The Science of War: part 4
A/N: Thanks for the reviews. Just a small warning – there's a description of torture that may be a little upsetting, nothing too graphic, though, I think. I've also taken a few small liberties with events in the Middle East. Oh, and since this was originally a challenge to create a Mary Sue, there will a moment of that, but nothing too syrupy (I hope).
A/N2: I was all set to post this and decided to change a few things. There's some flashback thoughts and dialogue from Williams and others in italics.
"I've killed better men than you." The words tumbled out faster than I could catch them, the one explanation or excuse I'd never hoped to give. Dr. McKay just looked at me, a mixture of shock, outrage, and fear written across his face. He opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to find some pithy retort and instead doing a pretty good goldfish imitation. Dr. Beckett's reaction was much quieter, the warmth of his blue eyes dying to banked coals, and his features seemed to harden, as he realized he could no longer pretend to keep the soldier and scientist parts of my persona separate. I wasn't a biologist in a military uniform; I was a soldier who happened to be a very good scientist. They both had quickly inferred from my tone that I had killed up close and personal; I was the one holding a gun to the back of someone's head. My presence and assignment to Atlantis, as well as my behavior could suddenly be interpreted very differently. As disquieting as this was, I didn't want to stick around to explain, so I decided to make my escape.
Only when I was back in my quarters, trembling, did I fully comprehend what I'd done. For years I'd been carrying out a charade of sorts, but now I'd seriously crossed the line, what I'd said could be considered a threat by some, conduct unbecoming and all that. Although I technically didn't report to anyone on Atlantis, I still had to respect the chain of command. I'd just mouthed off, for lack of a better term, to two of the senior members of Atlantis. Knowing Dr. McKay, explanations would be demanded, explanations I could not provide, nor did part of me want to. I was caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place; say nothing about my classified missions and a well-placed word about being 'difficult to work with" could effectively end my career, or describe what I'd done and face a court-martial back on Earth, for breaching confidentiality – a stain that would follow me into civilian life if I got the chance at one, and those running Atlantis certainly wouldn't want me around for what I'd done. Definitely a no-win situation.
As I sat contemplating my options, the door chimed and upon my thought the door slid open, and one of the burlier marines entered. He at least had the pretense of decorum to salute before he snapped, "Dr. Weir will see you in the conference room in ten minutes." The look on his face told me that as annoying as Dr McKay might be, and as frustrating as Dr. Beckett was, I was an outsider and I had attacked two of their own. If I hadn't outranked him, I have no doubt something might have happened between my quarters and the conference room. I was also in deeper trouble than I expected, if I was reporting to Dr. Weir, rather than Colonel Sheppard. I sighed and leaned against the wall, relaxing minutely as I felt it pulse behind me, like a calming heartbeat. I went over to my closet and grabbed a clean shirt, creases still knife blade sharp, making sure belt buckle, buttons, and everything else was aligned correctly. If I was going to get drawn and quartered, I might as well look presentable. I still had some standards. As I walked to the conference room, I could feel curious and some resentful eyes following me. As one of friends liked to say, "The only thing faster than the speed of light is gossip in a small town," and I was Topic A.
When I entered the conference room, not only did I notice Dr. Weir, but also Colonel Sheppard, Major Lorne, as well as Drs. McKay and Beckett, and a woman who I assumed was Dr. Heightmeyer. Judging by the grim looks on their faces, this was a preview of what I could expect when they sent me back. "At ease Captain, and take a seat," ordered Colonel Sheppard. There was an odd note in his voice, as he seemed uncomfortable with the formality of this situation, and I wondered if he was resentful of having to put aside his easygoing personality.
"Captain Williams, you are here because I cannot have you threatening members of my staff. I'd like an explanation of the events behind your statement, before I decide, with recommendations, of how to proceed. At this time, I am not sure if you should remain in Atlantis, despite orders," began Dr. Weir, her tone clearly indicating I'd have quite a few people to answer to back on Earth.
I forced myself to meet her gaze, "I apologize for losing my temper. It's been a stressful day, but my reaction was uncalled for and unbecoming an officer. It won't happen again," I said simply, noticing a small frown on both Dr. Beckett and Dr. Heightmeyer's faces. Certainly they weren't expecting me to give them the whole song and dance? Yes, I was in trouble, that doesn't mean you immediately break down and expect forgiveness.
"That's a pretty powerful comment you made in the infirmary, and Dr. Beckett told us Ronon's observations of you in the gym. You were more than stressed by the events of the day," started Dr. Heightmeyer helpfully, as if she were laying out a trail of breadcrumbs she expected me to follow. I refused to take the bait, and let the conference room fill with an uncomfortable silence.
"What exactly have you done? Most of you military types like to brag about what you've done. Surely you've got some good war to tell? What mild-mannered scientist by day, special forces op by night? " needled Dr. McKay finally. Obviously my use if the word better still rankled him. I have to say I appreciated his directness, but it wasn't going to work. I remained silent for a few moments longer.
"I'm sorry, but that information is classified according to Army regulations," I answered before being cut off by Dr. Weir.
"This document contains our security clearances. While I have not received access to your full files, I believe the personnel connected with the Stargate program have enough clearance, and I give you my assurance, regardless of today's outcome anything you say will not be repeated outside this room." She slid a single piece of paper across the table to me, all the while glancing at the other members of the room, reinforcing that message.
I toyed with the piece of paper in front of me, rolling the edges, tempted for a moment to fold it into some complex origami animal and let them throw me in the brig for non-compliance. The numbers on the page were meaningless to me. I noticed a small imperfection in the surface of the table and suddenly found it very interesting. The silence continued to loom. Dr. Weir's expression remained neutral – I knew she had a career in diplomacy and negotiation, and could wait all day for a response, but there was also a flicker of irritation at my unwillingness to talk, I saw the same look on my mother's face when she was convincing my sister she would finish her peas before she could leave the dinner table. Dr. McKay looked like was already annoyed and had begun to fidget with his coffee cup, while Colonel Sheppard seemed to be debating between waiting and threatening me if I didn't answer in sixty seconds.
"You're only human," a soft Scottish brogue offered a tentative olive branch. Blue eyes searched out mine and for a second I thought he caught a glimpse of raw, frustrated pain. I hate that phrase, as if it conveniently excuses everything that's been fucked up.
"Yes, but," I began. All eyes suddenly focused on me. I was screwed regardless of what I did. Maybe if I asked politely, they'd leave me in the brig here, or like in the old movies, let me die a noble death fighting the wraith. Either idea beat going back home to a court martial.
"What I am about to tell you is classified according to Army regulations," I rattled off a series of letters and numbers, taking a deep breath. I'd reach the point of no return; part of me feared the consequences of what I was about to do, while another part was relieved I could finally tell someone, someone who might understand. "After I graduated, I was originally assigned to Walter Reed working in cancer research, then was transferred to Fort Detrick after the anthrax attacks. My area of study was molecular biology and gene mutation, so the Army figured I'd be able to compare samples from the attacks against known samples and try to determine the source." I explained a few more detail of what I'd done in both labs. A few people nodded, and this was all in my file, although I thought Dr. Beckett was taking a few notes.
I took a couple sips of coffee from the mug that had suddenly appeared in front of me and wished I didn't feel so alone. What I was about to describe next, I hadn't breathed a word about for several years. "While I was at Walter Reed, I began taking classes for my masters' degree. Along with a lot of biology, I took several chemistry classes, mostly on chemical warfare. It seemed logical, given events going on in the world, and various agencies were worried about possible attacks in the US. Because of this background, however, the Army decided I was qualified for a unit they were putting together to look for WMDs in the Middle East, primarily in Afghanistan." I heard Colonel Sheppard shift in his chair as mentioned that particular country. "So I wound up with a platoon of guys who'd been trying to mop up the remaining opposing forces, conduct patrols and keep the peace for the better part of a year. They were so young, but some of them were already on their second tour. They'd included a few other scientists, mostly chemists, one of whom I'd known from school. Part of the problem was there'd been more than a few suspicious imports of class 2 chemicals – chemicals that have uses in various industries, like solvents, but can used in the manufacture of certain basic weapons," I explained, seeing a few puzzled faces and I paused for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. "We'd received word that one of the insurgent groups had been conducting tests in one of the more remote areas. Reports suggested they'd been interested in acquiring rockets, meaning that they thought they had the capability to attack various targets, allied forces and anyone they didn't like." I took another swig of coffee, wincing slightly at the bitterness and what I was about to say next.
"This particular group had starting manufacturing weapons and were testing them – on one of the local villages. We found the aftermath of their experiment. They'd used nerve and blister agents. People were dying, screaming in pain and fear, and there was nothing we could do." We arrived too late, helpless, feeling like alien observers in our gear, just standing there.
"I'd read the accounts from WWI of soldiers experiencing attacks in the field, the choking feeling, like being held underwater, gotten a small taste of it myself, before fumbling for my gear. I can't imagine the full horror." I heard a few sharp intakes of breath as people let their imaginations paint the scene. "Yes I know all this was supposed to have been banned, but then there's reality. To make things even worse, this group had waited until the men left for the fields, let them rush home to find their families, mostly women and kids, choking, gasping, before suffering the same fate themselves." I didn't look at Dr. Weir. I'm guessing she had probably negotiated at least one of these treaties to supposedly ban chemical warfare, but I'm guessing that neither of us wanted to acknowledge theory and practice were two totally different concepts. Dr. Heightmeyer was scribbling furiously, Colonel Sheppard and Major Lorne remained impassive – they'd seen the ravages of conflicts. I didn't look at Dr. Beckett; neither of us was in the mood to appreciate some of the irony here regarding the retrovirus.
I felt a hand on my shoulder, but ignored it, and plunged back into the story. It wasn't over, and although I could pause there, and receive whatever sympathy they wanted to dole out, this was only a small part. "We found the group responsible the next day. They weren't exactly happy to see us and the feeling was mutual. The previous day's images were still fresh in our minds – most of us had younger siblings, nieces, nephews, the like, so we'd been imagining them suffering. I don't think anyone slept well, unaided. The military isn't too stingy with drugs, when it comes to keep their soldiers going. More worrisome, however, was the idea that they try to launch chemical warheads. We'd found evidence that they had at least one rocket launcher, and that there were multiple labs spread throughout the region, but we didn't know where and if they were in close contact. We started asking." We berated them, threatened them, tried to bargain with them.
I noticed the exchange of knowing looks between the room's other occupants. Asking was probably a bit of a euphemism – questions aren't usually accompanied by punches or kicks. "We couldn't get anything out of them and were debating if we should turn this matter over to the MPs or someone a little more skilled in interrogation. I, like everyone else was tired, and for all we knew, we were racing the clock against the chance of a larger attack. I was second in command and decided I could get some answers, so I grabbed one of the guys we'd identified as one of the principle chemists and a couple grenades."
We need answers sir; they could be launching an attack any minute now. Our guys aren't ready, aren't prepared just like those villagers. We need answers and I'll get them.
I fell silent for a moment, staring at the table again, realizing I now had six pairs of eyes watching me intently. For a brief moment I could feel my rage at what had happened the day before, remembered the looks on my fellow soldiers' faces, the woman they'd considered the cool older sister, the one who'd buy them beer if they asked nicely, who changed all their lives in a split second. "The building we were in had a couple small windowed rooms probably so they could observe their experiments or manufacturing operations. I threw the scientist in the room along with the grenades, minus the pins. Everyone got to watch. I can't stand Jackson Pollock now. We got all the answers we wanted thirty seconds later." I couldn't quite describe the looks I received, particularly from Colonel Sheppard and Dr. Weir. Major Lorne looked at me sympathetically, as if he understood and from the expression of Dr. Heightmeyer's face, I was looking at quite a few sessions on her couch if I stayed in Atlantis – at least I'd had a happy childhood. Dr. McKay looked horrified, while Dr. Beckett was a little harder to decipher.
"I assume everything was reported through the chain of command. What was their reaction?" asked Dr. Weir finally.
"They gave me a handful of medals and a promotion, after a brief consideration." I answered, which was clearly not the response she had been expecting, although given my age, rank, and what I had been doing, was something she should have figured out. If they'd disproved, I would have been stuck running some lab in New Jersey, and my name would not have even come up in the joint chiefs discussion.
"I knew what I did was wrong. I killed a civilian, a scientist, to get answers. In some respects, I wish my commanding officers hadn't praised my actions; they called it leadership and quick thinking, because unfortunately the insurgents had a couple of US installations in Afghanistan –Air Force, I think, targeted." I finished my now-cold coffee, watching the grounds trapped in the paste of sugar at the bottom.
"I wish that was the end of the story. Military command pretty much gave us carte blanche to investigate a couple other reports. I think they figured that since these insurgent groups were already breaking a couple international laws, what was the harm in letting us a break a few to confirm or deny various stories. For most of our group, we were acting with impunity – dad had given us both the keys to the car and the credit card, but consequences have a way of catching up to you, and fate, she can be creative in the ways to chooses to twist the knife. While we were waiting for the repercussions of actions, we got leave to spend a few days at a small allied forces installation and decided to hit the bar our first night there, alcohol was pretty much taboo in this region and we decided to make up for lost time. It was another way to forget what we had done, to blot out the shrieks and the silence. It got easier for some of us to forget what we'd done. Things were pretty quiet until someone caught sight of my battalion's emblem and made some snide remark about scientists." I caught Dr. McKay glaring at Major Lorne for a moment, and I'm guessing he could expound on what was said. "I wasn't about to give the guy any satisfaction, and went back to my beer, but he made some comment about babysitting scientists." I wondered if anyone had noticed I categorized myself as a scientist, not a soldier.
What the hell you guys doing, did your CO decide to punish you or were you all such wimps that he decided to let you escort some scientists on a fricking tour?
Several more glares were exchanged around the table, before Dr. Weir broke it up with a single raised eyebrow and an intense look at each of the offenders. "One of the men in my company got a little upset at the insult, never mind that he'd probably made similar remarks when his squad got the assignment, despite the fact that we were military personnel as well. He made some comment about he doubted the guy had 'the stones' to do what I did, and then proceeded to tell what I'd done. "
You see that little blonde chick? I doubt you have half the balls to interrogate an insurgent like she did, with a couple live grenades.
"The place fell silent for a moment, followed by numerous swear words and phrases- turns out one of the squadrons there had been a target, and another had taken out a couple of the chemical manufacturing sites we'd obtained the locations of. Let's just say I didn't have to buy another beer there that night. After a few of tokens of appreciation, one of the soldiers there eyeballed me and said I needed a tattoo, to commemorate what I'd done,
How about Cujo?
Naw, Cujo's for a Doberman, she's a little more dainty than that!
The angel of death? She's almost angelic.
'Amanita,' one of the Brits had called out, 'it's a pretty mushroom, but they call it the destroying angel.' Someone made a crack about the British and botany, but before I knew it, some US chopper pilot, Mitch, I think his name was, had sketched out a drawing, and muttered something to a partner of his about wishing their buddy were here instead of stuck with sentry duty again. I got the tattoo inked the next day. Seemed to all make sense at the time, and I'll admit I was proud of what I'd done. Little did I know it would help cement what I was to become. Shortly thereafter, our mission was classified as were all the missions following. We checked out various reports in the Middle East and a few other locales like Chechnya after the theatre attack." I paused for a few moments, grateful to find someone had partially refilled my mug.
"Just because you're allowed to do something, doesn't mean you should," I said finally, very softly. "Our actions finally caught up with us. Even though our group's activities were classified, people knew who we were, what we were about. There was fear in their eyes when we came. Since our missions were classified, the military could pretend our problems didn't exist, when people, guys I'd grown close to, started to come undone. In the military, it's easy enough to find a way to die, gun accident, walk into a situation that hasn't been secured. Soldiers expect to die, but when scientists start taking their lives, the brass took notice.
I found him, Matt, the serious one we called 'priest,' a guy I'd gone to West Point with, holding his gun one night. 'I don't blame you,' he said, 'One of us would have done what you did, who knows what might have happened otherwise. I don't blame you, I blame them.' Then he ate his gun.
The disbanded our unit, gave us more medals, reminded us everything we'd done was classified, and gave us new posts. I decided the easiest way to cope was to become a good little soldier and keep following orders. Last I heard, I was one of the few who were still functional." I let the last words sink in and stared at the table, before I whispered, "I know what I did was wrong, but even knowing the consequences, I would do it all again. I do not take my responsibilities to those I've sworn to protect lightly." I looked at Dr Weir, indicating I was done.
"Captain Williams, you have given us a lot to think about. For the moment you will be confined to quarters." I acknowledged Dr. Weir's request, nodding at the other stunned faces in the room, then saluted Colonel Sheppard and Major Lorne.
Back in my quarters, kicked off my boots and sank against the wall, which began pulsing again, lulling me into a relaxed half-sleep. I didn't hear the door open and Colonel Sheppard slid down next to me. I started for a moment, but he indicated I should stay where I was, and we both sat against the wall, which continued to pulse.
"You've certainly given us a lot to think about," he said finally. There was a strange look in his eye as he turned and put a hand on my bruised shoulder. All of a sudden I realized that he had been the buddy the chopper pilot had been talking about, and something must have happened to Mitch, the artist. I was some little reminder of him. Finally as if he remembering the purpose of his visit, Colonel Sheppard removed his hand, looked at the wall, and stood up. "This decision could take a few days. Dr. Weir thought you might want to spend sometime over on the mainland, relax and take it easy for a few days."
This announcement was both troubling and comforting. No snap decision, but obviously this was something that required consideration. I spent four days over on the mainland, although I'd only expected to spend one after Dr. Weir made her decision. The other three I spent working on a couple projects.
"What's this," asked Colonel Sheppard, poking his head into the building I was working in.
"Bookcases for Dr. McKay and Dr. Beckett. It's the least I could do. Besides the Pegasus galaxy doesn't have an IKEA," I answered running my hands along the side of one of the narrow bookcases, built out larger pieces of driftwood, polished to a gloss by the sea.
"You might want to put these on," he smiled, eyeing my jeans and t-shirt and tossing a grey and black bundle at me. I don't think I'll ever know what swayed Dr. Weir's mind, although I heard she's made a rash decision or two of her own. Maybe she wanted someone who'd carry out orders, who was willing to get their hands dirty, who knew the consequences of an unpopular decision, but also knew it was necessary. Maybe because I had the ATA gene. I don't think I'll ever know what favors she called in to have me assigned to Atlantis. I'm sure that thrilled some of my superior officers, an Army captain in a civilian operation, reporting to a supposedly disgraced Air Force colonel.
Dr. Beckett looked a little amazed with the bookcase when I appeared back in the infirmary for him to check my stitches. I told him I could add a door to it if he wanted. My father built cabinets and I had picked up most of the necessary skills. Dr. Beckett told me I'd be working on a few other projects as he drew what I sure was one of many blood samples. Apparently natural gene carriers were pretty rare and he was eager to find out how strong mine was.
As was Dr. McKay. He accepted the bookcase, mumbling something about hippie surfer chicks and thrust an artifact at me. It lit up at my touch, and from what I learned later, my talents lay somewhere between Dr. Beckett and Colonel Sheppard's, which, according to Dr. McKay, was a pretty vast expanse, except apparently I was the only other one the city really responded to, although after I returned she was a bit quieter.
That was three months ago. I've slowly settled in the routine here, and actually find myself easting with other people. The story I had told did not leave the conference room, although I think Teyla and Ronon may have heard some details. Somehow Colonel Sheppard let it be known that what I said to Dr. McKay was all a big misunderstanding, and appearing in an expeditionary uniform helped to finally break the ice. The colonel also managed to get me out of most sessions with Dr. Heightmeyer, claiming I'd probably be more comfortable talking with him, although we don't really talk. Usually we just hand out on one of the balconies watching the ocean. Every once in awhile some topic, like surfing will come up, but Afghanistan never has, even if we are linked. Sometimes we'll complain about artifacts we've had to activate (I've now had two trips to the infirmary related courtesy of McKay) or Carson's attempts to understand why some ATA gene carriers are stronger than others and their interaction with Atlantis (he's at least got one new theory courtesy of me – I told him to check the SNPs – single nucleotide polymorphisms – or variations in the nucleotide spelling of the ATA gene). I have my own theory, though, one I've only shared with Colonel Sheppard; maybe Atlantis is a little selfish, collecting lost souls, looking for a cause, a place to call home. She knows they will defend her, restore her to her original glory. I think I just might be one of them.
FIN
A/N: Actually my dad, during his time in the Army, was stationed in New Jersey sending up weather balloons.
