Message in a Bottle

He started out that morning cheerful, gathering his troops, his scientists, for a mission scheduled for that day. The project that had kept Daniel and Carter working through the night suddenly came alive. The orb activated, its temperature spiked, radiation was detected and projectiles peeked out. Deeming it a threat to the security of the base the colonel and Teal'c carried it down the corridor in order to toss it back through the Stargate to its home world when the unthinkable happened.


He was so hot and all he knew was pain. Her cool hand held his as she removed the IV, a lot of good it did anyway. He squeezed her fingers to let her know it was alright. He didn't want her to let go. It gave him something to think about beside the pain. Her cool fingers were his last anchor to reality. A reality that was slipping away. She let go and he knew he would too. He knew it was all over, he had no strength left to fight. A tear trickled down his face. He was too overwhelmed by pain to be embarrassed by it, to far gone to care.


It was the toughest job he had to date. Maybe not the weirdest, this place was plenty strange. If only he had a plasma torch. He have to put in a requisition for one.

Even though they were on his back to hurry Siler knew the brass were scrambling for ideas. He saw Captain Carter when she thought no one was looking. With the General or other officers she appeared certain and professional. Alone in the hallway she looked lost and deeply troubled. SG-1 did seem kind of close, that was usual for front line teams he supposed. And he supposed that damned thing could have nailed anyone. Got O'Neill good, skewered the man, how's that for luck.

If he could manage to cut through this thing they still had to get O'Neill down. Siler tried to block out the groans he heard from the impaled colonel. He had assorted hammers, chisels and pry bars, also drills with bits for concrete and a saw with the heaviest duty saw blade he could find all tucked away just out of sight.

Acetylene torch in hand Sargent Siler, sweating under his welder's mask, attempted to burn through the incredible hard metal rod that pierce Colonel's shoulder through to the concrete blocks behind him. The rod glowed white hot and finally began to break, only to violently extend once more piercing and pinning O'Neill to the wall. He expected the smell of burning flesh to replace the smell of white hot metal.


O'Neill woke up on the ramp at the foot of the Stargate and he looked for the wound, expecting to find a gaping hole through his chest. He was sound but weak. They, whatever they were, had a home and his was secure. His team, the chicks he gathered up that morning, gathered round him and helped him to his feet.


Should have retired when I had a chance, mused General Hammond. Wildfire initiated a shit load of paperwork. The only thing about the whole mess that brought me peace was what O'Neill said. No actually it was the aliens who said that O'Neill wanted to live. I had been concerned about his mental status since I was briefed on the colonel. He might be a tad unorthodox, a bit daring or even fool hardy but, thank god, no longer suicidal.