Author's Notes: Hello All! Welcome to the first part of my Counting Stars 'verse. I will warn you now, this story is SLASH. If you don't like it, don't read it. I won't be offended if you don't read it but I will be upset if I get flames for to the response I've received from The Pea, I've decided to post this and the other stories here. So, on with our fab flyboys!
Notes: Between the Battle of Antarctica against Anubis when Cam is injured, and Jack frozen in the Outpost, and Jack's promotion to Brigadier General and CO of the SGC we have eight months. Cam joins the SGC and SG1 as Sam's second-in-command 6 months later (After 'Icon' 8x05, or around the time of 'Avatar' 8x06). At this time, Weir and her Expedition are almost ready to leave for Atlantis, and O'Neill visits the Outpost meeting Major Sheppard, who joins the Expedition. From this moment, season 1 of Atlantis and Season 8 of SG1 go together.
After 'Moebius' the SGC receives a message from Atlantis ('Letters from Pegasus') and launches an Operation to save Atlantis ('The Siege').
At this time, Cam has been in the SGC 1 year.
Also after 'Moebius', Sam leaves the SGC for Area 51 and Teal'c joins the Free Jaffa in Dakara. Cam is left in command of SG1, but Daniel also wants to leave for Atlantis. Jack is promoted again and sent to DC, and Landry becomes the CO of the SGC.
During 'Prometheus Unbound', Vala helps the SGC to gather information about the Goa'uld, the Lucien Alliance and other things around the Galaxy, and she earns their trust. She comes to Earth because she found an Ancient tablet for Daniel to translate. As a consequence of her little prank with the Goa'uld handcuffs and their experimenting with the stones terminal, they meet the Ori ('Avalon' and 'Origin'). With the threat of the Ori, O'Neill transfers Sam back to the SGC, leaving Cam in command to allow her time to play in the labs. Teal'c rejoins SG1; Daniel passes on going to Atlantis, and Vala joins in too, all to fight the Ori.
This is when the Expedition leaders return to the SGC for debriefing and to reorganize the Expedition.
Chapter 1 – Battle of Antarctica
Standing in the lee of a corrugated metal shed, Major John Sheppard watched the Battle of Antarctica. It was good that he had on snow goggles when a bright flash lit the area, otherwise he'd have been blinking away spots big enough to fly a C-130 through. He watched the sky long after the last flashes flickered overhead until his attention was drawn to his radio.
"Major Sheppard, report to Colonel Wilson's office."
"Understood."
John pulled his scarf up and headed for his CO's office. He stepped through the inner door and was struck by a wall of heat. He frowned inwardly at the extravagance. The barracks were chilly enough that everyone slept in two layers of clothes. John slept in an arctic sleeping bag and long johns from LL Bean that he'd paid to have shipped to the frozen South. He unwound his scarf and draped it over his shoulders then stuffed his hat and goggles in his pocket.
He snapped to attention and saluted as he announced his presence. Wilson was a stickler for formality from his subordinates even though he rarely used it himself.
"Sheppard. I've been ordered by the Pentagon to loan you to a highly classified project. They requested you specifically." Wilson picked up a bright red packet and handed it to John. "Here are your orders. I am required to remind you that this mission falls under the National Secrets Act." Wilson's mouth twisted into a grimace. "Dismissed."
John saluted again, spun smartly on his heel then left. He paused in the vestibule between the doors to don his hat, scarf, gloves and goggles once more then hurried back to his former position behind the shed. Safe from prying eyes, he opened the packet. He scanned the sheet inside then went back and re-read it slowly. He was to fly CSAR for the so-called training exercise he'd witnessed a scant few hours ago.
He headed to his single in the barracks – one of the few perks he got and changed into his flight gear. When he reached the helipad, his copter had been pushed out to the pad and uncovered, and the flight mechanics had added the skis. He normally didn't get skis, but then, as one of the two pilots with clearance for the Top Secret research posts, he usually landed places that had places for him to land instead of loose snow. He slowly walked around his copter and performed the visual part of his pre-flight check. Done, he climbed in and started the copter up.
"Flight, this is Penguin. How's the weather?"
"Weather is clear and a balmy 47, Penguin."
"Copy that. Flight will be dark, tower."
"Understood Penguin. Flight under wraps. Happy hunting."
"Roger that, tower. Going dark."
"You are clear for takeoff, Penguin."
"Thanks, tower. Lifting off."
John worked the throttle and cyclic and took off. Once he cleared the immediate surrounds; he flipped channels to the one listed in his oh-so-short orders.
"Cloud 7, this is Penguin en route from McMurdo for CSAR."
"Penguin, this is Cloud 7. Work your way towards us. Beacon is on channel 143. IFF's are code 19-7-3. You are to mark positions of any downed craft. Set your GPS markers for frequency 7. We will dispatch crews with retrieval equipment. You are only authorized to land if the pilot is in imminent danger."
"Copy that, Cloud 7."
John flipped several switches and soon a soft beeping filled the cockpit. He adjusted course and the beep from the IFFs grew stronger. When the beep became a steady tone, John put his copter into a hover. Below and to his left was a damaged aircraft, which resembled something from the old Battlestar Galactica. He spotted no movement, so he grabbed a GPS tracker, set it then opened his window enough to drop it out. The trackers also had the benefit that they shut the IFF's down so searchers wouldn't be pulled back to the same crash site.
He located three more craft in the same way. He also found the remains of several more that did not have working IFF. He marked those as well and presumed that the recovery teams would know how to deal with them. Routine went out the window when he topped a rise and found his fifth IFF just past a huge debris field. Splotches of red made a trail to a green-clad figure but had rung the dinner bell for a seriously far-ranging, as in wrong side of the planet, polar bear. John pushed the cyclic forward and lowered to skim the crash site and the bear. He figured the bear had probably been tagged at some point because when he saw the copter, he took off as fast as he could.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0
Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell was pissed, hurting and half frozen. The battle against the aliens (and wasn't that a kick in the ass?) had been going against them until a bunch of somethings that resembled golden squids squirted past his F-302. He'd used the squids to get close to one of the fat bastards and deliver a fatal blow, but the lucky bastard got him with its final shot before it crashed.
He blacked out briefly when he hit the ground, but the chill seeping in woke him. He wished it hadn't though as he could barely feel anything below his waist. Crawling from the plane using his arms and minimally working legs was hell. Being out of the plane was good as he could see the sky, but it was bad as he was out of the minimal protection it might have offered. He still didn't know if his co-pilot, Adam Banks, was alive or not. After a burst of fire had damaged their 302, he'd heard nothing from his friend. He collapsed against a snowbank to rest.
A growl woke him from his nap. An honest to God polar bear had decided that corn-fed Kansas flyboy was on the menu for dinner.
"Don't you know … red meat … is bad … for your health?" Cam asked.
The bear growled again and took a step forward just as an angel flew over the rise behind him. The pilot dipped the nose and buzzed the bear. The bear decided its eyeballs were bigger than its stomach and headed for colder pastures.
A cold wind whipped the snow up as the pilot landed. A lanky flight-suited figure dismounted from the cockpit, med kit in hand. The pilot dropped to his knees in the snow beside Cam.
"How ya doin'?"
"Been better." Cam said. "Hey, how 'bout my co-pilot, Major Banks? Did he make it?"
The other man looked over his shoulder at the wreckage. Even at this distance, he could tell the guy was dead. Half of his head appeared to be missing. Glancing down, he shook his head as he returned to the task at hand. "I need to know how badly you're injured before I can move you." The pilot pulled his aviators off and tucked them in a chest pocket. His gloves were next as he fished a bag of saline from his kit then set the IV in the back of Cam's hand.
"Having trouble feeling anything below my waist."
The pilot ran knowing hands along Cam's legs and chest. Cam felt an odd tingle where the other pilot's hands touched him. "Well, you've got compound fractures in both legs and a few busted ribs. I'm gonna get a backboard before I move you." He dug into the kit again for some pressure bandages and held them up. "I'm gonna put these on to stabilize the breaks and so you don't bleed all over my copter."
Cam made a face at the mention of the restrictive backboard. "Nice to know you care." He grunted.
"Hey, you'd do the same if our positions were reversed."
The pilot looked Cam in the eye as he made the statement and Cam was struck by the man's handsome features. His savior had the most gorgeous hazel eyes set in a slim face with the shadow of beard stubble darkening the cheeks. Cam stared as the man adjusted his IV, the spell finally being broken when the pilot stood and hurried back to his chopper. He returned with the backboard and Cam sputtered and cursed as the pilot got him settled.
"I'm gonna give you a hit of morphine before I move you cause this is gonna suck."
Cam nodded, not trusting himself to open his mouth. As a distraction, he checked out his savior in an attempt to remember as many details as possible so he could find him later. He caught sight of part of the man's name tag as the syringe met the IV.
John Shep…
Darkness hid the rest.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0
John grunted as he dragged the fighter pilot to his copter. He could still feel the fading sensation of heat running through his body from touching the other man. He'd seen his fare checking him out and had to admit that the attention was flattering. McMurdo was not a dating hotspot regardless of your orientation. He liked both men and women, but his partners had been mostly female over the last fifteen years since he signed his commission for the Air Force. His male liaisons had been few and far between, more quickie than anything meaningful.
He noted the guy's name for his report and future reference. If DADT ever was repealed, he'd look the guy up and see what happened.
John propped the board against the copter and hurried to the other side so he could drag the guy in while wishing he had a flight medic aboard or at least a corpsman to help with the lifting. He'd be sleeping on heating pads tonight. "Well, Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell, you are a lot of trouble." He said to his unconscious passenger as he secured him in the back of the copter. "Next time we meet, you owe me a steak and some beers."
0o0o0o0o0o0o0
The beacon led him to a spot in the ass end of nowhere. The only things that made the area notable were the group of tents and the hole in the ice that a bunch of grunts was trying to cover. He didn't want to know what was down there. He landed near the field hospital and motioned over a pair of corpsmen who quickly unloaded his passenger and hustled him inside.
A lieutenant popped up at his elbow. "Major, Colonel Lawton wants to see you."
John smirked. Of course he does. "Lead the way, Lieutenant."
John was escorted to a big green tent. The lieutenant opened the flaps for John but stayed outside.
"Major Sheppard, as requested, Sir."
"At ease, Major," Lawton said. "So why did you land instead of dropping a marker?"
"My orders were to drop markers unless the survivor's life was in danger, Sir," John said in his best I'm right and you know it drawl. "Within the scope of my orders, I figured a hungry polar bear qualified as a threat. It most likely had been attracted to the area by the scent of blood, Sir."
Watching Lawton grind his teeth, John wondered if the man had any left.
"You did well, Major," Lawton said. "Grab some chow and get your bird refueled. I need you back in the air soon as possible."
John's eyes bugged, but he kept his mouth shut. Regs called for more time between flights, but he figured this was a special case. The look in Lawton's eyes was daring him to object. "Yes, Sir."
After a hot MRE that he took his time eating, John was back in the air. He found four more craft before fading light and exhaustion forced him down. The same lieutenant met him again and accompanied him to the mess hall and to the field hospital when he noticed John's hunched posture. John considered protesting, but his back hurt too much. He'd gotten caught in some turbulence, and it had bounced him around a bit. The docs at the hospital gave him a quick checkup, a couple of Tylenol 3, and a mild muscle relaxer. He'd tried to check on his patient, but the guy was nowhere in sight. Figuring he might be in a different area, John let it go.
The ever present lieutenant then took him to a tent. What he thought was one big tent turned out to be a smaller one inside a bigger one. The small one would hold two people although he was its only resident. Well, him and the ceramic heater in the middle of the floor. John kicked off his boots, stripped off his flight suit, unrolled the sleeping bag, and crawled in. He took his pills and drank down half a bottle of water and lay down. He was asleep in no time.