member? Captain John Partland had only been with SG-9 for about six months. He was the son of missionaries, well versed in the art of blending into foreign cultures and adept at making friends of enemies. It was what made him such a good fit on the SGC's top negotiating team. They were never supposed to see action, though.
Despite the fact that all four of the members of SG-9 were Air Force personnel, they were supposed to come in after the hostilities and forge peace, not find themselves in the middle of a firefight. But Hammond had heard during the debriefing that Captain Partland and his teammates had conducted themselves well during the fight; had held their own. It had been a small group of Pao that had flanked them before anyone had realized it, taking out three members of SG-9 before they were killed. He knew that the Captain would be blaming himself for not being able to stop it, regardless of whether he could have.
That was the other part of the job Hammond hated. How did you help someone let go of the survivor's guilt and become a contributing member of the team again? Though the truth of the matter was that Captain Partland couldn't have done anything to stop what had happened, he wouldn't see it that way for a long time, if ever. There would always be a small voice in the back of his mind asking what more he could have done, what he could have done differently. The medical teams of the SGC would work hard to make sure he survived his injuries, but how well he healed mentally and emotionally would really all depended on him.
Hammond sighed and picked up his pen, intent on writing something to the grieving families. A knock at his door startled him, stopping him just before he'd put pen to paper.
"Come," he called.
The door swung open to reveal Master Jinno, standing rigidly, hands clasped behind his back.
"General Hammond," he said, "forgive my intrusion."
"It's alright," Hammond said, rising to greet his visitor. "Please, come in."
Jinno entered the office, standing at attention in front of Hammond's desk. The general looked closely at his visitor. He could see pain in that man's face, despite the obvious effort to hide it. He knew how Jinno felt, because he was struggling with pain of his own.
"Please, sit down," Hammond said gently, indicating the chair in front of his desk as he retook his own seat.
Jinno seemed to grow more rigid for the barest of moments, then deflated slightly and took a seat. He clasped his hands in his lap, and the general noticed the sheaf of papers he was clutching.
"What can I do for you, Master Jinno?" he asked.
Jinno took a deep, steadying breath. "With Doctor Jackson's assistance, I have written letters to the families of the fallen ones," he told the general, holding out the papers for the other man to take. "The words are not much, and they cannot bring back those who were lost, but I hope that they will bring some comfort."
Hammond took the papers, glancing down at the pages. There were three, all written in a flowing hand on fine parchment paper. He felt the tears he'd been keeping at bay threaten to fall. It was an incredible gesture, but one he was sorry would be wasted. He simply couldn't allow them to be passed on to the families, for security reasons.
"Master Jinno, I can't—" he began, only to be cut off by the other man.
"Doctor Jackson has explained that the people of your world do not know of the Stargate," he said, sorrow heavy in his tone. "I have been careful not to say anything that would reveal where or how these men were killed. But it is my responsibility to write to the families. It was under my protection that they were lost."
Hammond sighed, looking again at the man seated before him. His posture was rigid, his face pinched and drawn. He knew Master Jinno would likely feel the pain of these events for a long time. And it would take even longer for him to forgive himself, if he ever did. Glancing down at the papers in his hand, he had another thought. Selfish as it may seem, Hammond knew that if he could send these letters to the families, he wouldn't have to write letters of his own. Well, that wasn't strictly true. Even if he did send these letters, he'd probably also send a short note of his own, expressing his deep sorrow.
Rousing from his wandering thoughts, he looked back at Jinno, waiting patiently for Hammond to make a decision. His resolve cracking, the general offered a compromise.
"Let me read through these letters," Hammond said. "If I find that there's nothing of a classified nature revealed in them, I'll consider sending them to the families."
Jinno seemed to relax ever so slightly. "Thank you, General Hammond," he said. "That is all I ask."
Jinno stood, intending to leave the general to his task. Hammond rose as well and moved around the desk, stopping the other man with a hand to his shoulder. Though Jinno towered over the general, Hammond met his eyes, one soldier to another.
"Thank you, Master Jinno, for your care of my men," he said. "I and their families are grateful that they've been returned to us. I only wish we could have met under better circumstances."
Jinno turned and faced the general. He bowed slightly, then extended his hand, clasping the general's by the forearm in a warrior's handshake. "I, too, am sorry that our meeting could not be under better circumstances, but no thanks is necessary. Among the P'Jem, a fallen warrior is a hero and is treated as such. It was the least we could do. I only hope this will not affect the treaty between our two peoples. I believe we have much to learn from each other."
Hammond nodded his head, his hand clasping Jinno's forearm even tighter before letting go. "I'll be recommending to my superiors that the negotiations resume at the appropriate time. I've also informed them of your honorable actions, and I'll tell them about these letters as well. You've done yourself proud, son, and I'll make sure everyone knows that."
"Thank you, General Hammond," Jinno said, bowing once again before retreating out the door.
Hammond watched him go, the SF guarding him trailing behind like a faithful companion. He was impressed and deeply moved by Master Jinno's gesture as well as his words. The man was as honorable as they came, and Hammond hoped that these events didn't destroy him. Returning to his desk, he took up the letters and set about reading them through as he'd told Jinno he would.
~&O&~