ALARNA

Summary: This is non-canon, drama with Sam/Jack ship and hopefully some action/adventure thrown in. That's all I've figured out so far.

Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing SG1 and their world, not for profit.

Part One:

Winter in Yalarna this year was proving to be more pleasant than the summer. The sun was high in the sky yet it shed a mild warmth that was soft and comforting, like fluffy bed covers on a cold morning. As the sun rose, the still grey mist of early day dispersed, dividing the sky and the Great Lake. Small swallow-like birds skimmed the surface of the water, splashing their feathers clean and warbling excitedly.

It was too bad he spent most of his time blowing stuff up, General Jack O'Neill mused. The weather was perfect for fishing, something he hadn't had a chance to do for quite some time now and probably never would, again. He stood looking out over the lake for a moment longer, mulling over that thought and others, before closing his eyelids slowly and pushing the images from his mind. He didn't have time to dwell.

Turning his back on the quiet and unspoiled scene of the lake surroundings, O'Neill scanned the sight below him. Rows upon rows of makeshift tents lined the dusty plain that bordered the Great Lakes' south shore, smoke from a number of campfires curling up to the clouds. Tau'ri, Tok'ra, Jaffa and Yalarnan men and women weaved their way through the camp, carrying weapons, food or garments as they performed their morning rituals. O'Neill followed some of the individuals with his eyes, watching intently as they carried on with their lives, oblivious to his gaze and the dismal deliberations flashing through his head.

In just a few hours, the camp would be deserted and half of its inhabitants dead. Who would he lose today?

Sensing movement, the General turned his neck to look over his shoulder and squinted as the sun's rays flared his sight. He shielded his eyes with his right hand, simultaneously returning the salute he received from the silhouette standing before him.

'Morning sir.'

O'Neill recognised the voice of his assistant officer. 'Sergeant Harriman,' he acknowledged casually, digging his sunglasses out of his breast pocket and dusting them off with the untucked corner of his shirt. 'Any luck getting that dune buggy I asked for?' he queried, placing his shades over his eyes as he revelled in the comfort of their running joke.

Harriman smiled half-heartedly. 'Not yet sir,' he replied in an unusually grave voice, alerting O'Neill.

'What's up?' the General commanded matter-of-factly, after taking a moment to properly survey Harriman's face, now that the sun was no longer searing his eyeballs.

'Good news and bad news, sir,' Harriman said rather hesitantly, crossing his hands behind his back. 'At approximately 02:00 this morning Camp Vanou was attacked by…'

'Vanou?' O'Neill shot his head up from the ground.

'Yes sir,' Harriman replied as firmly as he could, thankful his CO was wearing sunglasses – he couldn't bare to see the man's eyes as he took in the information Harriman had just served cold.

O'Neill's chest heaved in and out unevenly as the two men stood silent for a moment, the General unable to ask the question, unable to even entertain the idea. Camp Vanou? No… this couldn't be happening.

'There were minimal fatalities, sir,' Harriman managed to report finally; his statement loaded with the indirect information O'Neill needed to hear.

The General's anxiety faded slightly, only to be rapidly replaced by anger.

'Apparently the Jaffa defence tactics and Tok'ra tunnelling mechanisms enabled an effective escape,' Harriman spoke quickly, trying to appease the older man, despite the fact that he would rather see him angry than inert.

'Why the hell wasn't I told about this?' O'Neill bellowed, already making his way to the command tent in the area demarcated as headquarters.

Harriman didn't reply.

'What's their situation?' the General fidgeted, studying the rudimentary topography chart they had stuck to a makeshift drawing board.

'They managed to evacuate the entire settlement, sir, but there's no telling what the Zalarnan operatives have planned.'

'I want two medical teams and a platoon prepped for departure immediately!' The General's head darted around the tent as he inspected the personnel gathered before him. 'If they leave by 08:00 they could be there by 16:00. That gives us…,' he yanked his arm up and pushed his sleeve away from the face of his watch, tapping the glass impatiently despite the fact that the devise had ceased to work years ago. 'Timekeeper?' He demanded, turning to a young Yalaranan man standing just outside the tent.

'About thirty-five minutes, sir,' the man replied, without even needing to look at the sun.

'Sergeant,' O'Neill continued. 'Get Dixon in here, I want those teams ready now.'

Nobody moved.

'Sir,' Harriman began, leaning down beside the General who was bent over in anguish, one hand resting on some crates to support his body weight, the other rubbing furiously at his eyes under his shades as he tried to push away images of Vanou burnt to the ground, images of…

'What?' the General took his hand from his head and straightened up to see his people still surrounding him.

'A full rescue team led by Colonel Dixon was deployed at 05:00, directly after we received communication from Camp Vanou, sir.'

O'Neill blinked a number of times and shook his head, slightly bewildered. 'Well – it would help if you told me these things Sergeant,' he griped, relieved that help was already on its way, but pissed off that he hadn't been woken when the call came through. 'Who was the genius who decided not to inform me of the situation?'

Harriman had seen this coming.

'We were ordered not to disturb you, sir.'

'Disturb me? Who the hell would…,' O'Neill stopped, realising exactly who had given the order.

'Colonel Carter assured us their situation was under control, General. She was confident they weren't being followed and that they could make it to an appropriate facility without further military support. '

O'Neill clenched his jaw, his anger building. 'Goddamn it, Harriman. In future, in the case of any attack, regardless of the outcome, or the subsequent advice from other personnel, I'm ordering you to inform me of the situation immediately. Understood?'

'Yes sir.'

He walked to the open wall of the tent and drew in a long breath. For the time being his fury hid the fear. Then what? He needed to make arrangements for the transportation and relocation of an entire camp full of civilians. But where the hell was he going to send them? Camps Neeso and Entu were already over-populated, Eas and Olod were strictly military bases and Wahin was too far away. Perhaps they would have to start another new settlement, or re-build at the same site. They couldn't afford to surrender the land, after all. But they would have a battle on their hands.

'Would you like to hear the good news now General?' Harriman asked from behind.

'There's good news?' O'Neill turned, trying to neutralise his emotions in front of his subordinates.

'Yes sir,' Harriman managed a meek smile. 'You see, sir, Camp Vanou has been on the move since just after 04:00 and they've covered a number of miles. With the help of the rescue team they should be here within six or seven hours.'

The General tilted his head to the side and raised his eyebrows. 'They're coming here?'

Harriman swallowed; he had thought O'Neill would be happy.

'For cryin' out loud! This is a mobile offence unit, Sergeant! We're supposed to be staging an attack in four hours! How the hell are we gonna accommodate women and children?'

'Ham'lar insisted, sir. And besides, we're the closest unit.'

'Yes - we are,' O'Neill returned to the chart. He hadn't thought of the refugees coming here, probably because it was such a ridiculous notion. The unit was purely and simply an attack force – no place for women and children. 'What does Ham'lar have to do with all this?' he demanded, changing the subject.

'He and his team were transporting the most recent freight of naquadah through Camp Vanou when the attack took place. They're requesting further military support for the transfer to Olod.'

'He was transporting naquadah through Vanou?' the General hissed through his teeth. 'No wonder the camp was attacked!'

Harriman coughed and looked around the tent as a few of the MOU Tok'ra personnel stirred uncomfortably. General O'Neill had come to terms with his long, troubled history with the Tok'ra, however, there were certain individuals who continued to rile him beyond reconcile. Ham'lar was one of them. It didn't help matters that Ham'lar was one of the remaining members of the Tok'ra high council, and well respected by his peers.

'There is no way in hell he'll be getting further military support.'

'Sir, safe transportation of the naquadah is beneficial to us all.'

'I'm aware of that Harriman,' O'Neill had exited the communications tent and was standing atop the same small hill he had stood on earlier, surveying the camp. 'Have you advised all CO's, Tok'ra, Jaffa and Yalarnan leaders of the refugee situation?'

'No sir, we were, uh, awaiting your orders,' Harriman replied, recognising the irony.

'Well, that's a first,' O'Neill muttered. 'Get them together and call off the attack, we're gonna need all hands on deck here.'

'Yes sir.'

'The soldiers can bivouac for tonight, and the rest of the week, if needs be. All tents and shelter are to be vacated and made ready for our guests. How many are we expecting Sergeant?'

'Ninety, tops, sir.'

'Ninety! Sheesh! I swear there were less than seventy last time I visited.'

'That was almost five months ago, sir, and a number of Yalarnan's have migrated to Vanou of late, if you recall.'

'I recall,' although recalling his most recent visit to Vanou was the last thing O'Neill wanted to do. 'We're also gonna need a temporary infirmary and mess,' he continued, making his way back to headquarters. 'Check medical and food supplies, secure the perimeter with Stage Two surveillance teams and explosives. I need navigation and a team of scouts in the command tent ready for briefing at 16:00. Also, see if you can contact one of the nearest MOU's for back-up supplies. Oh, and Harriman…'

'Yes sir?'

'I want updates on Dixon and Vanou's progress.'

'Yes sir.'

After Harriman left to carry out his orders, O'Neill trudged on, making arrangements with the rest of his staff, determined not to stop, knowing that he would be assaulted with unease if he did. He was unsure of how the hell he was going to deal with the situation. However, despite the fact that he was pissed off with Carter for going over his head and Ham'lar for… for being Ham'lar, above everything, he was simply relieved. Relieved that the civilians of Vanou were okay, but more than anything, relieved that Carter and the boys were alive and well, at least that's what he had gathered from Harriman's indirect details.

Although he would have preferred it to be under better circumstances, he was glad they were coming. He longed to see them; he always longed to see them. It had been difficult, lately, and he and Carter were on bad terms. It was this damn war, he told himself – it had changed everything. But if he could just spend a moment with her, any moment, then life would be bearable. Even life as a General in the middle of a mindless war.

Author's note: My first ever fanfic. Please let me know what you think and if I should continue! Also, I don't mind editing tips! Your feedback is much appreciated... um, not sure what else I'm 'sposed to put in an author's note... so that will do, I guess.