The Science of War: Chapter 3
A/N: Thanks for the continued reviews. Sorry for the delay in posting – RL has gotten quite crazy –a new house and having to find a new advisor and graduate project, since my initial project didn't get funded. My new project is a complete 180 from what I've been doing before, so I'm both excited and terrified….
The twenty-minute walk to the village was uneventful and mostly quiet, broken primarily by Dr. McKay complaining about the length of the trek, usually interrupted by some sarcastic remark from Colonel Sheppard. Dr. Beckett and his colleague quietly discussed wounds to expect, occasionally addressing a comment to me. I'd nod and continue to survey the landscape, catching Major Lorne's eye every few minutes as I resisted the urge to cover our six with him. There'd been a few moments of awkwardness as we exited the jumper and I found myself one of those to be guarded, rather than doing the guarding. Teyla and Ronon circled the group like a pair of sheepdogs watching their flock, although I wasn't sure if they or Dr. Beckett would appreciate that thought. Ronon might, he reminded me of one of my drill instructors - three parts grizzly bear, one part teddy.
Although I had been warned what to expect, there are no good words to describe the victims of a Wraith attack. The closest description I could come up with, after finding the first withered bodies, was they must have been discards from some macabre haunted house. Death, when it comes, is seldom pleasant, and even though I had seen and participated in the horrors of what one human can do to another, the tableau before me eclipsed most of those. As I pushed my emotions aside, I could see Beckett's shoulders slumping, fearful his services would not be needed, the other doctor looking like he might be sick. There was a grim set in Colonel Sheppard's and Major Lorne's jaws, the frustration written plainly across Dr. McKay's face. They'd witnessed this scene far too often. For these people, at least, there was nothing to be done and I clamped down on the growing knot in my stomach as we passed more bodies. The scene before me was bringing back some uncomfortable memories, an instant where the world and I had changed.
The mood lightened as voices suddenly broke the ominous silence. Survivors. Everyone relaxed slightly, relieved that this village hadn't been completely decimated. There was a sudden flurry of activity as fear turned to shock and relief. Most of those left had varying degrees of scratches and bruises and a makeshift triage and infirmary was quickly set up in the shadow of one of two building that still had some semblance of walls. Lorne and Ronon remained on the edge of the perimeter, on alert for any Wraith that decided they hadn't done a thorough enough job burning and pillaging. Teyla and Colonel Sheppard started speaking with the village's leader who had managed to escape. From what I overheard, approximately thirty people had survived, half of them children. Teyla offered reassurances to the woman that they were welcome on the mainland, that some of the Athosians would be more than happy to look after the children who'd lost their parents. I smiled to myself; my parents would approve of the tight-knit communities here. I'd grown up with numerous siblings and cousins in a community where you could get scolded by the next-door neighbor as well as your own parents. This closeness was one the few things that initially made sense when I joined the Army, got me through some rough patches, and made some of the fallout all the more devastating.
McKay was left to pace and occasional direct some sarcastic remark to Sheppard. Surprisingly, a few of the children found his abrasive personality almost magnetic, following him around and asking questions. I think children sometimes operate along the same lines as cats, heading for the one person who is most likely to ignore them, or else their innocence lets them see some things a little clearer. I turned to my role in this endeavor and spent the next couple hours examining wounds, helping apply bandages, murmuring soothing words and fetching general supplies. The Colonel had finished his meeting and was teaching a couple of the older children the joys of hackey-sac as I stood to take a break and stretch. I might have missed what was about to happen had it not been for the quick, anxious glance from Ronon at Dr. McKay and the remaining structure he had taken shelter under. A millisecond later I understood.
"McKay' I yelled and sprinted towards him at full tilt, half tackling him, half trying to knock him out of the way as the roof collapsed, stone and wood raining down around us a few seconds later. We were lucky: having avoided being directly under what was now a pile of rubble, but we'd both been peppered with smaller chunks of debris.
"Interesting position for you McKay. Figured you for the type that likes a woman on top. At least that's what I assumed with Colonel Carter. The things you do to get a girl. First Cadman, now Williams. " Colonel Sheppard's comment was concern disguised with sarcasm. "Captain, where'd you learn to hit like that?"
"Play a little rugby sir. Best damn hooker in the city leagues," I replied without thinking, blushing at the apparent innuendo and how I'd landed on top of Dr. McKay. As I quickly attempted to get off him before he could start complaining about the weight on top of him (and I'm not that heavy, really), I realized my right shoulder and back had taken the brunt of fallout from the roof. The next words out of my mouth were things that really shouldn't have said in mixed company, especially with small children present. Fortunately, I tapped my command of foreign languages, however, I could have picked something other than Arabic, as I saw a curious expression cross Colonel Sheppard's face as he headed our direction. The tactical vest and heavy twill of my shirt had provided some protection, but I could see dark stains on the ripped fabric and visions of raw hamburger came to mind. Dr. McKay however chose that moment to decide I wasn't moving fast enough for his taste and staggered up, knocking me over, injured shoulder firmly contacting the ground, driving in various shards and probably adding a few new ones. I hissed both at the pain and utter stupidity of someone supposed to be so brilliant.
""Easy now," Ronon's strong hands helped me to my feet, as Colonel Sheppard helped McKay the rest of the way up. I fought the urge to try and brush the fragments out of my shoulder, knowing I'd most likely push most of them further in. I settled for wrapping my arms around myself and trying not to hunch over and find a more comfortable position.
"It probably looks worse than it is," said the other doctor, worry still crossing his face as he made a survey of my wounds. "We'll get you back to Atlantis and cleaned up. Shouldn't be too serious." Dr. Beckett meanwhile was busy reassuring Rodney he wouldn't die anytime soon, that he most likely had a few bruises and might be a little sore for a few days, but that was the extent of it. Luckily we had pretty much finished for the day, and since the initial shock was wearing off, I was feeling a little embarrassed at needing rescuing on a supposed rescue mission. I reassured everyone I was fine to walk back to the jumper (although the thought of getting carried by a strong, good looking guy did cross my mind, but I have my pride). Teyla reassured the villagers everyone was ok, and we would send transport back if they decided to leave – I guess they were still trying to decide whether to rebuild where they were. The trip back to the jumper and through the Gate was uneventful and quick – I wasn't hurting enough to slow the pace, although Beckett kept rolling his eyes at my insistence that I was fine. This earned me a couple 'Yep, you're one of us,' looks from Sheppard and Lorne. Unfortunately, with doctors in our company, bypassing the infirmary was not an option, but I at least walked there, despite Dr. Beckett offering to call for a gurney or wheelchair. Dr. McKay must have had his pride wounded as well (or sensed some sort of competition), because he also walked. Before I realized it, I found myself sitting on the edge of a bed, waiting to get my shoulder cleaned and bandaged.
"Look, just give me a couple band-aids and a clean washcloth," I protested as Dr. Beckett appeared to be setting out all the implements for major surgery. I'd already proved I didn't have any damage to my nervous system as a swatted away a penlight, which earned me an exasperated sigh. I had shed the tac vest when we exited the jumper, and with a nurse's help was easing the unbuttoned shirt off when a gown appeared next to me and I gave it a curious look, then sighed, "if it made him feel more comfortable..." Years spent on the beach and in the military had pretty much blotted out any body related self-consciousness I'd had. I put the gown on, in a sort of toga style, leaving my shoulder exposed. "You've got to be kidding me," I protested again, when the Scotsman mentioned something about starting an IV and large amounts of local anesthetic and major painkillers. "I'm fine, now, and I'll let you know if it hurts, and I'd prefer to remain sitting," I insisted.
"Why do you military types keep claiming you're fine, even when you're in pain? I also want to know if you have to go through special training on how to annoy medical personnel," Dr. Beckett asked rhetorically.
"I don't know about the marines and air force, but in the Army they pretty much beat pain and weakness out of you," I answered. I didn't mention we only gave the doctors a hard time, if Dr. Beckett really wanted the military contingent to behave themselves in his infirmary; he needed a couple nurses from the military. They don't put up with anything. Even the drill instructors don't argue with them. "The fragments really aren't that painful, most of it just comes from the tension in my shoulders," I tried to explain, but I quickly realized the quickest way out, was to compromise and then be silent, which meant a decent pain killer, a bottle of antibiotics, and trying to appear dignified as saline dribbled down my back from attempts to wash out the smaller fragments.
"Well, the damage isn't too bad, you don't appear to need stitches, and your mushroom tattoo is fairly unscathed. You're all set to go, just take it easy for a few days and come back here in a day, so I can check how you are healing. Try to keep the area dry and clean. By the way, what's with the tattoo?" asked Dr. Beckett, indicating he was finished, as I checked out the expanse of steri-strips.
"Nickname," I said, carefully pulling on a clean shirt someone had brought. I was heading back to my office before I had to explain further. I'm sure I earned another eye roll and comment about the military. I spent the remainder of the afternoon reviewing the mode of action of the retrovirus and trying to determine if any alterations to chemistry would speed up the mode of action. As usual, I had turned out the world around me and finally realized Colonel Sheppard was again standing in my doorway. It must have been the drugs still in my system, because I wasn't as flustered as I could have been, or was finally getting used to some of the informality around here.
"You eaten yet," he asked by way of greeting. I shook my head. "I was heading to the mess hall myself, thought you might want to join me."
I nodded, trying to straighten up some of the files and notepads on the desk. It may have been a friendly invitation, but I knew how this game was played. Although Colonel Sheppard technically wasn't my commanding officer, he the senior officer here, and to some, the invitation could interpreted as an order.
"Beckett didn't put you through too much with your shoulder, did he," he asked as walked through the halls. "He can get a little overzealous sometimes with needles and other things," he added, after carefully scanning the hall for any apparent eavesdroppers or spies.
I shook my head. "I think we came to an understanding," I quipped, seeing a knowing smirk on the colonel's face. Sometimes you have to pick your battles. The mess hall was full, apparently Atlantis' chef made a pretty good tuna casserole, but we managed to find a table. We were almost immediately joined by Teyla, Ronon and Dr. McKay. I felt a little awkward – I had gotten invited to the popular kids' table, most likely because of what I'd done – saving McKay. It really wasn't that big an issue, anyone would have done it, although I'm sure, given his reputation, so would have either tackled him harder or not tried to cover him as much as I had. Ronon nodded in greeting before attacking the serving on his plate, while Teyla asked how my shoulder was. Dr. McKay however, decided to ignore me, and asked Colonel Sheppard if his bruises gave him an excuse to miss their workout session tomorrow. Colonel Sheppard listened patiently, then said 'no,' and I listened contentedly to the ensuing bickering and good-natured sniping. For a moment I was back at my parent's table listening to my brothers. Teyla finally offered to show Dr. McKay some stretching exercises to help alleviate any soreness and speed healing.
"That might be beneficial," added Dr. Beckett, setting down his tray.
"You find this amusing, Captain," snapped Dr. McKay, shooting Dr. Beckett a look that labeled him a traitor, then zeroed in on me, after seeing the amused look on my face, figuring me for a target with the fewest repercussions.
"You two sound like my brothers when I was growing up." I half-apologized, earning a stifled chuckle from Dr. Beckett.
"You have older siblings," asked Teyla curiously, trying to start a different conversation.
"Yes, three older brothers, and a younger sister. They're all back in California near my parents," I explained, noting the curious looks I was receiving from several people seated at the table. "I grew up in Half Moon Bay, little south of San Francisco," I added.
Colonel Sheppard grinned. "So you know how to handle the really big waves," he challenged. "We'll have to find you a surfboard and wetsuit to prove it."
"Yes," I replied, "Actually ditched school on a few occasions when the waves were really good," I joked. Seeing the puzzled looks, I quickly explained, "The area near where I grew up is noted for huge waves at certain times of the year. It can be pretty dangerous to even experienced surfers, but if you're good, there's nothing like the rush. I can't quite describe the feeling of that perfect moment when you drop in on that perfect crest… " I trailed off." I could see curious expressions on both Colonel Sheppard's and Dr. Beckett's faces as they tried to reconcile this piece of information with what they'd observed in the previous week. Sometimes I didn't understand the dichotomy within myself, either. "I should be getting back to work," I said, suddenly embarrassed at all the attention and offered kindness. "Sir," I nodded to Colonel Sheppard as I stood up.
I spent the next two hours where I'd left off, the chemical mechanism of the retrovirus. The office space I had claimed was close to most of the major labs, and in the later hours the noise level usually went, as remaining scientists turned on and up their music to combat the evening's fatigue. On previous nights, I appreciated the random selection of music in the background, but tonight I couldn't tune it out. Maybe it was partly the day's events and the leftover adrenalin, some of it could have been the bout of restlessness I was prone to. I tried to make myself concentrate until I heard the two songs, one right after another, which I couldn't bear to listen to. Not that I had anything against Supertramp or Neil Young, but I knew the universe really hated me when the next song came on and all of a sudden the bodies of today merged with the bodies I remembered from Afghanistan. Neat little overlays, near-perfect matches, hitting with force of a Mack truck. Life wasn't fair, kids shouldn't have to live in fear because of someone else's whims and I shouldn't have had to become what I had originally fought against.
I tossed the file onto the desk, not caring how it landed. The emotions I'd been trying to keep bottled up were threatening to explode – I needed to go somewhere and release some pressure. Talking to someone wasn't an option, it never had been, when my commanding officers had decided to classify the mission. You can't talk about what supposedly never happened. Even if I did, there was a piece of real estate in Kansas I wasn't too keen on getting familiar with.
I'm not quite sure how I wound up in the gym. I remembered leaving my office, knowing I just had to get out of there for a little while. I hated myself for being unable to get a handle on my emotions, for feeling weak and guilty. 'You did what you had to do,' I told myself. I know the thought had been to head to the armory and firing range, but I scrapped that idea with my shoulder and not wanting to have to explain why I was there. I settled for grabbing my running gear and pounding through the halls, initially finding comfort in the simple rhythm I fell into. I hadn't been the fastest runner in high school, favoring distance over speed, which had actually been a saving grace at West Point, since the upperclassmen my first two years seemed to think running was good for discipline and the soul. Of course, once I had my own underclassman to command, I continued the tradition, along with the joys of boot polish and brass cleaner.
I stood in the entrance to the gym for a few moments, slightly out of breath, searching the unoccupied room for why I had wound up here. I would never say my unarmed combat skills were impressive, in fact during one of the first sessions I had jokingly referenced one scene in the first Indiana Jones movie, the one where Indy finally pulls out a gun. Well, it didn't exactly get me in good with the instructor, as I found with a night in the infirmary and a week's sentry duty. Still it felt good to attack one of the heavy weight bags hanging from the ceiling. Surfing at least had given me the muscles for a decent kick and I alternated between kicks and punches, letting my body express the rage and frustration I couldn't find words for, relishing in the sore muscles and sweat.
"You're going to need to see Beckett," commented Ronon. Ok, that was another person who'd been able to sneak up on me, although given how I'd seen him move, I didn't feel too bad. I must have looked puzzled because he pointed to my shoulder. Crap, blood stained the shoulder and back of my shirt. I hadn't even felt anything. I wasn't thrilled with the idea of heading back to the infirmary, but I wasn't a complete idiot. That and Ronon's hand on the scruff of neck was pretty persuasive. We didn't say much during the walk to see Dr. Beckett, but the position and pressure of his hand told me he understood, or at least was willing to try.
"Ronon, oh," sighed Dr. Beckett as he intercepted us in the main area. "What have you done to yourself lass?" he asked without waiting for an answer. "I'll have the nurse bring you a gown and I'll see how much damage you've done. I'm going to keep you here overnight to make sure you don't make things worse."
I opened my mouth ready to protest, then decided that I wouldn't put it past Dr. Beckett to spike the lidocaine with something else. I'd make my escape later. On the bright side of things, most of the wounds could be re-bandaged, the three deepest ones would need stitches, though, which meant a couple hits of lidocaine and the dull pull of needle and thread through skin. I tried to relax, grateful the infirmary was quiet, and tried to ignore Dr. Beckett's warm breath on my neck and shoulder, as he became intimately acquainted with my skin.
"So, I would have expected something like this from Colonel Sheppard, but not you. You could have done real damage," Dr. Beckett lectured as he finished the second set, finally breaking the silence. He seemed surprised I hadn't made a bigger production of the needles and injections, half waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"You forget I'm a soldier. We're like racehorses. We only know how to fight," I explained, trying to look up at him from my position face down on the bed. Seeing the puzzled look on his face, I elaborated, "the best racehorses, they'll still run on a broken leg, even if it kills them."
The physician was still struggling with this analogy when one Dr. Rodney McKay walked in, starting a litany of complaints. "Carson are you sure you removed all those wood fragments? I'm guessing they covered wound cleaning in your vet classes? Oh great, we got another grunt with anger management issues," he added. "I think someone needs to do a study on the number of brain cells used by military personnel. I'm sure they'd find some deficits."
"I am not a grunt," I protested sitting up. "On paper I may just have a master's, but I'm sure some of my projects would qualify for a doctoral thesis."
"Keep deluding yourself with that thought, missy," the physicist half snarled, turning to Carson, who was trying to say something about IV antibiotics.
"It probably wouldn't hurt to speak with Dr. Heightmeyer," added Dr. Beckett.
"No."
"What is it with the military and their refusal to seek help?" argued Dr. McKay.
I didn't feel like explaining the intricacies of psychiatry in the military. Too uncaring, you were liable to explode, too sympathetic, you could become a traitor. "I am not seeing some civilian shrink who has never strapped on a gun, much less seen combat," I snapped, trying to glare at him. I turned to Dr. Beckett. "You wanted to know about the tattoo, my nickname? It's the mushroom Amanita, also known as the destroying angel, for how deadly it is." I could see the Scotsman take a deep breath as he pondered that piece of information.
"You could always talk to me, to Dr. Weir, or even Colonel Sheppard." Dr. Beckett said quietly, eyeing the two of us, trying to calm a growing storm.
"Some of us civilians have seen combat, what makes you think we won't understand," snarled McKay spoiling for a fight.
Maybe it was the drugs in my system or the general exhaustion I felt, but McKay was pushing all the wrong buttons. I pulled out the one weapon I'd swore I'd never use, turned to face him and said as calmly as I could, "Because I've killed better men than you."
TBC
A/N: Ok, I promise I won't make you wait that long for an update. Amanita is genus of mushrooms, most of which are extremely poisonous – like the only way to treat it is with a new liver. There's actually a true story behind the last line: a friend of mine who went through the Naval Academy had a classmate who actually said this to an upperclassmen – they guy had been a SEAL and was now back in school and a little frustrated at the attempts to 'break' him.
