Stargate: SG14

Formation

Written by SteinUlf
Beta Readers: Madre, IronRaven (Special Note: TSgt Writtenhauer inspired by a character of IronRaven)

SG14-My take on the Stargate universe, this is technically an AU storyline. The main differences are that, in SG14, 9-11 really happened and the SGC is feeling the effects in terms of morale, budget and personnel cuts. They are being expected to do the same job with less. Further, SG14 is going to be a little more hard military. The Chain of Command exists, most teams are enlisted personnel, etc. SG Teams don't get to use P90s just because some guy in the props department thinks they're sexy. In point of fact, they'll mostly be stuck with older inventory or test units that the Air Force is done with. Supplies will be short, creativity will be required, because damn it, you can only strangle so many Jaffa with a shoestring before it breaks.

-SG:14-

General George Hammond looked around the briefing room at his senior staff. His G3 and G4, Operations and Logistics officers respectively, were grumbling about the new budget cuts again. His G1, Personnel officer, was bemoaning the loss of officers and men to nobody in particular.

"Jesus Howie, I know there's a war on, but they can't cut funding to everything!" Colonel Milo Meyers, Operations officer, moaned. "Afghanistan is not the center of the freaking world."

Major Howard "Howie" Tuttle shrugged. He didn't control how much money he got, only where it went after he got it. Short, wiry, bald, with soft features and a large nose, Howie was not the image of a military man. But he was a superb logistics officer. It was amazing how far he could stretch even the most limited of funds. Nothing he ever did was blatantly illegal, but his knowledge of rules and regulations was far too detailed for someone who worked completely above board. Which was why Hammond had worked so hard to hang onto the Major. He was losing too many of his best people as it was.

"Gentlemen," he interrupted. "I believe the last thing for this meeting was the new team assignments."

"Of course sir," Major Owens, the G1 or Personnel officer began. "Major Kirby has been moved to command of Team Three. Sergeant Pratt replaced Gibbs in Nine. Then there's the matter of Fourteen." Everyone at the table winced. Team Fourteen was their latest combat loss.

"We've lost whole teams before, but that was just…ugly." Lieutenant Colonel Steven Haviland, the assistant Ops officer, grimaced.

"I'd like Captain Redford for team leader," Meyers cut in, moving back to the original topic at hand. "He's just completed the basic offworld course and is due back from his first field trip in a few days with Team Twelve." Hammond nodded. Redford was a good officer, a former pilot who'd been transferred to the SGC after his squadron was deactivated. The man had flown the A-10 Warthog for most of his career.

"For security there's Senior Airman Astrid Ericsson. Security forces, and she's been to both Ranger school and Close Precision Engagement school and already completed the basic course."

"Okay, who else?"

"Let's see," Meyers shuffled the files in front of him. "Airman first class Jose Medina, medic, with team twenty-four before we had to deactivate it. Then there's Marcy Downs. Just graduated MIT with a double major in Electromechanical Engineering and Computer Engineering. Good marks in chemistry and physics as well. We'll need to move fast on her before someone else hires her. Next is Percival Williams."

"Why is that name familiar?" Hammond asked.

"Well, you've probably heard of him as 'Peacemaker Percy' Sir. Oxford professor turned diplomat. Got involved in the British Foreign Office during Yugoslavia. Emigrated to the United States afterward and worked for both Defense and State for the last few years." Hammond nodded. He remembered now. Percy had a reputation as a solid negotiator, honest and honorable, willing to work with almost anyone. However, while idealistic he was far from naïve and was reportedly fond of Roosevelt's "speak softly and carry a big stick" methodology. It was said that you always wanted to make peace with Percy or he'd send the Hounds of Perdition after you. During a particularly touchy negotiation one of the Yugoslavian factions thought it would be a good idea to take Percy as a hostage to use as leverage against the UN and British Foreign Office. The would-be hostage takers learned that "Peacekeeper" had a double meaning when Percy drew a Colt .45 Single Action Army, an antique revolver famous in the American West, and shot three of them dead. Nobody had ever tried to take him as a hostage after that, though he had been quietly dismissed from Foreign Office, which is what allowed the Americans to pick him up.

"If we can get Percy, do it. Anyone else?"

"Yes, Sir. The last one is Technical Sergeant Writtenhauer. He's…"

"What!" Owens's cut in. "Why on earth would you want that psychopath!"

"He's a good operator, gets the job done. Besides, he's a former Combat Controller. He'd be wasted anywhere else."

"Yeah, former Controller. You know why he's getting the boot, right?" Owens persisted.

"Oh come on, like you haven't wanted to!" Haviland smiled.

"Would someone care to enlighten me as to why the Sergeant is being discharged?" Hammond cut in.

"Not just discharged, Sir. He's getting a bad conduct discharge. He just finished three months at Kirkland." Owens said.

"For what?" Howie asked.

"For attacking a news team from MSNBC," Owens stated. "He destroyed most of their equipment, broke a cameraman's nose, dislocated the sound guy's arm, ruptured one of the producer's testicles and threatened to shoot the reporter in her, and I quote, 'liberal lying whore mouth'. Then he accused them all of being a spies. He's dangerous Sir."

"There were extenuating circumstances!" Colonel Meyers protested. "They rode up on his team during a mission, unauthorized and unannounced. The newsies compromised their position and they took fire. It's amazing they all got out alive, thanks in no small part to the actions of Writtenhauer himself. It's all in the transcript from the court-martial. He called an airstrike damn near on top of his own ass to cover the team and only roughed the newsies up after extracting them to safety. He may be an impolitic asshole, but he's good at what he does."

"So has he been discharged yet?" Hammond asked.

"Not quite, Sir," Owens said. "The papers have been signed, he's out-processed from his unit, but the discharge hasn't been officially filed yet."

"Good. Owens, get him transferred here."

"But..but…Sir, he's being discharged! We can't just…"

"Owens, that wasn't a request."

"But Sir, it isn't…legal," Owens protested.

"Sir, if I may…" Captain Hans Gerald raised his hand. Gerald was the SGC's senior JAG. Hammond nodded. "If the discharge hasn't been filed yet, but it's gone through his unit, we have a perfect opportunity. We short-stop the paper work at Personnel, then move it here. As far as everyone outside the SGC thinks, he's out. But technically, he's still in, if only just barely. We can use him, he's still subject to the chain of command and the UCMJ, and if he becomes a problem we push the discharge through without changing the dates. The records will show he's been out and working for us as a civilian contractor, say communication specialist or somesuch. It's about as illegal as legal gets, but it works." Hammond smiled. That's why he liked Gerald. He was a weasely little bastard who was very good at finding a way to get shady things done close enough to legal to make it stick. Hammond never wanted to be on the wrong side of the bench from him, but he loved having him in his command.

"If there's nothing else gentlemen?" Hammond stood and turned for his office.

-SG:14-

"Is it always that cold?" Captain Redford asked, shivering slightly as he stepped through the Stargate onto the ramp. Major Winters nodded. "Yeah, but you get used to it."

Redford stood a moment waiting for his goggles to de-fog. P3X something or other had housed a charming little farming community that the SGC had made contact with before. A nice, quiet little mission for a rookie run. He was surprised at how much he'd actually learned at the month long Basic Gate Course. He and the other trainees had been drilled in language, culture, small unit reconnaissance, alien technology, biology, geology, first contact procedure and a host of other things. Twelve hours a day, six days a week for thirty days, both classroom and field work. Yet when he'd actually deployed the knowledge had been there. Hopefully after the quarantine period, standard after a mission, he'd be assigned to a team.

-SG:14-

Mike Writtenhauer sat in an uncomfortable metal chair, wondering why he was here and why he hadn't just been booted out of Kirkwood when he'd been released. Instead, he'd been flown to what he was pretty sure was Fort Carson and hustled into this tiny little room to wait for several hours. He'd already picked the lock on the cuffs, but left them in place for appearances. No point in giving away the game.

Finally two Captains stepped into the room and sat across the table from him. He noticed one had insignia for a JAG, while the other only had rank insignia. The JAG set a briefcase on the table and opened it, seemingly bored. Well, he'd been interrogated before.

"Technical Sergeant Writtenhauer," the non-JAG began. "I'd like to make you an offer." The JAG placed a file in front of him. Writtenhauer scanned it quickly. It was his discharge papers.

"These are the originals, Sergeant. Now, we can push these through and you'll get a bad conduct discharge. Or, I can hang onto them, you work for me for a few years, and we'll see if we can't turn this into an administrative discharge instead. Now, I'm sure you're wondering…"

"I'm in," Writtenhauer interrupted, clearly surprising both Captains.

"Sergeant, you don't even know what you're getting into," the JAG said.

"Don't care. I know a black ops recruitment when I see one, and I'd rather get smeared somewhere in lower east kablamistan for king and country than try to make it as a civilian with a BCD on my record. So throw the hood over my head, toss me in the trunk, make unnecessary turns to confuse my ass and let's get going." Writtenhauer leaned back in the chair, a giant grin splitting his face as he laid the cuffs on the table. The officers had thought they were being all cloak and dagger and he'd gone and ruined their game.

"Well, Sergeant, I suppose that's it then. Though the hood is unnecessary. That's more the CIA's bag," the JAG said.

"Nuts. I was looking forward to that."

-SG:14-

"Miss, your mother would like to see you in the drawing room." Marcy looked up from her computer screen and nodded to the maid.

"Okay, thanks. Tell her I'll be right down." Marcy took a moment of finish killing the warg. "Sorry guys, I have to go," she said over the headset. She logged off the computer, set the headset down, and bounced out of her room. The little brunette bounded down the hall to the main stairs and then into the "drawing room". It made no sense that it was called that, since nobody ever drew anything in there. She would have called it "Mother's Interrogation Room", but she wasn't in charge of such things. She stopped dead in the doorway when she saw the two uniforms sitting with her mother. A small part of her mind was amused that their blue uniforms almost matched the upholstery, but the rest was wondering why they were here.

"Marcy! What the hell did you do!" Catherine Downs screamed as soon as she saw her daughter. She thought quickly, wondering if anything she'd done recently would have attracted federal attention. She didn't think so, but after the Towers they may have tightened their net. She stepped timidly into the room, really hoping she wasn't about to be arrested.

"Ma'am, you're daughter isn't in trouble. We just want to talk to her," one of the men said. Marcy studied them carefully. Blue uniforms. Who wore blue?

"Well if she isn't in trouble, then why are you here?" Catherine glared at her daughter. The daft girl seemed determined to get herself arrested. Only the family's connections and money had saved her when she'd hacked some corporate database while she was still in school. Marcy sat down meekly next to her mother.

"Ma'am, we just want to talk to her," the taller of the two men said. He fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Redford, just cut to the chase. Miss Downs, we'd like to offer you a job," the other uniform said.

"What kind of job?" Catherine asked suspiciously. The government didn't just offer a job to a twenty two year old fresh out of college.

"Ma'am, her technical credentials and training could make her very valuable to the Department of Defense. We'd like to bring her in on a project." That brought both of them up short.

"I can't tell you much at the moment, but I can assure you that you'd be doing a great service to your country," the one identified as Redford said, facing Marcy directly. "I can give you forty eight hours to decide."

"Is it dangerous?" Catherine asked.

"Shush, Mom," Marcy interrupted. Her mother dropped into stunned silence. Marcy had never given a direct order to anyone, let alone her mother. "What will I get to work on?" Wide eyed eagerness was written large on the young woman's face as she leaned forward.

"You'll get to work on the bleeding edge of technological development. I really can't say more," Redford answered.

"Shiny! Can I pack first?"

-SG:14-

"Ah, Mr. Williams, good to finally meet you." Redford stuck out his hand. The man who took the offered limb was tall, just shy of gaunt, graying at the temples, and dressed in a comfortably worn tweed suit. He had a kindly, grandfatherly look to him. His grip was surprisingly strong.

"It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Captain," Percival Williams answered in a perfectly cultured accent. "What can I do for the Air Force?" They sat and Percy offered Redford tea, which he accepted.

"Well, Sir, we've got this project we could use your help with."

"I see." Percy steepled his fingers and smiled knowingly. "And what sort of 'project' would this happen to be, Captain?"

"Well Sir, I can't tell you much, but I can tell you that you'd be doing your country a great service."

"Hmm. A great service from an old negotiator is it? Well, I can, as you Americans say, 'surf a desk' well enough right here. Unless this 'project' is more exciting than you're letting on." Percy's grin widened. The Captain was getting uncomfortable, as Percy expected. He wouldn't want to return to his superiors saying that he had failed in his recruitment, but he also likely had been ordered to reveal as little as possible. It would be interesting to see what Percy could drag out of him.

"Well, Sir, it wouldn't be for a desk job. We'd need you doing field work. You'd be studying al…foreign cultures."

Percy leaned back in his chair, considering the offer before him. Finally he spoke. "This 'project', it wouldn't happen the same rabbit hole my compatriot Mr. Glass disappeared down nearly a year ago, would it?"

"I couldn't say, Sir."

Suddenly Percy stood. "Well. You've piqued my curiosity Captain. I shall join your little adventure." He thrust out his hand again, which Redford accepted. "Leave the details with my Aide, would you? I must let a few people know that I shall be…indisposed for some time."

-SG:14-

"Ser, yew wanted ta see me Ser." Captain Redford wasn't quite sure what to expect when he asked to speak to Senior Airman Ericsson, but the tall, fire-haired Valkyrie in front of him certainly wasn't it. She stood in front of his desk at parade rest, her back ram-rod straight. But her eyes didn't rest directly ahead of her as many Airmen's would have. She sized him up just as he sized up her.

"Have a seat, Airman." He noted that her movements were smooth and precise. She still sat up straight and her eyes bored right into him. She wasn't tense, nor was she relaxed exactly. Just very…controlled. Redford opened her file and laid it out before himself. "You're record shows that you've recently completed the Basic Gate Course, and that you passed both Close Precision Engagement and Ranger schools. So tell me, Airman, why are you here and not deploying to Afghanistan?"

"Ser, Ah want ta go through the Gate Ser. Not guard some base in the arse end of nowher', Ser."

"Well Astrid, why do you want to go through the Gate? I see you've put in a request for transfer to an active gate team once a month for the past two years. Why does this matter so much to you?"

Astri Ericsson eyed Redford levelly; gauging what answer would serve her best. Finally, she decided on the truth. "Ser, mah Daddy worked minin' coal fer most of his lahfe. He tried te get inta NASA over'n'over, even as just a janiter, but they'd never take 'im. He'd read me Heinlein and Asimov and Clark befer going ta bed. He dreamed of the stars, always. And it got in mah head too. Ah studied hard in school, but we didn't have the monies fer college, so Ah joined the service lahk mah brothers, but Ah wanted a line job. Army and Marines wouldn't let a little girl inta infantry." Little being a relative term. Few people would describe the six foot farmgirl in front of Redford as "little". "So Ah went fer the Air Force. Then Ah got assigned here, but they made me guard the base. Ser, Ah know Ah have the smarts for NASA, Ah just don't gots the education. But Ah got a chance here, and Ah'll do anything Ah haffta ta get through that Gate. Ta step on an alien world, ta seek new life, new civilizations. Ah want it Ser, mor'n anythin'."

Redford was taken aback. He had not expected something so eloquent to be wrangled from that Appalachia accent. If she hadn't already been selected for his team, he would have been sold now. This was the kind of person he wanted for his team. Someone who understood, better even it seemed than he, what the mission was about. He smiled.

"Well Airman, I have good news for you. Effective immediately you're being reassigned to SG14. We've got a few others to train up, and since you're already qualified, I want you to help them out." Redford grinned as he observed Astrid's control crack slightly as the side of her mouth quirked up in a half-smile. "That will be all, Airman."

She stood and slowly drew her hand into a salute. "Thank you Ser."

-SG:14-

"Hijo de puta!" Airman First Class Jose Medina shouted, tossing his cards on the table in disgust. He'd just lost four of a kind against a low straight flush and five hundred dollars along with it. "Un mas, un mas."

"English dude. English." Technical Sergeant Donnelly shook his head. Medina always went off in Spanish when he got excited. The kid was one of the medics on staff, formerly of SG24, and always hanging around the few PJs on base. The kid had washed out of the pipeline once already due to an injury during training, but Donnelly was sure he'd try again, even if it killed him. In the meantime, he had no compunction against taking the kid's money.

"Medina."

"Un momento!" Medina stared furiously at his new hand. The other PJs, grinned at each other. The poor kid had no idea he'd just blown off an officer.

"Medina."

"I said 'un momento', I'm busy!" He even waived dismissively, never turning around. The Captain stepped up behind Medina, leaned over his shoulder, and looked at his hand.

"I'd fold if I was you," the Captain said.

"Hey, when I want advice from a…" Medina finally looked at the newcomer and registered his rank. "…mierda," he finished in a small voice.

"Well Airman, I see I have your attention now," Redford grinned evilly.

"Si, Sir," Medina almost whimpered.

"Well Airman, one more incident like this and I'm booting you off team fourteen, comprende?"

"Yes Sir."

"Good day Airman. Gentlemen," he nodded to the PJs, who were all making a valiant effort not to fall out of their chairs laughing. Patterson failed and slowly slid to the floor, shaking in near-silent mirth. As the Captain left the room Medina turned to the PJs. "I am in such mierda." He hung his head.

"Kid, you realize you've been assigned to a new team, right?" Donnelly asked.

-SG:14-

"Oh, this is so cool!" Marcy beamed. She was at the heavy arms range along with Astrid. She'd gotten off to a rocky start at the range. She was a great shot in her video games, but in the real world, as Astrid said, she couldn't hit the broad side of a barn from the inside. But with Astrid's patient teaching she was finally able to reliably hit a man-sized target out to two hundred yards and scare one at three hundred and she could at least suppress with a machine gun Astrid still thought she could do better, but Marcy had never even touched a gun before joining the Stargate Program.

Now Astrid was teaching her to use heavy weapons. Not that she'd be expected to use them, but anyone joining an SG Team had to be able to use all the basic issue equipment, even if that only meant pointing it in the general direction of the enemy. Astrid had hauled over what Marcy recognized as a rocket of some type.

"What is it, exactly?" Marcy asked, picking up the surprisingly heavy tube. It had looked pretty light when Astrid had carried it over.

"It's an aye tee four shoulder-fawred laght anta-armor weapon. Good against laght armored vehicles and structures. Minimum arhming range is ten meters, maximum effective range is three hundred. Its lotsa fun," Astrid grinned and walked Marcy through how to use the rocket. "Naw, ye see that targit out yonder? Lawt it up."

Marcy hefted the tube to her shoulder and aimed. When she thought she had it she pressed the firing stud and rocked slightly as the rocket roared out of the tube. She grinned as she saw the fireball.

"Not bad if yew was trahing ta engage the hillsahde," Astrid chuckled.

-SG:14-

"Okay, so this wormhole, how exactly does it transport us?" Writtenhauer rubbed his temples in frustration, leaning forward against the desk. The sparse room had desks for about twenty students with drawings and schematics all along the front demonstrating how the Stargate itself worked. Writtenhauer had grasped pretty quickly the basics of what the thing did, it was the how that he was having trouble with. Looking around the room he could see he wasn't the only one either.

"You have a communications background, right?" The instructor Lieutenant asked.

"Among other skill sets, yes."

"Okay Sergeant, think of it this way," the LT continued. "It's kind of like digital radio communications. When you send digital information over a carrier with frequency shift keying, you break the analog signal up into discrete information packets and transmit them. Then the receiver at the other end puts those packets back together and you get an analog signal out through the speaker. Make sense now?"

Writtenhauer looked like he'd just bitten into a rotten egg. "Oh that is just so comforting."

"What?" the LT asked.

"So you're telling me this wormhole breaks us up into itty bitty pieces to move us from point a to point b?"

"Yes, that's right! So what's the problem?" Writtenhauer still looked concerned.

"Lieutenant, what happens if there's a bit error?" Suddenly much of the rest of the class looked as concerned as Writtenhauer.

"Well that doesn't happen Sergeant."

"Why not?"

"Well…it…it just…doesn't." She shrugged, not sure how to further explain the complex coding within the gate network that prevented such malfunctions.

"Ma'am, I don't care how perfect you think the system is, the only thing technology can be absolutely trusted to do is fail. At some point the gate is going to glitch. So what happens when that occurs?"

"Mr. Writtenhauer, Sir?" a small voice asked. Writtenhauer leaned back over his chair to see a mousy looking brunette raising her hand. "I think I can help."

"Its Sergeant, not Mister or Sir, I work for a living. But go ahead."

Marcy stood up as if she was presenting in class, looked around a little nervously, and began speaking. "I expect such bit errors occur rather regularly, Sergeant, but they're likely not to be a big a problem as you expect. Remember, the human body is an immensely complex system, and a single error is most likely only to destroy a single cell or damage a single strand of DNA, problems that occur regularly in nature which the body is well capable of dealing with." She sat down suddenly as she finished speaking.

"Fine, as long as I don't end up with some weird alien cancer and turn out like the blob or something."

-SG:14-

Colonel Meyers finished looking over the report on his desk, shuffled the papers back into their folder, and set it neatly down on the blotter before looking up at Captain Redford. "Well Captain, it looks like you've got your team trained up very well. Now, we're short on training slots and I know half your team hasn't completed the final training mission. However, the other half, including yourself, has. Further, MALP telemetry has showed a world that should be a fairly easy recon mission. We'd like to get your team fielded as quickly as possible, so I'm prepared to waive the final field trip. However, since it is your team I'm leaving the call with you. If you think your team is ready, the mission is yours. If not, we'll wait to schedule the others for a field trip, though I'm not sure how long that may take."

Redford leaned forward in his chair, looking eagerly at the Colonel. "We're ready, Sir."