Second To None – Third WOT
By Rocza
Status: Complete
Sequel Information: 1. To Sleep, Perchance To Dream, 2. Ay, There's The Rub, 3. For In This Sleep Of Death, 4. What Dreams May Come, 5. Second To None – Zero Week, 6. Second To None – First WOT, 7. Second To None – Second WOT
Series Information: Jon's Series (To Sleep Perchance to Dream)
Season: 9
Spoilers: 0215 A Matter of Time, 0305 Learning Curve, 0606 Abyss, 0904 Ties that Bind
Categories: Humor, POV, Angst
Pairing: None
Content Level: PG
Content Warning: Language
Summary: Jon-Jack's Clone-tries to stay busy during Basic Training – Third WOT
Archive Permissions: Any who want it are welcome. Just give me credit.
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and Atlantis and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions; not me. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement intended. The story is the property of the author and may not be posted without the author's consent.
Author's Notes: Here is part 8 in this series. Yes, the often called for 'mini-me in basic' story, part four. SORRY THIS HAS TAKEN SO LONG. Vacation put my writing on hold. Jon meets an old buddy of Jack's and a few new faces. This fic generated a sub-story called Indian Boy and Coyote. It is the bedtime story that the flight convinces Jack to tell. I made it a separate story because this one was already way too long for a single chapter.
I have also added in the Companion Story – Indian Boy and Coyote. This is a small story that I wanted to write in conjunction with Second To None –Third WOT. In 3WOT, Jon tells his flight mates a story. I cut the story out of the original 3WOT because it was long and I really wanted to get 3WOT out to the readers. But the tale itself demanded telling.
Special Thanks: To everyone who has sent comments. Authors live for feedback both positive and negative. I also invite questions. I am career USAF and as you may have noticed, I like my job and my chosen professional family. If you don't understand something, please ask. I may ramble on, but I enjoy the questions as much as the feedback.
Heather – Sorry I wasn't clearer about the job classification area. The USAF recruits people into positions two ways. Guaranteed job or guaranteed aptitude area (General, Mechanical, Electronic, and Administrative). The job classification briefing is mainly for trainees entering under a guaranteed aptitude area. This briefing is when the trainee picks their top 10 choices of jobs available in their selected aptitude. These recruits will be informed what job they have been assigned when they reach Fifth WOT. Jon entered under the guaranteed job category (in To Sleep Perchance To Dream Series). I planned on describing his specialty in more detail when we finally make it to Fifth WOT.
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"Some people grin and bear it; others smile and do it." Unknown Source
Third WOT Agenda: Basic Self Defense, Mental Preparation for Combat, Basic Field Security and Tactics, 2nd Uniform Issue, Haircuts, Weapons Evaluation, AEF Predeployment Preparation, AEF Assignment Notification
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Jon woke up Sunday morning before reveille with the last vestiges of the nightmare fading. He wasn't completely aware of his surroundings, still feeling the walls of Ba'al's holding cell around him. The need to fight back making his muscles twitch. So when he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder, he reacted instinctively. He grabbed the hand and dropped, his weight dragging his assailant with him to the floor. He pulled the wrist up behind the man's back almost to his shoulder blades and pressed his knee into his spine.
"Tal'bet, Gonash!" he hissed in Goa'uld, his free hand seeking the zat. "Surrender or I will kill you now, Jaffa!"
"I give! I give! For God's sake, Uncle!" a terrified voice replied.
The voice more than anything helped Jon shake off of the last of the dream. It wasn't the mocking voice of one of Ba'al's Jaffa. It wasn't even a man's voice. He immediately released the kid. "Shit!" he cursed softly, scurrying backwards, and buried his face in his shaking hands.
"Are you alright, Payton?" Jon heard TSgt Vega ask.
"Yeah. Yeah. I just had the piss scared out of me," came a quiet reply.
TSgt Vega turned to Jon, "You with us yet, Dorm Chief?"
Guilt and shame coursed through Jon. He had attacked the dorm guard as he was doing his rounds. "Yeah," he replied softly. "I'm fine." Peachy. Just eff-ing great.
For years, Jack and Jon had dealt with their nightmares alone. But then they had both lived alone. No one to witnesses the nightmare take hold. No one to try and stop the nightmare before it had run its course. Only Dr. Frasier had ever succeeded in pulling Jack out of one of his nightmares and her secret had died with her.
But now he had witnesses. Too damn many witnesses to his weakness. Too many people to see him attack a defenseless kid. Half-asleep or not, he had no excuse. What else had he done? Had he said anything? Revealed anything? Just breathe. Relax. It didn't happen to you, remember. Jon, not Jack.
Oh God, just who the hell am I kidding anyway? I'm not him. I'm just a cheap throw away copy. I can't be him. I'm not allowed to be him. Jon gave a resigned sigh and glanced around.
TSgt Vega had carefully sat next to him, keeping some space. He obviously remembered the last time Jon had a waking nightmare and he didn't want a repeat performance. "O'Neill, you get these nightmares often?"
Jon laughed abruptly, startling everyone. Half the bay was crowded around him. He leaned his head back against his locker and scanned the faces of his Flight-mates. Great, how do I explain this? He let out a long breath slowly. Simple, you don't, that's how. "Yeah," he replied. He turned back to the dorm guard trying to divert attention from himself, "Sorry, I jumped you."
Payton turned and smiled, "Hey man, I shouldn't have touched you, especially after the last time. No harm done. We cool?"
Jon smiled sadly back, "Yeah, we're cool."
TSgt Vega stood up and glanced around. "Well, ladies. Since you're already up. Get dressed and ready for chow. Reveille is in 5 minutes. You have 35 minutes to be ready. That includes tidying your lockers, beds, and common areas. MOVE!" TSgt Vega stopped Jon with his hand. "O'Neill, I want to talk you about this later. Understood?"
"Yes, Sir," Jon replied. Great. Just great. The damn TI was channeling Daniel now. Next thing you know, SrA Reglin would be spouting techno-babble. Oh joy.
Breakfast was a leisurely affair for BMT. After the initial excitement over the foaming sugar cubes by the coffee pot, the Flight settled down to eat. They didn't even bother to warn the next Flight about the sugar cubes. Didn't want to spoil their fun.
Jon continued to remain subdued. He still felt ashamed about this morning's incident and could barely stand to look his Flight-mates in the eye. His thoughts were in turmoil. He had lost track of who he was. Was Jon actually Jack? Or did Jack become Jon?
He finally pushed the whole thing to the back of his mind. Did it really matter who he was as long as he was alive? He re-lived every memory. He was caught up in every damn nightmare. The least he could do was claim them as his own. But how do you explain a nightmare, that you shouldn't be having at all, to people who wouldn't understand?
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Once the Flight had marched back to the dorm, TSgt Vega called them all into the day room for the weekly agenda briefing. Jon sat near the front, not wanting to know if everyone was watching him, waiting for him to crack.
TSgt Vega stood behind the podium in the day room, "Good morning, Trainees. Welcome to your Third Week of Training. It looks like some of you might actually make it through training to become members of my Air Force. By Third WOT, you are expected to know how to keep the dorm clean and tidy at all times. Sometime this week will be your Red Line Inspection. Failure to pass this inspection will result in you being recycled to an earlier week with another Flight. If enough of you fail, the whole Flight will be sent back to repeat Second WOT. Any questions?" TSgt Vega asked, scanning the room.
"No? Alright then, next up is this week's training agenda. In addition to the daily PC and Drill, on Monday, we will be adding a basic self defense class. This will include an evaluation on what you already know and how to bring all of you up to a basic skill level. These classes will be taught by the Para-Rescue Training Cadre. So, if you are hoping to go into their VERY elite ranks, here is your chance to impress them.
"Tuesday will continue the self defense classes and add a class on how to mentally prepare yourself for combat. Wednesday will see the third and final self defense class and a primer in field security and tactics. You will be using these techniques in Fourth WOT so pay attention.
"On Thursday, you will pick up your blues from logistics and get another haircut. Pictures will follow. That afternoon we will evaluate how well you have cared for your weapons. Friday is mostly classroom instruction for Warrior Week. AEF Just-In-Time (JIT) training, pre-deployment processing, assignment notification, yada yada yada. This will basically run you through the deployment process so you are familiar with it.
"Saturday, after your FINAL PC evaluation, you will test on the first part of your ATO. Failure to pass either test will result in recycling to an earlier week. On Sunday, we bus out for the field portion of your training. Once there, you will receive extensive training on how to survive in a field combat environment, AKA Warrior Week. Keep in mind that you will be walking a significant portion of the way to your field site with your full field kit, issued on the deployment processing line." TSgt Vega smirked as he watched the trainees' faces. Jon was tempted to turn and look for himself, but decided against it. He still wasn't comfortable meeting anyone's eyes yet.
TSgt Vega gave an evil grin as he continued, "Finally, we get to start a new tradition this week: Mail Call. But before I get started, I want you to let you know the penalties. First, for each letter received from a female that is not directly related to you by blood, you will give me 5 push-ups. For fraternizing with the enemy, i.e. Navy, Army, Marines, or heaven help you, the US Coast Guard, you will give me a 2 minute leg lift. For care packages, you will share goods evenly among your element members and give me 30 sit-ups. Any questions?"
"NO, SIR," they chorused. Jon could feel the excitement from his Flight-mates press against his shielding as they anticipated receiving letters from home. In spite of the threat of push-ups and sit-ups, these letters would be the first outside news from home that the group received since starting BMT.
"Alright then, Jones. Front and center." Trainee Jones carefully picked his way to the front and TSgt Vega held up three letters. "I assume that Mrs. Edna Jones is a relation, but a Ms. Thiel is not, correct?"
"Yes, Sir." The trainee dropped to the ground and cranked out 5 push-ups. He collected his letters and made his way back to his spot with a huge grin on his face.
"Thompson," he called next and so on. Jon began to tune out the proceedings. He wasn't expecting any mail. He had intentionally left the wrong mailing address on Daniel's voice mail to avoid receiving anything. However, he was startled back to reality with TSgt Vega's sharp comment, "And finally, we have O'Neill."
Jon frowned and stood up.
"Personally, I don't know where to begin, O'Neill. Luckily, someone already thought of that for me. I figure that this letter labeled 'Urgent' and 'Read Me First' would make an interesting starting point, don't you?" TSgt Vega gave Jon a shit-eating grin as he handed him a single letter. "Go ahead, we're waiting."
"Yes, Sir," Jon mumbled as he opened the letter, confused. It was an intradepartmental memo with a sticky note attached. The sticky note was in Daniel's handwriting. It simply stated, 'I am so sorry. I couldn't stop him. Daniel.'
Frowning, Jon pulled the sticky note off and read the memo.
UNCLASSIFIED NOFORN
1 June 2005
MEMORANDUM FOR All Departments
FROM: MG Jack O'Neill (Director, DHWS)
SUBJECT: New Morale Program for Department Family Members
Since taking charge of the department, it has come to my attention that we currently don't have any department wide morale programs (Thanks, Walter). So, I have taken it upon myself to create the first DHWS morale program.
As we all know, our families have sustained us through the hard times. We often seek their support to make it through the tough spots. Surprisingly enough, in spite of seeing the worst, the next generation seeks to follow our example and join the military to make us proud.
So to honor these courageous young people, who think they can do better than the old man, I have created the Next Generation Letter Project. Quarterly, a list of newly recruited family members from our own DHWS will be published. All DHWS members are encouraged to send letters and care packages to these young recruits to show them our support. Attached is the first list for 2005, 4th Quarter.
CMSgt Walter Harriman has been appointed as the Next Generation Letter Project Leader. Anyone wanting to submit a name for the list is encouraged to contact him in Colorado. Thanks for your support
SIGNED
JONATHON J. O'NEILL, MG, USAF
Director
Attachment:
4th Qtr List
UNCLASSIFIED NOFORN
Jon went white. He couldn't. He didn't. Jon flipped to the attached list. There sandwiched between a Marine Recruit Jesus Madros and West Point Cadet Laurie St Claire, was one Airman Basic Jonathan O'Neill. With his correct mailing address and the approximate date he would be graduating. Oh hell! The old man is so dead!
"Well, Trainee?" TSgt Vega's voice broke through Jon's shock and brought him back to his current reality.
"I think I liked it better when I didn't get my memos, Sir." Jon continued to look stricken and handed the memo over to the grinning TSgt.
TSgt Vega frowned as he read the memo. "Oh, well I guess that explains the rest of the letters."
"The rest… Sir?"
TSgt Vega's grin snapped back into place as he pushed a large box out from behind the podium. "I counted 206 letters, 40 from females, 104 from the enemy, and 7 care packages. So you owe me, 200 push-ups, 208 minutes of leg lifts, and 210 sit-ups."
Jon gave a resigned sigh, "Yes, Sir."
Jon was able to pay up on the push-ups and sit-ups, but only made it through 20 minutes worth of leg lifts before he was unable to continue. TSgt Vega claimed it was good enough for now and dismissed the Flight to their various Sunday tasks.
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After the dorm had been cleaned and most of the Flight had left for the chapel, Jon returned to the dayroom to sort through the letters. He was surprised to see how many of the names he recognized. Of course, Daniel, Sam, and Teal'c had each sent a letter. Sam had sent on a care package as well. Siler had sent the largest care package, and Jon was almost afraid to open it. However, the biggest surprise had been the letters from Mrs. Struble's summer pre-school class. The hand drawn crayon pictures alone were enough to make him smile. They reminded him of Merrin and he wondered how she was faring.
"So, how did you get over 200 letters anyway?" his bunkmate, Skoke walked up and sat down across from him, the piles of letters in between them. Ruso, Element Four's leader also joined them.
Jon gave them a wane smile, "Ah, long story. Here, I'll let you read the memo." He handed them the DHWS memo.
"What's NOFORN mean?" Ruso asked. "It kinda sounds dirty."
Jon smiled, "It's a type of classification. It basically means no foreign release."
"What is this DHWS? I don't think I have ever heard of it." Skoke was looking closely at the memo header.
Jon paused, "Uh… classified."
"But it says unclassified at the top," Skoke pointed out.
Jon gave them an evil grin, "The acronym is unclassified. Its long name that's classified. Sorry."
"So, this is your uncle," Ruso commented. "Does he know just how badly he's screwed you over?"
Jon laughed, "Oh, yeah. Some things are the same no matter what service you went through, officer or enlisted. He did it on purpose, sort of an uncle's revenge. He's probably just getting me back for calling Daniel that first week."
"Man, you called someone besides family that week," Ruso exclaimed. "I had to hear my mama and let her know I was good. You know. If I didn't, I'm certain my papa would have found me and kicked my ass, Basic or no."
Skoke chuckled, "I don't think my family would go quite that far, but they would have been concerned if they hadn't heard from me."
"Yeah, well, in a way, Daniel is family. Just not blood." Jon chuckled softly. "Actually, it's kind of like everyone in this stack," he gestured to the pile of letters, "is my extended family. I know most of them."
"Yeah, well, extended family or no, you are going to be one buff son-of-a-bitch by the time you graduate." Ruso eyed the stack carefully. "You got a girl in this big stack?"
"Nope. Completely unattached."
Ruso frowned and shook his head sadly. "That's just sad, man."
Skoke chuckled, "Just ignore him. He's not thinking with the right head."
"That's cold, man. Plain cold. Besides, the Sarge said that some 40 of those letters were from girls. I figured at least one would be hot for him."
Jon smirked, "Ya sure, you betcha. You might not believe this, but I was a bit of a geek in high school."
Ruso and Skoke both shook their head in disbelief. "No way. You could pass the PC test right now. The geeks are the ones we are trying to get fit enough to pass."
"Really, I spent all my time studying or playing hockey. Hell, I even graduated a year early."
"Now we know that you are pulling our legs. Who the hell plays hockey outside of Canada?" Skoke replied.
"Yeah, well, I didn't find high school all that challenging." Jon shrugged and looked for a way to change the subject. "What about you two? You got girls back home?"
"Hell yeah, man," Ruso replied. "I have two or three honeys waiting for me."
"So… Ruso is single. Me… I don't have anything serious. My girl wanted to go to college. Her parents paid her way. I have to use the GI Bill to afford it. So, we parted ways." Skoke shrugged. "It's probably for the best."
The PA warning sounded. All three turned their attention to the PA speaker. "Attention in the squadron. Due to the truth in advertising laws, AAFES has changed their slogan from 'We go where you go' to 'Like you have a choice.' Repeat, the new AAFES slogan is 'Like you have a choice.' Please continue to patronize your only choice in military clothing needs."
Skoke turned to Ruso, "I give it a four."
"You're generous. I don't exactly understand the joke. So, two," replied Ruso.
Jon gave his two Flight-mates an odd look. "What?" he asked.
Skoke turned back to Jon, "Ruso and I started rating the pranks on a scale from one to ten based on how funny they were. That one was not so funny. Eh, maybe we just don't have the right context."
Jon grinned, "I bet some TI is laughing his ass off." He gestured back at Skoke, "Would that be your context?"
"I guess," Ruso replied. "At least then at least I'd know that someone got the joke,"
"Poor baby, would it help if I explained it for you?" Jon asked sarcastically.
Ruso growled at him, "No way. If I can't get it on my own, I don't want no help." Ruso's face split in a big grin, "My favorite is still the mind control lasers. Pure genius."
Jon started to pack away the letters. He had skimmed through all of them. A few he kept for re-reading later. Most, he just folded up. "Well, I'm off to see if TSgt Vega will open the civvies closet to store this stuff. The care packages are open to anyone who wants something."
"I thought you only had to share with your element?" Ruso asked around a bite of chocolate walnut cookie.
Jon gave him a pointed look, "And which element would that be exactly?" Being the Dorm Chief meant he didn't belong to an element.
The light went on in Ruso's head, "Ah. Point taken."
Jon picked up the box and headed over to the TI's office. He set the box on the floor before knocking once on the door.
"Enter."
Jon opened the door and stepped inside, "Sir, Trainee O'Neill reports as ordered. Would it be possible to store these letters with my civilian gear, Sir?"
TSgt Vega regarded him steadily. "Do you think you will get many more of these letters, Trainee?"
Jon winced, "Unfortunately, yes, I do, Sir. The Department is a rather tight knit group, Sir. We take care of our own, Sir."
"We?"
Shit! I did it again. What the hell is wrong with me? "The… um…" He let out a huff of air. "The personnel in the Department have treated me like family, Sir. In many ways they are the only family I have, Sir." Good grief, I must sound like the world's biggest sap. Maybe I am just a bad copy of Jack. A sappy, defective one at that.
TSgt Vega just stared at him a few more seconds, "Okay, I'll accept that." He reached over and grabbed his keys. Lifting one, he gestured towards the locked closet. "We'll see how many letters come in. For now, I'll let you store them in the closet. Go put them away and come back. We still have to talk about those nightmares."
Jon grimaced. "Yes, Sir." Jon took the keys and his box to the locked closet. He unlocked the door and set the box just inside the door. Closing the door firmly, he returned to the office to face TSgt Vega.
Once back in the office, TSgt Vega gestured to the chair and closed the door. "So, tell me. When did the nightmares start? What are they about? And what language were you speaking?"
Jon hesitated, "Sir, permission to speak freely and drop the 'sir.'"
TSgt Vega watched him closely. "Granted."
Jon dropped his shielding for the first time since the fight. True, he didn't ask permission to read the sergeant's mind, but he had to resolve this nightmare issue now, before he was sent to medical for mental health screening. So, he dropped his shields and scanned the TI's mind.
Jon could feel that TSgt Vega was concerned for him. The TI was recalling past incidents where trainees had ongoing nightmares. Jon was surprised to find that his situation was not that uncommon. And this knowledge gave Jon a small sense of relief.
He wasn't the only one. TSgt Vega didn't think he was defective or weak because of them. In fact, TSgt Vega felt responsible. He felt that he was putting too much pressure on Jon and that the pressure was triggering the nightmares.
I'm not going crazy. I'm not weak. But am I Jack or Jon? Ah hell.
"I have had the nightmares for years," he replied, honestly. "I can't really tell you what they are about. I can say that they are based on some past experiences that I would rather forget. They are triggered when I feel closed in, trapped. I end up feeling the need to fight back. Unfortunately, that is why it takes me a few minutes to remember where I am."
"And the language?"
Jon tried to play dumb, "What language?" He remembered all too clearly threatening Payton in Goa'uld.
"I believe that you said 'tibet go nash' and then you called him a 'jaffa.'" Again TSgt Vega regarded him closely. The sergeant's thoughts cycled, trying to determine if he should pry deeper into Jon's story or let it be. He didn't recognize the words as coming from any language. To the sergeant the words sounded made up.
And with that knowledge, Jon had a plan. Jon looked TSgt Vega straight in the eye and told his first blatant lie. "It's street slang. Not a language. At least not an official language, the way you mean."
The lie worked. TSgt Vega put two and two together and came up with five. Jon felt the TI's relief that Jon's nightmares were gang related. He had dealt with former gang members before. The nightmares and the violent awakenings made sense to the sergeant. The odd pieces fit together. TSgt Vega wouldn't ask any more questions about the content of his nightmares. The sergeant's imagination was already telling its own version of events. And in his version, Jon was recovering from his association with the gangs and didn't need more help, just time and distance.
Jon eased his shielding back into place. Glad to have the mental barrier up once more. "Is there anything else, Sir?" Jon asked, signaling that the session was at an end.
"No. Thank you."
Jon left the TI's office with his thoughts in turmoil once more. He didn't plant the idea in the TI's head, but he had come close. How far would he go to protect his secrets? Who was he really, Jon or Jack? And ultimately, who did he want to be?
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Monday dawned to the tune of Blue Monday by Fats Domino. The jazz tune seemed to fit well with Jon's mood. He didn't really feel like facing this week, but knew that he would have to regardless. He couldn't quit. It wasn't in his nature. He may not know who he was exactly anymore, but he knew what he wasn't. He wasn't a quitter.
"O'Neill, run this down to CQ and meet us on the parade ground for PC." TSgt Vega handed Jon an envelope and turned to the rest of the Flight. "Form up, down stairs, double time."
"Yes, Sir." Jon took the envelope down the stairs towards the CQ office. As he approached, he could hear Col Harding bellowing.
"Captain, I don't care how it got in there. Get rid of it out now." Then the colonel stormed past Jon as he walked down the hallway. Jon risked a glace in the Captain's office as he walked past. Inside the office every surface was covered in tin foil. In the middle of the room, stood one confused Captain trying to peel the tin foil off of his computer.
Jon continued down the hall way smirking. It had taken more time to smuggle the tin foil into the office over the weekend than it had taken to cover every surface. The hardest part had been muffling the noise from the CQ desk, just down the hallway. He almost forgot to wipe the smirk off his face as he handed the envelope to the CQ. "Sir, Trainee O'Neill reports as ordered. From TSgt Vega, Sir."
The CQ took the envelope without looking up, "Thank you, Trainee. Dismissed." Jon was grinning all the way out to PC. Nothing like a little prank to lift the spirits.
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The Flight went through their scheduled PC, breakfast, and drill with practiced ease. They were truly starting to get the hang of their new life. For the first time, TSgt Vega gave them a compliment about their drilling. The whole Flight glowed under his praise. Before long they were marching to the gym where the self defense evaluations would take place.
They lined up as instructed against the outer wall. In the center of the room were the ten meanest looking men Jon had seen in a long time. They were not especially large or bulky, like Teal'c, but wiry and lean and they moved with a feline grace. Off to one side was the CMSgt in charge of the Para-Rescue Indoctrination Training at Lackland. Apparently, he liked to see the new trainees for himself.
When Jon first saw the Chief, he felt that he should know him, but couldn't remember from where. But when the Chief took his place in front of the Para-Rescue (PJ) Cadre, Jon felt the hairs on his spine rise up. It was Meatball.
"Good Morning, Trainees. I'm Chief Master Sergeant Gunderson. I am supervising this evaluation. These men here are experienced instructors in most forms of hand-to-hand combat. They will evaluate your current skill level and determine how much training you will require over the next few days. Likewise, they will be evaluating you for suitability in the elite Para-Rescue specialty. Their good opinion will ONLY give you a chance to test for the position, not guarantee you a spot. Their poor opinion will not even give you that. Line up, 5 to an instructor. Go!"
Jon definitely recognized him now. 'Meatball' Gunderson had been a SSgt the last time Jack had seen him. He had been one of Jack's men in the old days, joining his primary team when Search and Rescue (SAR) was their primary mission objective.
Meatball had even been the primary medic on the Special Tactics team that extracted Jack from his prison cell in Iraq. The memories of that rescue threatened to swim up from their dark corner in his mind. But Jon refused to fall into that trap again. He started to hum 'Oh, Danny Boy' and got in line with the other trainees, doing his best to ignore the Chief, and the memories he stirred up.
The evaluations were brief. Most of his Flight-mates had never been trained in any type of hand to hand combat. And those few that had taken Karate or some other form of martial art were only vaguely aware of how safe their sport really was. This wasn't sparring for fun and games. This was combat. Winner take all.
Jon was mentally preparing himself as he waited. He evaluated his opponent, as the instructor took down each trainee in turn, like a cat playing with mice. When he finally took his turn, he knew that he was better than the instructor. Or at least that Jack had been better.
When the instructor gave him the signal to begin, he gave the instructor exactly what he was expecting. Jon appeared to charge in attack, but instead of coming straight on he dodged left, away from the instructors attack, and then right into an opening. Two hits and a kick had the instructor on his knees in surprise. Jon continued to press his attack and ended with the man in a loose choke hold.
"I yield," the instructor croaked.
Jon immediately let go and backed away from the man. The fight had been short, but had left his adrenaline pumping. Jon was instinctively looking for another target.
"Well done, Trainee," the Chief's voice startled Jon. Chief Gunderson had witnessed the match and had come over to take a closer look at the one trainee who practically glowed with promise. "Care to try again against someone with a little more experience?" the Chief asked smiling.
"Ya sure, you betcha, Chief," Jon said, momentarily forgetting himself.
The Chief's smile faded a bit, "Do I know you?" he asked quietly, as they squared off.
Jon gave him an evil grin, "Only in another life, Chief." With that he attacked, taking a different approach from the first match. He tested the Chief's defenses and probed his weak areas. Jack had been one of the Chief's instructors, way back when. It was a familiar role for Jon. He found that Meatball still had a weak defense on the right, a strong left hook, and continued to ignore his legs. Finally, Jon attacked in a blinding whirlwind of blows, each a mere tap without any true force behind them.
"Enough," the Chief bellowed. "You've made your point. I yield." Then the Chief bowed to Jon. "What's your name, Trainee?" he asked, grinning widely. It wasn't often that the Chief had been bested by a brand new recruit.
Jon hesitated, and then gave a resigned sigh, "Trainee O'Neill, at your service, Chief."
The Chief's smile faded and his face went pale. "O'Neill?" He licked his lips nervously. "Any relation to an STO named O'Neill, with two 'L's?"
S.T.O. Special Tactics Officer. Jack's old specialty before the Stargate changed his view of the world. Yup, you could say he was a relation. Damn near the next best thing to the man himself.
In a way, it hurt that the Chief couldn't see past the mask that Jon had erected. Meatball had been one of his men. His best medic. The man who had ensured that Humpty-Dumpty got put back together again after a bad mission. And Jon had to pretend that he had never met him before. Pretend that he didn't owe this man his life several times over.
"Yes, Chief," Jon stated, sadly.
Jon and the Chief eyed each other for several more seconds. Neither quite sure what to say. Finally, Jon shook free of the spell and threw the Chief a cocky O'Neill grin. "Thanks, Chief." Thanks, Meatball, for dragging my – his ass out of that Iraqi hell-hole. Thanks for being better at putting people back together then you are at taking them apart. Just… thanks.
The Chief chuckled, "I don't know what for. Ever consider Para-Rescue?"
Jon's grin faded. "Yes, Chief. But, I have other plans."
"Ah, Combat Controller then, like Coyote. You'll do well there."
Coyote. Another name that Jon hadn't heard in years. It was Jack's nickname from before. His handle. Cromwell had named him for the Indian trickster while they were still in STO training together. One of the few times Frank had admitted to his heritage. The name brought back memories from a time before. Before Iraq destroyed my perspective. Before Charlie died. Before West gave me an out. Before Daniel changed my life. Before a giant ring became the center of my universe. I can't go back to before. Even if it wasn't my before.
Jon continued to frowned, "No, Chief. I have other plans."
Now it was the Chief's turn to frown. "Why not? You have the skills needed to get in."
Because the training would take years. Because I don't need to retrain in a job I already know. Because I need to get back to the Stargate Program. "Because… I'm needed elsewhere."
The Chief turned a skeptical eye on him, "We'll see. In the meantime, you can test if you want. I doubt that you'll have any problems passing, if Coyote has been seeing to your training." With that the Chief turned and headed back to the other instructors.
That was the one last thing that Jon remembered all too well about Meatball, he was one stubborn son-of-a-bitch. His stubbornness had kept Jack alive on that Iraqi rescue mission. Meatball had used every bit of dirty emotional black mail to keep Jack from giving up so close to making it home. Dr. Frasier had probably taken lessons from ol' Meatball on how to bribe one Jack O'Neill into not giving up.
Jon just wasn't sure he wanted that legendary stubbornness pointed at him right now. Just what I need. Another complication in my 'oh so simple' life.
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The Flight made it back to the squadron just in time for the daily prank announcement. "Attention in the squadron. There will be a meeting at 1800 in Classroom 104 for the Caffeine Addicts Anonymous group. Repeat, there will be a meeting at 1800 in Classroom 104 for the CAA. Tonight's topic will be field remedies for the caffeine addict. Bring the instant coffee packets from your MRE's. See you there."
Jon heard a few snorts while he grabbed lunch off the serving line. He dug into his food while he debated how best to discourage Chief Gunderson.
"O'Neill, is it true?" one of his table mates asked between mouthfuls of food.
"What?" he asked.
"Is it true that you got offered a chance to test for the PJ's?" the trainee clarified.
Jon chewed thoughtfully, "Yeah."
"Sweet."
"Yeah, if you say so."
The self defense class that afternoon went as well as Jon had expected. The instructor called on him several times to demonstrate a specific technique for the rest of the trainees. He and the other trainees with experience were tasked to assist the instructor in teaching the most basic techniques to their Flight-mates.
Jon watched as Chief Gunderson and TSgt Vega chatted on the sidelines. Apparently, whatever was said was enough for the Chief. Jon wasn't asked again if he wanted to test for Para-Rescue. Jon was both relieved and disappointed with the outcome. So, the Flight marched back to the squadron tired and eager for another round of Mail Call. Jon's muscles dreaded the event with equal feeling.
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Tuesday dawned with reveille. Half the Flight was up before the first notes sounded. They were finally adjusting to the schedule. Jon was surprisingly nightmare free and that put him in a good mood to start the day. He heard a startled expression from the dorm guard, just as the Flight was ready to depart the dorm. Peering down the short hallway, he could just make out the newsprint on the paper covering the dorm doorway and smirked. You betcha, a good start indeed.
TSgt Vega took charge as the Flight hesitated, "Come on. Tear it down. You don't want to be late for PC. The clock is ticking, trainees."
In short order the Flight had cleared the mess, and was on its way down to the parade ground for PC. Their brother Flight across the hallway was still cleaning their's up as they filed past.
Again, PC, breakfast, and drill went smoothly for the Flight. The Flight had just settled into the classroom for the Mental Preparation for Combat class when the PA sounded, "Attention in the squadron. Today's memorable quote is 'Interdum feror cupidine partium magnarum Europea vincendarum' attributed to a young Napoleon during his alter boy days. In English it says, 'Sometimes I get this urge to conquer large parts of Europe.' Contact the Military Historical Society for more information."
"What was that all about?" the Lt Colonel from the Medical Group's Life Skills department asked TSgt Vega.
Jon grinned as he watched TSgt Vega stumble through a bogus explanation about improving trainee morale through humor. The good LtC didn't appear to be amused.
Jon tuned out the rest of the class while appearing attentive. He knew that there was no true way to prepare yourself for combat. The mental health doctors could harp about conditioning and reflex reactions, but ultimately, you will either freeze or fight when faced with the prospect of kill or be killed.
It is the most primal emotion that humans experience. And until these trainees were faced with the reality of their death, they would feel invincible. Nothing could change that. Only in that moment of truth would the fighters draw on their training. The rest would freeze. Though with the all-volunteer force, few of the latter ever bothered to join any of the armed services, while the former seemed to be drawn to it.
Lunch was followed by another self-defense class. However, this time Jon was pulled from the class to meet with someone concerning his security clearance. SrA Reglin was decidedly close-mouthed about whom he would be reporting too. Jon was glad when they finally reached the trainee processing building.
Jon followed SrA Reglin to a small conference room. What he saw inside made him grin. There, seated behind a small conference table, was Daniel. He was accompanied by a strange woman and a Lt Colonel that Jon didn't recognize.
Daniel baiting, just what the doctor ordered. Man, this day just can't get better. Well, there could be cake…
Jon couldn't wipe the grin off his face as he reported, "Sirs and Ma'am, Trainee O'Neill reports as ordered."
"Well, isn't he just cute as a button," the woman remarked before Daniel could silence her. "Ouch, was that really necessary, Daniel?"
"Yes, now shut up." Daniel replied, brusquely. Apparently, Jon wasn't the only one Daniel-baiting these days.
The Lt Colonel looked decidedly uncomfortable as he turned to the TI, "Thank you, Airman, we can take it from here."
"Yes, Sir." SrA Reglin turned to Jon. "Report back to the squadron when you are finished here, trainee."
"Yes, Sir," Jon replied.
SrA Reglin nodded and left, closing the door behind him.
"So, Daniel, are you going to introduce me to your new friends or what?" Jon asked.
"Jon, LtC Cameron Mitchell, the new leader of SG-1 and Vala MalDoran, the space pirate. Vala, Cam, Jon O'Neill, the second, currently in basic training," Daniel ended in a flourish.
Oh yes, there is a God, and he hand delivered one Dr. Daniel Jackson with a sexy space pirate. The day apparently CAN get better without cake.
"Wait a minute, Daniel. Wasn't 'O'Neill' the name of that delightful man we met in your reigning city?" Vala interrupted. Jon's grin grew and Daniel noticed.
Daniel gave a long suffering sigh, "Yes, Vala. Jack and Jon are related, sort of."
Jon just continued to grin at them. This was just too good. Finally, he shook his head and turned to the other new person, LtC Mitchell. "So, Colonel, how do you like the new post?" Time to lull Daniel into a false sense of security.
"It's good. I'd like it better if I had a team, but you know how it goes."
"Day late and a dollar short?" Jon supplied.
"Oh yeah."
"Don't worry, it'll work out. It always does." Jon knew that feeling only too well.
Jon turned back to Daniel, who was peering at his notebook, "So, is there a reason you're showing a space pirate around Earth, Space Monkey?" Jon grinned wider as Daniel shifted uncomfortably. This Vala person obviously got under his skin, like fingernails on a chalkboard. Jon especially liked how her eyes widened when he called Daniel 'Space Monkey.' She would surely torture Daniel for days with just that piece of information.
"No, no, not really. Just… Never mind. Aren't we supposed to be conducting an investigation about a red flag on your security clearance?" Daniel tried to change the subject and shuffling through the papers.
"Oh, that. It's nothing." Jon couldn't help but goad Daniel more. "The old man and I knew it was going to happen. The in-processing folks were under the mistaken impression that I didn't have a security clearance yet, so they started a new one. Hence, the red flag. Next thing you know, Daniel is escorting a space pirate to interview a young impressionable training recruit."
"Impressionable, my ass," was Daniel's only reply. Jon just smirked at him.
LtC Mitchell looked confused, "How did you get a security clearance, let alone for… you know what?"
Jon schooled his face in a stern glare, "You can say it, LtC Mitchell. Voldemort." He quickly glanced around the room, "See nothing happened."
Daniel glared at Jon, "What Jon is trying to say is…"
Jon interrupted, "That I was born knowing. Known for years. Etc. Etc. Now, lets finish this so we can get back to harassing Daniel. Am I under duress? No. Am I currently being recruited by anyone outside the program? No… Well, except for Para Rescue, but I'm pretty sure they won't kidnap me to make a point. Besides, my watch doubles as a locator beacon. Um… I think that's it." Jon looked over at LtC Mitchell, "Did I miss anything?"
LtC Mitchell was grinning, "Only the part where you reassure us that you are not trying to take over the world… this time."
"Damn," Jon replied. "I hate it when I forget that part." Jon turned back to Daniel. "So, Daniel, about the memo..." Jon spent the next hour alternating between tormenting Daniel and pulling information from him with help from Vala and LtC Mitchell.
When it was finally time to return to the dorm, Jon had decided that he liked Vala. She was good for Daniel, in a dangerous, moody sort of way. And while Jon found that LtC Mitchell was a bit reserved, his sense of humor peeked through at odd moments. Overall, they would work well together. But, he didn't trust them to keep Daniel out of trouble. Then again, no one ever could keep Daniel out of trouble, so what else was new.
The brief respite from basic had given Jon a sense of well being. He was ready once again to take on the world. Even if the issue of his identity was still in question, he was ready to face the world head on once more. Now, if he timed it right, he would miss Mail Call.
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Wednesday started off much the same as the previous days. Reveille was followed by PC and breakfast. However, drill was replaced by an extensive class on basic field security and field tactics.
Today's prank on the unit became evident when one of the instructors for their tactics class, sat down in his chair at the front of the classroom. A long, loud fart noise soon followed. Even in the face of a piercing glare, the trainees couldn't help but crack a smile. TSgt Vega quickly intercepted the hapless instructor before he could tongue lash the trainees for their lack of respect.
However, the initial good humor over the joke was soon replaced by tension as the trainees learned the basics in setting up a perimeter, defensive positions, and lines of fire. The instructor was clear to let the trainees know that the field tactics part of the course was for their information, in case their officers were killed and they were to assume command to complete the mission objective. The instructor followed that comment up with the fact that the evaluation teams enjoyed killing off the field commanders in an exercise just to see what the trainees would do.
After that the trainees were dismissed for lunch and from lunch they went to their final self defense class. Just as the class was finishing, Chief Gunderson pulled Jon aside.
"Trainee, if I could have a moment of your time."
"Chief, Trainee O'Neill reports as ordered." Jon reported then went to parade rest.
Chief Gunderson seemed ill at ease as he tried to form his thoughts into words. "Trainee, I know that you think you can do some good in this world by pursuing your current course of action. However, I want to make you aware of how much good you could do with us."
He paused seeking the words, "General O'Neill was the best STO I ever served with. He saved so many lives… The lives of my teammates… Even, my own life on occasion. But he did it by utilizing his skills to their full potential. By ensuring a mission was as safe as possible before the plane was boarded. After… Later, he was changed. General West noticed and moved him out of Special Tactics. And eventually his skills wasted away, turning him into the pentagon bureaucrat he is now. The Coyote that I knew would rather have died than fly a desk. Yet, now he does."
The Chief stopped, trying to organize his thoughts once more. "I guess that what I am trying to say is that I see in you those same skills. I think you will do good where ever you will go, but I think that you could do more good with Special Tactics than with Security Forces." He gave Jon a sly grin. "However, if you still say no, I won't force you. I'll just continue to ask for as long as it takes to convince you."
Jon took a moment to absorb the information the Chief had given him. Finally, he asked, "Permission to speak freely, Chief."
He received a frown followed by "Granted."
"Chief, my uncle and I have the highest respect for you. You are the reason there was an after… And yes, he was changed. But as much as he despises his current position, he knows that the best way to utilize his 'unique' skills is to manage from above…"
Jon tried to find the best way to reassure the Chief, "West was a bastard. But he used the tools he had on hand. Jack was one of those tools. In retrospect, we have a lot to thank General West for. More, in fact, than we could ever tell you."
Jon gave the Chief a trademark O'Neill grin. The Chief responded to it with a grin of his own. Jon continued, "My talents are not yet ready to manage from above, so here I am... Knowing what I know, I can't in all good conscience accept your offer."
Trying to soften the blow of his refusal, he added in a decidedly chipper tone, "However, knowing that a man of your skills may come in handy someday, may I offer you a position in return? How do you feel about Deep Space Radar Telemetry? I know. Sounds boring, but we really do meet some interesting people. Lots of travel to far away lands. You might like it."
The Chief chuckled and shook his head, "I doubt it's nearly as interesting as it sounds. I'll pass for now. You really do have Coyote's talent for mischief, you know."
"Yes, well, I'll keep offering as long as you continue to return the favor."
The Chief gave a short laugh before continuing, "How's that for a threat? You better get back to your Flight, trainee."
"Yes, Chief." Jon returned to his Flight for the march back to the squadron.
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Later that evening, after another nearly endless round of push-ups and sit-ups from Mail Call, Jon was walking through the dorm bays and helping his Flightmates and fix minor discrepancies with their lockers. He had a funny feeling that the Red Line inspection would come soon. And since his 'spidey senses' were tingling, he decided to get his Flight to focus on the super-minor details now, when they had the free time.
Tomorrow's prank was almost setup. It just had to have the time delay set to execute and fill the ink well. A matter of a few minutes at most. So, Jon had planned to be available all night, just in case.
"Here, see this T-shirt. The folding is perfect, but the edges are not quite flush with each other or the locker shelf." Jon pointed to the stack. It was almost perfect. "Much better," he commended once the stack was properly aligned. "Alright, close it up and don't touch anything you don't have to." He patted the kid on the shoulder and moved to the next locker.
"Attention in the squadron. All trainees will note that all facility lights must be in the On Full Force mode when the room is empty. Repeat, all trainees will note that all facility lights must be in the On Full Force mode when the room is empty. Instructors are encouraged to police their areas of responsibility for compliance. Contact Civil Engineering help desk for more information."
"What the hell is 'On Full Force' mode?" one of the more naive trainees, Bergen, asked.
Bergen's bunk mate snorted and corrected him, "O. F. F. Off."
"Oh…OH!"
"You guys want any help with your lockers?" Jon asked them.
"No thanks, Dorm Chief. Thomas came by earlier and checked us out. We should be good," came the quick reply.
Just then, Ruso stopped next to Jon. "Okay, I have quadruple checked every locker in my element. The bathroom is spotless with only one pisser open. Are you happy yet?"
Jon smirked, "I'm never happy, but I'll concede that we have done everything we can for now."
"Excellent." Ruso turned to the bay. "Everyone, don't touch nothin' and get to the day room." Ruso left to collect the rest of the Flight and make his announcement in the other bay.
Once the whole Flight had assembled in the day room, Ruso stood in front of the podium. "Good evening, ya'all's. It occurred to me not too long ago that we all have been here three weeks already and have done pretty much nothing but get our heads filled with stuff. In fact, I would go so far as to say we were zombies these last few weeks. So, now that we know we can hack it, I got with the other Element Leaders to help boost our morale a bit. Okay, Stretch, you're up."
Ruso was joined by Skoke, Thomas, and Jackson. Skoke spoke next, "We wanted to commend those of our Flight-mates who have improved their performance with an informal awards presentation. Please accept these prizes thanks to the Dorm Chief's extended family, without which we would have to visit the BX a lot more often. For the Most Improved Running Time, Taylor from Element 3." The whole Flight cheered the slowest trainee. "Nice job."
Jackson stepped forward, "For the Best Made Bed, we have Soto from Element One. For the record, the quarter jumped 22 inches on the bounce."
Thomas stepped forward as Jackson stepped back, "For the Most Likely to Get Married award, we have Lorenzo from Element Four. Man, we love you and all, but I think I know more about your girlfriend than she does."
Ruso stood forward once more, "For the Least Likely to Get Recycled award, we have Stull from Element Two. I just want ya'all to know that this dude, has volunteered for night, dorm guard duty from now until graduation, just to study his ATO. He is so studiously avoiding having to open the door to the wrong person that he is willing to pull double shifts. Thanks a lot, man."
"Finally, we have the Mary Poppins' Award," Skoke spoke once more. "For the trainee who is 'Practically Perfect in Every Way.' O'Neill. Way to go Dorm Chief. Come on, speech."
"Ack! I'm not so good with speeches. It's one of my many flaws." Jon held up his hands to stem the tide of boos sent his way. "I'm just sayin'… Alright, I get it." Jon stood up and paused for effect. "Fine," he held up his dog tags like an Oscar, "I want to thank my press agent for getting me the part… Yeah, well, what can I really say? You're comparing me to Mary Poppins, fer crying out loud. Are you all so TV depraved that this…" he gestured around the day room, "is 'must see' entertainment?"
Another round of cheers was his only answer.
"Wow, ya'all are desperate. Wait! I have an idea." Jon poked his head behind the podium where the Flight had been storing the magazines that people had been shipped in their care packages. He rummaged around for a minute before pulling out his intended target. He flipped the magazine to a specific article and smirked before asking, "Alright, close your eyes and picture a TV. You somehow got stuck on the Discovery Channel and can't find the remote. So, you are lulled to sleep by the following…"
Jon dropped his voice to a deep bass, "What's the shortest distance between two points? A mathematician would tell you it's a straight line, but an astronomer would say it's a wormhole. Wormholes aren't just some made-up notion from … Star Trek. Scientists take wormholes seriously and are studying their properties in the hopes of one day creating one. IT'S ALL RELATIVE! Albert Einstein … laid the groundwork for the idea of wormholes with his general theory of relativity. It states that anything with mass or energy distorts the space around it…" (Wulsin, p6)
Jon stopped as the boos and hissing grew louder than his reading. "Hey, it could happen," he replied. Sam had sent him the article in jest from one of her weekly science digests. Her post-it note, flagging the article had simply stated, 'Ya Think!' She had also highlighted the part of the article that used the worm in an apple example.
"Fine… so what do you wise guys want to hear?" Jon asked.
"Fiction. Like Wormhole X-treme," came one answer from the back.
Jon winced, "No way. That Col Danning is completely unbelievable. No Sci-Fi."
"No science," was one smart remark from his left.
"How about an old legend?"
"Yeah, but it has to have a moral. Its not a real story without a moral."
"And a kick-ass hero."
"And fighting. Nothing beats a good gory battle."
"Oy… so, let me get this straight. You want a fictional story about an old legend with a moral, a hero, and lots of blood." Jon thought about it for a moment.
Then he flashed back to Chief Gunderson's words about Coyote and how he had changed. Yeah, not exactly an old legend, but it was an all too familiar tale.
Of course, now that he thought about that plot line, he couldn't get it out of his head. He was even spinning it so none of the guys would suspect it was a real story. Ah hell! Therapy by BMT. This is so not what I need.
Yet, in spite of his reservations, Jon felt compelled to tell the tale. "Okay, let me tell you the story of two brothers, Indian Boy and Coyote and how it is never too late to forgive…"
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Let me tell you the story of two brothers, Indian Boy and Coyote, and how it is never too late to forgive.
This story begins, like all good stories do, at the very beginning. In a small Indian village lost to the mists of time, two brothers were born.
The older brother was dark and brooding. His hair and eyes were black and his skin dark. But he was not grim or sad, just very serious. He went about his life with a dedication, loyalty, and purpose that was unrivaled by anyone else in the village. With his steadfast personality and solid dedication, the boy was like a mountain in the wind, firm and strong. In him, the elders hoped to maintain the tribal traditions. For this reason, he was called Indian Boy.
The younger brother was light and bright in comparison. His light brown hair and hazel eyes a stark contrast to his brother. Unlike his brother, he had a bright and wide view the world. And in this world, he could only see the fun and happiness it provided, or the next challenge to be conquered. He was the flowing river to his brother's mountain. His love of life and laughter often lead him to mischief and pranks on his tribe mates. For this reason, he was named after Coyote the Trickster.
For all their differences, the brothers were closer than any two siblings could be. Indian Boy was always patient with his brother and never became angry when he was the focus of one of his bother's tricks. Coyote for his part would always listen to his brother seriously and pay heed to his words. In their village, the brothers were inseparable. To call for one, would lead to a visit from both. This truth became fact and the tribe couldn't see the need for life to be any other way.
Over time, the boys became men and trained, as men often do, to become skilled hunters and warriors. Both Indian Boy and Coyote became very skilled and were often asked to lead the hunt or to guide the war party. They even lead different parties outside the village without the constant presence of the other. But once back in the village, they would always seek each other out. Even their wives and children were inseparable.
Individually, they were skilled warriors and leaders but together they were invincible, or so they thought. And so, together they swore a pact, to never leave each other, no matter what. It was an honorable pact, even as it was foolish.
Then came the time of great conflict. Game had become scarce and the hunting parties had to venture further and further to find game. More and more the hunters came across hunting parties from neighboring villages. And more and more often these meetings ended in bloodshed.
But Indian Boy and Coyote were quick and clever. They would often steal into an enemy village's hunting grounds and find game. If found, they would fight like three times their number and the enemy feared to face them. So, they hunted and fed the village and always they returned, until the day that one of them did not.
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The hunt that day had gone well. Indian Boy and Coyote had found the doe drinking her fill by a stream. One steady shot had felled her. Indian Boy and Coyote congratulated themselves on their success and headed in to collect their prey. They would have done better to remember that they were still deep inside the enemy's hunting grounds.
Too late, Coyote heard the noise.
Too late, Indian Boy reacted to the attack.
The enemy warriors poured out of the bushes and attacked. The fighting was fierce, but both Indian Boy and Coyote were highly skilled warriors. The enemy warriors were slowly driven back. Until one wild shot found a mark.
Coyote fell to the ground and was still. Indian Boy saw his brother fall and was overcome with dark anger. The ferocity of his attack drove off the enemy warriors for a bit; just long enough for Indian Boy to drop to his knees beside his brother. Long enough for Indian Boy to see the arrow lodged in his brother's scalp with wide unseeing eyes. Long enough to cut Coyote's head dress free as a token to his wife. Long enough to flee back to his village with the news of his brother's death.
Just long enough for Coyote to watch his brother leave him to die.
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Indian Boy returned to the village with his news and his brother's bloody head band. He comforted his brother's wife and young son. He swore that they would never want for anything, that he would care for them as he cared for his own family. And the village mourned the loss of a great warrior, gone to the happy hunting grounds, for that is the way of the warrior.
But Coyote did not die. The enemy warriors returned within moments of his brother's escape. And they found Coyote, hurt and bleeding in the dirt. They cared for his wounds and turned the proud warrior into a slave.
Each night he was beaten and chained to a tree like a dog. Each day he was worked near death. He was barely fed enough to survive, for even the dogs were fed before him. Some days he was cut, just to see him bleed, because it made the enemy warriors feel strong to so humble the great Coyote.
For many moons, Coyote endured this treatment growing weaker and weaker. And each night that he dreamed, he saw is brother leave him to die, breaking their sacred pact. Their sworn oath to each other. Coyote grew to hate his brother. And his hate grew as large as his love had been, for the depth of that betrayal cut to Coyote's very soul. And after so many moons of mistreatment, only his hate kept him warm at night. In the end, he lived only for hate.
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Then one day a Storyteller came to the enemy village. The Storyteller was housed and fed, as was the custom. Seeing the dirty, broken man chained to the tree, the Storyteller asked about his story.
The enemy warriors boasted of how they had defeated the great warrior, Coyote, who had come to steal their game. How they had felled him with one arrow. How his own brother had been so ashamed and disgraced that he had turned and fled from their attack. They talked about how merciful they were to treat his wounds and care for him as a slave, because his own blood would no longer acknowledge him.
The Storyteller remembered and, as was the custom, told the tale at the next village.
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When the story finally reached Indian Boy and his village, the tale had grown, as tales do with the telling. The Coyote described in the story bore little resemblance to the proud happy warrior that the village had known; not only in his practice of evil deeds prior to the fight, but the speed of his defeat and the depth of his fall from grace. Many in the village dismissed the story outright; they would rather believe that their friend and fellow warrior was dead.
But Indian Boy did not dismiss the tale so quickly. Hope surged through him, as he thought about being reunited with his brother once more. Once he was set on a course, like the mountain, nothing could move Indian Boy from his chosen path. He argued his case with the Chief and was granted permission to lead a war party to rescue his brother. Many warriors volunteered to go with the war party. Even the young apprentice Medicine Man, Skylark, volunteered to go. For Coyote was well respected and loved among his people.
So righteous was Indian Boy's wrath and heated was his blood that the enemy fled in terror before him. The once proud enemy warriors cowered in fear of Indian Boy's war party and they fled before giving more than a token resistance. And so the war party was able to free Coyote from his enslavement without incurring a single scratch.
Yet, when the warriors finally laid eyes on their friend, Coyote, and they could finally see the extent of the abuse he had endured, they could feel nothing but pity. He was broken in body, spirit, and mind. As they circled around him, he would only smile and say that this was a good last dream, to see his friends once more, before he allowed death to take him to a better place. It was only when he saw his brother that Coyote was moved with any kind of spirit.
Coyote shot dark evil looks at his brother. "I guess the dream is not so good," he told the others. "For the traitor stands before me bold as a bear. Leave me, fiend, that I may die in peace, for I have no brother." And with that he turned away from them all and willed himself to die.
But young Skylark would not allow that. He took charge from the stunned Indian Boy. He directed the other warriors to build a travois and went about binding Coyote's wounds and straightening his limbs. When Skylark was done, he could see that his body and maybe even his mind would eventually mend, but all would be lost if Coyote's spririt wanted to die.
When they were ready to make the journey back to the village, Indian Boy refused to allow anyone else pull the travois. He alone would bear the burden of carrying his brother, along with his shame, sorrow, and guilt. It was a heavy load that Indian Boy carried so willingly.
Skylark spent the entire journey beside Coyote, coaxing and cajoling the warrior to continue this journey. He talked of Coyote's wife and young son. He talked of the young warriors needing training and of the old enemies that needed killing. He used every skill he had as a medicine man to renew Coyote's flagging spirit. And eventually, he succeeded in rekindling a tiny spark.
Coyote made it home to his wife and son. But to Coyote, his brother was dead.
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Years passed, Coyote and his family moved to a different village, far from Indian Boy and any chance sightings. And for Indian Boy that merely compounded his guilt.
His brother, whom he loved and respected above all others, could not stand to look him in the eyes. In fact, went out of his way to avoid acknowledging him in any way. When Coyote finally moved to another village, Indian Boy heard him remark to another warrior that the move was to escape Indian Boy's taint, that sometimes the urge to kill him was too strong to resist.
And so, Indian Boy bore his burden of guilt, for he believed that he deserved every bit of spite and hate his brother shared. Because he understood it. He hated himself for leaving his brother to that fate. He too could not forgive himself for that one mistake.
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But Coyote needed his brother more than ever. The hate and pain that he had cultivated to keep himself alive at the enemy village, was slowly poisoning him, twisting his gut until he had to kill something, anything to make it stop.
First, his wife grew more distant, and then his son. It seemed that he seldom talked to anyone about trivial matters, like making bread. And no longer was the sound of laughter heard so freely, if at all, from his lips.
When he moved his family, he thought that he would find peace away from the constant reminder that Indian Boy had provided. Instead he found that his darkness no longer had a target.
He led more and more war parties as times passed. Seldom leading a hunt. He even acquired a blood thirsty horse to aid in his battles. Until one day, he came home and found that his war mount had killed his son. It was on that day that the small spark of spirit, that Skylark had tried so hard to kindle, finally blew out all together. On that day, Coyote lost the battle with his darkness. Instead he allowed it to consume him.
Coyote left his wife all his possessions and walked out of the village on his last journey. No longer would he seek the company of people, for they brought only pain. No longer would he flee death, for his spirit was already as dead and his body longed to follow.
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But the Spirits have a strange way of punishing and rewarding the strong ones. The heroes so often sung about. Coyote left seeking his death, but instead found his life.
His journey took several years, and is a tale in itself, but two important things happened on this journey. First, he found a pure spirit. A seer whose purity of spirit refused to let the darkness fester in his troubled soul. Whose bright light forced Coyote to look into himself and find truth.
Second, he found a new purpose. No longer was he an angry, bitter warrior. But now he was a leader and a protector. This purpose grew to fill up the void in Coyote's heart, it rekindled his spirit, and finally healed that part of him that was so broken by the loss of his son.
But the Spirits were not done with Indian Boy and Coyote just yet.
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There finally came the day when the village where Coyote was living needed help. The news came to Indian Boy's village quickly. And while Indian Boy dreaded the reception his brother would give him, he could not turn away and do nothing. He would offer his help, even if Coyote killed him for it.
From the stories told, Coyote's village was under attack. So, Indian Boy brought a war party to the village to rescue the people. What he found instead was Coyote preparing to do battle against an old grizzly bear alone.
When Coyote first saw Indian Boy, after all those years, the old anger and pain rose up inside him. He fought and won for control of his anger. He had a new purpose now and he was no longer burdened with that darkness. Though he now realized that some of that darkness would always remain with him. For it had shaped who he was and helped to define his new purpose. No, he was not happy to see Indian Boy, but he was no longer ruled by the dark and could live with the pain of acknowledging him.
Indian Boy was glad that his brother appeared to be doing well, in spite of his continuing anger. He could see, in a sudden insight, that he had once again abandoned his brother when he needed him most. Guilt and remorse flowed through him as he realized how his brother had struggled to heal himself all alone. And Indian Boy resolved that no more would he allow Coyote to suffer for his lack. No matter how painful, he would not leave Coyote's side willingly again.
So, with great reluctance, the two brothers, reunited once more in a tentative alliance, moved to do battle with the old bruin harassing the village.
The brothers tracked the bear to a large cave. That was when they found out why the bear had been harassing the village. Someone had wounded it gravely. It was in pain and angry at the humans who had caused its pain. They would have no choice but to kill it. And a wounded bear did not die easy.
Together they threw together a plan to trap the bear under a huge net weighted down with rocks. Once the bear was caught, they would be able to approach close enough to finish it off. The net was easily made, but the two brothers argued over the bait. Each one wanting to take on all the risk. They finally decided that they both would play bait and maybe reduce the risk to each.
Just before they approached the cave, Indian Boy stopped Coyote. He quietly and humbly asked his brother for forgiveness for abandoning him all those years ago. But, Coyote was still angry at Indian Boy and at the time decided that he could not forgive him yet. Indian Boy accepted his answer and together they approached the cave with the bear.
By throwing rocks and sticks into the cave, the brothers enticed the bear to chase them. They ran swift and sure through the woods to the net. But the Spirits are a fickle group, and just as the brothers cut the net free, Indian Boy tripped and fell. The bear was hampered by the net but not so much that Indian Boy was out of reach.
Coyote panicked. He tried to grab is brother and pull him to safety, but the bear reached Indian Boy at the same time. Coyote struggled and pulled, stabbing at the bear's neck and paws but to no avail. It had Indian Boy and was determined that they would die together.
It was in that instant that Coyote realized how badly he wanted to forgive his brother. Only now with death running through the woods towards him, did his hatred cease to blind eyes, to see that he still loved his brother as much as always. That it was Coyote's hatred that had driven them apart. With this realization, his anger, fear, and grief left him speechless.
But as always his brother was the steady one. With his broken body slowly bleeding out next to the still form of the bear, Indian Boy smiled at his brother and said simply, "I forgive you." And there he died, happy, in his brother's arms at last.
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Jon had spun the tale for a good hour. His flight mates had become entranced by the tale. However, now that the story was finally over, they came alive once more.
"Wow, O'Neill, did you just make that up?" Jackson asked.
"Yeah, kinda, sorta. It is a completely original tale of sorrow and woe." Jon was still caught up in the emotions of the story. The re-telling of this old pain had left him drained physically and emotionally. He was not exactly firing on all cylinders right now.
He glanced at his watch hoping for escape and found salvation. "Oh, will you look at the time." He tapped on his watch-face a few times for emphasis, "we got just a few minutes till lights out. Okay, Campers, let's settle in for the night."
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Thursday arrived in much the same way as the previous weeks. Jon often wondered if he was in another time loop because of the sheer similarity in schedules for each morning. PC, breakfast, and drill. Though this time drill was cut short to ensure the Flight made the march over to Logistics where their Class A blue uniforms were ready for pickup.
Several long hours later, the Flight was ushered through the barber shop for a quick trim. This time, instead of a straight buzz, they were allowed to leave what little growth they had on top, while the sides and back were cleaned up.
Sometime while they were gone that morning the Red Line inspection team had passed through their dorm. The Flight as a whole passed the inspection with flying colors. Each trainee had at least one mark, because of the morning rush, but no one failed the inspection. The Flight was ready to celebrate passing this milestone on their way to lunch. TSgt Vega was actually seen grinning on the way to the Snake Pit.
The highlight of the day was during lunch. The same contraption that had been rigged for the glitter trap was used to dispense disappearing ink onto the awaiting TI's in the Snake Pit. The TI's, upon hearing the tell-tale snap of the trap, simply stayed put until the last of the ink fell. Their initial outrage over the ink stains faded as the ink quickly disappeared. One Blue Rope actually started laughing as the last of the ink faded from sight.
That afternoon the Flight took pictures both as a Flight and individually. Even Jon ordered a set of photos on a whim. At first he wasn't sure why. Later, he realized that he didn't really have any pictures of himself in THIS life. Sure he had plenty of Jack, or more to the point, photos from Jack's life. But, he had far too few of who he was now. Be it Jack's clone, cheap copy, or a whole new person. He couldn't go back. So, he took his first few tentative steps towards the future. 'A thousand mile journey begins with but a single step.' I may only be at the beginning of this journey, but I am determined to find the destination, where ever that may be.
The Flight finished out that afternoon with a weapons check. Thanks to Jon's insistence on having the entire Flight inspection ready, all his Flight-mates passed this inspection as well with flying colors.
Just after Mail Call, TSgt Vega announced that the Flight would once again have base liberty for passing their Red Line inspection. They were to report back to the dorm by 2000 hours. Jon spent that entire time out in the base's static aircraft display, enjoying the solitude. He found sitting among the old war birds comforting, like being surrounded by old friends.
Jon made it back to the squadron just in time for the evening's announcement. "Attention in the squadron. Due to the recent news coverage over a friendly fire incident, the Munitions Systems Specialists wanted to reassure USAF members by stating that 'Smart Bombs have bad days too.' Repeat, 'Smart Bombs have bad days too.' Contact the Munitions Systems Branch for more information."
Jon went to bed early. He needed to get up early to pull off tomorrows prank.
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As was the new habit, on Friday reveille had been replaced. Today it was 'Thank God It's Friday' by R. Kelly. TSgt Vega, having gotten over his initial ire over the strange pranks, was actually looking forward to them now.
Especially today. Today, he was expected to escort his young charges through the pre-deployment process. Having been through this process far too many times himself, he failed to see how he could make it anything but a trial. A long, boring trial. He really hated the 'hurry up and wait' of deployment processing.
TSgt Vega was really proud of his Flight. They had really pulled together and were demonstrating a level of teamwork that surpassed all his previous Flights. Even the petty complaints seemed to be few and far between. Passing the Red Line inspection had not been a surprise. But the comments from the Inspection Team had been. They stated that they had to look twice as hard to find a single discrepancy in each locker. They found that granting a clean pass in Third WOT was inviting complacency, but were recommending this Flight for evaluation as an Honor Flight for their superior performance. They would be looking to see if the Flight still held to the high standard in Fifth WOT.
So, TSgt Vega was in a very good mood and hoping that something, anything would liven up this day. Unfortunately, his prayers were answered.
"Be careful what you wish for," he whispered quietly as he surveyed the chaos in the classroom.
All the chairs had been disrupted and were out of alignment, the room smelled of maple syrup. The linoleum was covered in a sticky mess, presumably source of the maple smell, and there was a small piglet happily lapping up whatever had been poured on the floor. The only good news appeared to be that the pig had yet to relieve itself in the room.
"Ah… O'Neill," he called hesitantly.
"Sir, Trainee O'Neill reports as ordered." The trainee had immediately rushed over at his call.
"Um… Find out if anyone in the Flight is experienced at catching pigs."
The trainee gave him an odd look, before replying, "Yes, Sir."
As the trainee turned back to the Flight, TSgt Vega stopped him. "Oh… and send a runner to CQ with the news," TSgt Vega gestured to the pig and the general disruption of the room.
This time the trainee couldn't help cracking a smile, "Yes, Sir."
Before too long, order had been restored and TSgt Vega was fervently hoping that nothing would liven up the day anymore. "Alright, today is the bag-drag for deployment to Warrior Week. You will be issued field gear and chemical gear, including a gas mask. Please ensure that your mask fits properly. You will be using it in a tear gas chamber." He gave all the trainees a stern glare. Here to conduct your just-in-time Readiness training is SSgt Gorman from the CE Readiness Flight."
The next hour was spent sizing, issuing, and inspecting gas masks. Trainees were drilled in the proper techniques for putting on and pulling off the mask, or doning and doffing procedures. TSgt Vega quietly stood to one side while the trainees became familiar with the new piece of equipment.
"Remember, you fight like you play. If you don't practice with a sense of urgency now, you will fail when you need it most." With that last bit of advice, SSgt Gorman left the trainees in TSgt Vega's care.
TSgt Vega had a grim smile on his face as he took to the front of the classroom. "From here on out, except for meal times and PC tomorrow, I expect you to wear your gas mask on the ready. If at any time you hear the phrase 'gas, gas, gas' you are expected to properly don your mask within the appropriate time frame. Am I clear?"
"YES, SIR!"
"Yes, now we ha…" TSgt Vega was interrupted by the PA.
"Attention in the squadron. Today in the News: USAF contradicts US Navy's evidence that submarines are safer than aircraft. The USAF has refuted the USN claim that submarines are safer just because there are more aircraft in the water than submarines in the sky. HQ USAF finds the logic behind the claims to be faulty and have concluded that 'someone has been out to sea too long.' Repeat, Air Force Headquarters thinks that 'someone has been out to sea too long.' Speculation is rampant on just who that 'someone' could be. Anyone concerned over the safety of aircraft vs. submarines should contact the FAA for more detailed information."
TSgt Vega gave grin and continued, "As I was saying, take a 5 minute break before the next class. Make sure your mask carrier is worn properly. I WILL be testing you."
The next class was the Medical Threat briefing. TSgt Vega liked working with MSgt Cooper from the Public Health Office. MSgt Cooper encouraged the TI's to unexpectedly interrupt the class to test the trainees. This gave TSgt Vega free reign to test them. As it was, he called the 'gas, gas, gas' drill three times during class while MSgt Cooper smiled at the trainees struggling to get into their masks in the allotted 9 seconds.
However, TSgt Vega was careful not to interrupt the flora and fauna portion of the briefing. These Texan threats were all too real and not made up for some fictional site.
"… So, the main threat you will have to worry about outside of the disease carrying mosquitoes is the Texas Cottonmouth. Just follow my advice and you won't have to deal with the big snake chasing you down… Alright, so in conclusion, eat only what you are given. MRE's while unpalatable, generally won't make you ill. Drink only the water provided and CLEARLY marked as 'potable.' That means drinkable for the slower people in the group. Bugs will bite, so use your insect repellant and bed nets. Yes, we have had a few cases of West Nile Virus right here on Lackand AFB. You really don't want to be next case. It tends to piss off your TI. Finally, leave the local wildlife alone. Both you and it will be much happier. Now, any questions? No?" MSgt Cooper looked over at TSgt Vega, "They never do have any questions before they're tossed into medical. Oh well. Have fun in the field, kids."
TSgt Vega gave them another break and waited for the instructor for the next class. His only fun for the rest of the day would be yelling 'gas, gas, gas'. Oh joy! After the briefings this morning, they would go to the deployment processing center to have their Warrior Week gear issued. Yet more fun.
TSgt Vega smiled as the petite Capt Harding filed into the classroom. Several trainees tensed up and shied away from her rank. Ah well, time to round them up for Field Sanitation and Hygiene, then FINALLY the Assignment Notification briefing.
TSgt Vega collected the trainees and called them to order. The class seemed to progress really well and finished quickly. Thank goodness. "Alright, final briefing for today. I have here your assignment notification order. Please review it carefully…" TSgt Vega walked through the briefing quickly and the trainees were more than ready to depart for lunch. "…Okay, that's all folks. Lets form up for lunch. Keep your masks on. After lunch you will report to the dorm and pick up your web belt, canteen, helmet, and rifle. Form up outside the dorm in… " he glanced at his watch. "… 30 minutes. FALL IN!"
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That afternoon as TSgt Vega watched his Flight collect their field gear, he was again taken with the notion that this wasn't the first time his Dorm Chief had done this. O'Neill had taken last spot in line and as the others would hold up the line with questions, he would quickly sort out the issue before the Logistics folks could even work their way over to the stalled trainee.
Most notable was when O'Neill had asked for a tactical vest over the load bearing suspenders or LBEs. When he was turned down, he asked if it would be possible to salvage equipment from the downed enemy. That gave TSgt Vega a visual that he would rather live without, so he said yes, just to move him on. At that point the trainee got an evil glint in his eye and continued picking up his gear. TSgt Vega was glad that he was a part of the Exercise Evaluation Team or EET for the field exercise. Technically, he wouldn't exist in the game, just observe. He really didn't want O'Neill to think he was the enemy. Even for pretend.
And that reminded him of the conversation that he had with Chief Gunderson earlier in the week. Apparently, the Chief was quite taken with the O'Neill kid and wanted to know more about him. TSgt Vega filled in what blanks he had, but outside a high ranking general as a relation and his extensive coaching, he really didn't know much about the kid. All he could really add was that the kid was serious, reliable, and a natural leader. He left off the nightmares. Some things were just too personal.
Then the Chief had dropped the bomb that the kid had easily defeated two instructors with a Level 3 combat skill rating, including himself. So, TSgt Vega's earlier suspicions that the kid could be dangerous were confirmed way beyond his imagination. The kid could have easily killed himself or the dorm guard when he struck out in his nightmare driven haze.
But the part that gave him pause was not that the kid could have killed, but that he didn't. If his earlier assumptions about gang involvement were true, then why did he hesitate to kill? Why ask for surrender? The blows were aimed at disarming and disabling, not crippling or killing. Surrender was a police or military response, not a criminal one. Curiouser and curiouser.
Is today over yet? No wait, we still have Mail Call. Ah, take joy in the small things. Speaking of which, it was time to head back to the squadron.
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Saturday morning started with the next challenge. The Final PC Evaluation. The Flight got up and went through the final evaluation for the most part successfully. Overall, TSgt Vega lost 6 trainees. They just couldn't make the two mile run under the time limit. However, a few were close, only a 15 second split from passing. They would have one last chance to pass tomorrow morning, before the rest of the trainees were bussed out for Warrior Week. Otherwise they would be recycled back to Second WOT.
Breakfast was disturbed only by the odd, red, foaming cereal. The cereal, which looked normal, seemed to foam into a red froth when milk was added. That the foam resembled movie blood was a serious draw back to the appetite.
After breakfast, TSgt Vega presided over the first of the Knowledge Tests. While he had harped on studying, he knew that a good portion of the trainees had ceased actually reading the ATO by the start of Third WOT. That was one reason he reminded them last Sunday that they would test today. Even with the reminder, 9 of his trainees failed the Written Test. They too would have a chance to retake the test tomorrow before the bus left. Their last chance to stay on track with their peers.
TSgt Vega hated to recycle trainees. It was especially a disappointment when it was over fitness and the trainees in question had worked so hard to pass. Not surprising, was the fact that his Dorm Chief had passed both tests with flying colors. In fact, 7 of his trainees had earned the Warhawk Award for fitness excellence.
The PA interrupted his thoughts, "Attention in the squadron. Today's Bunny Survival Test has been cancelled due to protests from PETA. Repeat, today's Bunny Survival Test has been cancelled due to protests from PETA. Testing will resume once PETA has announced what types of tests will not unduly endanger the marshmallow bunnies involved in the testing."
TSgt Vega cracked a grin and called over his Dorm Chief. If anyone could get these trainees to pass their re-take tomorrow, fitness or written, it would be O'Neill.
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END THIRD WOT – Story continued in Second to None-Fourth WOT-Warrior Week
Preview Fourth WOT Agenda: Deployment Briefing, Equipment Issue, Field Hygiene, Field Exercises, Anti-Terrorism Training, Chemical Biological Nuclear Defense Training, Confidence Course, Culminating Exercise
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End Notes:
Wulsin, H. Wells. "Short cuts: could wormholes bridge the vast distances of outer space? (Earth/Physical)." Current Science, a Weekly Reader publication 90.7 (Dec 3, 2004): 6(5). – This is a REAL science article that uses Stargate as its example. Good examples to explain complex theories.Acrynoms:
AAFES – Army and Air Force Exchange Service – This is the K-Mart of a military base. It is the only retail outlet allowed on field bases.
AEF – Aerospace Expeditionary Forces
AFB – Air Force Base
AKA – also known as
ATO – Airman's Training Order
Blue Rope – This is a TI with a light blue rope around their smoky the bear hat. It denotes that they supervise the TI's and are therefore 10 times meaner than any single TI. There are usually 4 assigned to a training squadron and they are always Senior NCO's.
BMT – Basic Military Training
CAA – Caffeine Addicts Anonymous – fictional group
Cadre – The cadre are usually training instructors of some type. Cadre refers to both singular and multiple instructors.
CE – Civil Engineering – they are the fix it guys for the base, carpenters, electricians, plumbers, painters, etc. They fix everything but the aircraft.
CQ – Charge of Quarters – this is the central command center for the dormitories.
DHWS – Department of Home World Security
EET – Exercise Evaluation Team – these are the inspectors in any given exercise. They were different uniforms and hats to signal to the exercise participants that they technically don't exist, in so far as they are not aggressors, or hostiles, nor can they be denied entry into secure areas. Like ghosts, sort of.
FAA – Federal Aviation Administration – charged with the safety of all aircraft over US airspace.
GI – Government Issue – generally refers to military members – a 'GI party' is a cleaning detail.
Gonash – Goa'uld insult
HQ – Head Quarters – usually means the big boss.
JIT – Just in time – usually refers to training given just prior to a deployment
LBE – Load Bearing Equipment – the nickname for the suspenders and vests that are used to carry equipment. Once configured for a person the gear is easy to attach and detach. Set up however takes a while.
MRE – Meal, Ready-To-Eat
NOFORN – No Foreign Release.
PA – Public Address – usually an overhead announcement system. Specific systems target a single building or the entire installation.
PETA – People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals
PC – Physical Conditioning
PJ – Para Jumper – slang for Para-Rescue Troops – Air Force Special Operations Command.
POV – Point of View
SAR – Search and Rescue
Sci-Fi – Science Fiction
Snake Pit – Place in the BMT Dining Facility were the TI's eat and observe the trainees. It is positioned so that a trainee must pass the table to go anywhere in the dining facility. Trainees must use caution when passing the Snake Pit so as not to encourage the TI's to strike out and bite the trainees, like vipers.
STO – Special Tactics Officer – Special Tactics Officers, formerly known as Combat Control Officers, are commissioned officers whose primary responsibility is to manage and lead Special Tactics Teams comprised of, but not limited to, the three AFSC's specified as Special Tactics (Combat Controllers, Para-Rescue, and Special Operations Weather Technicians). Because their training mirrors that of the Combat Controller Technician pipeline, they can function on a team as mission commander or direct combatant or they can serve on battle staffs to provide expertise in terminal control, reconnaissance, and personnel recovery operations.
Tal'bet – Surrender in Goa'uld.
TI – Training Instructor
TV – Television
USAF – United States Air Force
USN – United States Navy
WOT – Week of Training
Enlisted Rank:
AB – Airman Basic
Amn – Airman
A1C – Airman First Class
SrA – Senior Airman
SSgt – Staff Sergeant
TSgt – Technical Sergeant
MSgt – Master Sergeant
SMSgt – Senior Master Sergeant
CMSgt – Chief Master Sergeant
CCMS – Command Chief Master Sergeant – technically the same as a CMSgt but don't think they aren't a lot more powerful than a regular Chief.
CMAF – Chief Master Sergeant of the Air Force
Commissioned Rank:
2Lt – Second Lieutenant – butter bar
1Lt – First Lieutenant
Capt – Captain
Maj – Major
LtCol – Lieutenant Colonel
Col – Colonel – also known as a mess officer, full bird, and full bull.
BG – Brigadier General
MG – Major General
LG – Lieutenant General
GEN - General
