Chapter 10
Make sure you pay attention to dates, cause this chapter jumps back in time for a little bit.
I don't own stargate
Frontier Six - Crew Mission Log
November 14, 1996
Captain Andrews - Mission Commander
This is the tenth day in hyperspace and I think I've finally gotten used to the view out of the window. At first the whole experience was extremely disorienting, with the streaking lines of purple and blue flying by at who knows what speed. I am told these are disruptions being pushed aside by the hyperspace stabilization field. Father out I look into a sea of swirling clouds and waves. These swirls change constantly and if I had to navigate manually though this dimension I'm sure they would drive my sense of direction upside down and make me lost in this wasteland.
From what the SGC has been able to gather, Abydos is about three hundred light years from earth. With this ship going 6550 times the speed of light, or eighteen light years per day, this trip will take about sixteen and a half days. It's a long time to be flying a ship we still have so little knowledge about, and a great risk if something was to go wrong. But the fact is that Abydos is a hostile planet. Ra is not the only of his kind and sooner or later someone will come looking for him. We can't be there when that happens and the President is not willing to leave behind Ra's ship; especially considering it has evidence of our presence all over it.
There is not much to do here but wait for the arrival at the Alpha site, the ship takes care of everything in hyperspace. The only thing we do is take constant data reading on the ship and do medical tests on ourselves. I've taken to walking around the ship and I feel like I haven't even seen the whole thing yet - even though its symmetrical layout means I know my way around the the back of my hand. This thing is truly massive, it fits on top of a pyramid bigger than any on earth, and this thing is only a luxury boat. The mainstays of Ra's fleet, the "Ha'tak" are apparently 700 by 650 meters and 315 meters tall! The Goa'uld must have some serious production capabilities if they can consistently create ships like that. And then there is the fact that Ra built a luxury spaceship! He must see spaceships like we see boats. It's amazing and terrifying at the same time…
I've really come closer to the rest of my team over the course of this trip. I already knew them well, but now we're like family. I guess that must be how the astronauts up in the skylab must have felt. Up until now we were simply bonded by a common mission, our devotion to our country, a fascination with space and flight, and the necessity to rely on the skills of one another. But being in this alien ship, flying at millions of miles and hour through another dimension, has forced a kind of bonding like no other.
April 19, 1996
Tibilisi, Georgia
"Mr. Tornike, your meal." The Georgian waitress placed the tray on the table and left without a response, silently disappearing into the back of the cafe. The man who ordered the Khinkali was a regular, showing up at night along with the rest of the men who worked later shifts. If not for her own job, she wouldn't think twice about him.
Simon looked down at the traditional Georgian food, it had truly grown on him the past few years in the country. Even being called Mr. Tornike no longer felt abnormal, not that his training would allow him to show it anyways. Reaching to move the accompanying napkin down to his lap, Simon simultaneously moved to bring the table's newspaper into his hands.
Briefly flipping through he reached a crossword puzzle near the back. The familiar puzzle layout only caused a brief pause of his fork before he resumed eating. Simon went through the puzzle in his head, carefully writing in the words.
1 Down - Ball
1 Across - Utopia
2 Down - Sanctuary
2 Across - Transition
3 Down - Water
3 Across - Octopus
4 Down - Theater
4 Across - Hateful
5 Down - Revenge
5 Across - Earning
6 Down - Evening
6 Across - Ear
7 Down - Noodle
7 Across - Dutch
BUSTWOTHREEEND
Bus 23
Simon proceeded to fill out the rest of the crossword as to not leave behind any clues. Leaving a generous tip for his coworker, Simon exited the run down cafe. His old dark coat provided a small comfort on the cold, wet night. A small drizzle of rain bothered the city all week; it felt like London. He walked to his destination nonetheless, it really wasn't that far. It was on the way home, in fact. How considerate of them.
He sat down on the old wooden bench, only protected from the rain by a thin metal frame. It was only seconds later when he was joined by another. Her concealing clothing and the dark night covered all but her striking red hair.
"It's a dreadful night," she commented.
"We've needed some rain" Simon responded.
"Of that, few would deny," she completed the countersign, "We have a mission for you." He'd been speaking Georgian for so long now that he was thinking in it, it took him a moment to translate the English into something comprehensible.
"You've already compromised my cover," he hissed at her. It had taken him years to gain his position and connections. She was not only compromising his job but his life too.
"This is more important than your position," she scolded him. That was a striking blow. Agents had infiltrated the chemical industry all over the world. Their mission; to identify countries producing potentially deadly chemicals. What could be more important than finding weapons of mass destruction?
"Ivane Gregorvich, you know him?" She discretely slid him a picture as she readjusted the bag over her shoulder.
"Of course, he directs all the plants in Georgia. I've been trying to get close to him for my next promotion, but he never stays in Tbilisi long," he answered. He took a glance at the photograph, only needing a second to dissect the high quality picture. Gregorvich was shaking hands with a Russian General, many Russian military formations stood at attention in the background.
"That was taken several years ago. The Russian is Dzhokhar Dudayev, he was a Major-General for the USSR. After the Soviet Union collapsed he led the First Checken War in a fight to separate his state from Russia. He was elected the president of the Checken Republic. After his revolution failed he fled into Georgia," explained the woman.
"He was spotted two weeks ago but we don't have a response team anywhere nearby and he slipped the noose," she continued, "Guess who else was spotted at the same location on the same day?"
"Gregorvich? That could just be coincidence," replied Simon.
"Maybe to U.S. courts, but to the CIA that's actionable intelligence!" She replied with a hint of irritation. Simon didn't mind, he wasn't a field agent or an intelligence compiler, just a deeper cover spy.
"We have reason to believe Gregorvich will be providing a surprise inspection of your plant within the week. You are to gain any intelligence regarding Dudayev you can, without blowing your cover," instructed the woman.
"Why not just go for a snatch an grab on Gregorvich? And what's so important about this Dudayev guy that you'd risk compromising me?"
"If we grab Gregorvich then Dudayev would be alerted that we're on his tail. In regard to his importance, all you need to know is that another agent that was working with Dudayev. We've since lost contact with him."
Just then a bus rounded the street corner and pulled up to the stop. Behind it billowed thick, suffocating smoke. The windows were barely clean enough to show the only two passengers. The mysterious CIA handler stood up and took back her photograph.
"Thank you for your cooperation, Agent Evans." Two steps and she was on the bus, it pulled away not a moment later.
Gregorvich entered the plant with his usual attachment of four guards. The company overseer might not seem like much, but he had connections with the Georgian underground. He was a very arrogant man, his walk displayed as much. But he was not the kind of man that couldn't back up his own ego. Anyone would be hard pressed to go hand to hand with the giant, both due to strength and skill. His frame made it clear, despite the wrinkles covering his bald head, that he could easily break your arm in half.
Gregorvich was by no means unintelligent, he simply lacked an initiative and foresight that those above him held. Regardless it was a challenge to outsmart him. All this Simon had gathered in his few previous meetings with Gregorvich.
Still, Simon underestimated the difficulty in accomplishing his goal. Gregorvich had no interest in talking with him. In fact he harshly threw him to the ground when he tried. After checking on the chemical plant and insuring that production was as reported, he promptly left the premise.
Simon had managed to lift a wallet from one of the guards, a drunk who's only job seemed to be carrying the possession of the others. Unfortunately he found nothing of use and quickly returned it. Simon might have called the mission there satisfied that he wasn't going to get anything out of a routine chemical plant inspection. But something wouldn't let him give up.
While Gregorvich and his posse returned to their trucks, Simon raced to his beat up BMW. The old, white car was exactly what you would expect a chemical plant supervisor to drive.
He followed the two blue Chevys through one of the less used roads out of Tbilisi. They pulled up to a large grass and bush filled property containing an older stone house. It wasn't a mansion, but Simon would guess it had more than five thousand square feet. Another man met Gregorvich and his guards at the door, a weapon he couldn't quite make out was strung over his shoulder.
Simon parked his car down the highway and walked towards the house. He only had his Beretta M9; not much against what he thought was a fully automatic carbine. He stalked the house for hours. The first floor windows were too high off the ground for him to climb in, and the basement had no external entrances.
The overall layout of the house was a long rectangle made of dark red brick, with a few windows protruding from the shingled roof. The new white trim that surrounded the windows gave the old house a very cosy feeling.
Finally, just as the sun began to lower over the horizon, the front door reopened. Gregorvich and three guards emerged in dress that Simon pegged for the down town clubs and bars. They must've left the other two guards inside. One of which was the drunk. The group pulled away in two trucks and Simon decided he had to make a move. Quickly pulling out his Beretta, he darted from the bushes surrounding the house. He stayed low against the walls and bellow the windows to avoid detection. Agent Evans prayed that the door would be unlocked.
As he approached the steps to the front door he noticed some packages in the back of the remaining silver Chevy. Quickly moving towards the truck bed, Simon inspected the contents. He was careful not to touch the clean vehicle, which would easily leave marks. Using his shirt to cover his hand, he opened the back. Inside were two AK-47s, easily recognizable to the CIA operative, and surprisingly what appeared to be a 1911 service pistol. What concerned him the most were he grenades bundled in the corner.
At the very back he spotted a cooler. Carefully opening the lid and unveiling plenty of beer cans. His plan of attack changed on the spot. Simon wrote down the serial number of the pistol on his note pad, the first rule of spy work was to have one, and then closed the truck bed and darted back to the house.
It didn't take long, sooner than he expected even, before a shout came from inside and the front door opened. The drunk staggered out of the house and towards the truck. Simon left his position of relative safety to silently get behind the man. The Russian opened the truck lid and cooler, not a moment later did the handle of an unmarked Beretta crash down on his head. Simon wasted no time walking through the front door.
The sound of a soccer match floated through the house and a Russian voice yelled out at the sound of the door opening. From his shaky understanding, Simon concluded the man wanted to know if he had gotten him a beer. Simon gave a grunt in response as he did not trust his own voice.
The couch faced away from the entrance hallway, it was too easy. Another hard swing of his Beretta and the second guard was taken care of. Moving on to the kitchen, Simon spent only a few seconds searching through random draws and cabinets. The agent quickly moved upstairs after identifying the downstairs as mostly the guards' area. The stairs led to a long hallway connecting the entire upstairs. The first door wouldn't budge, and Simon spent a solid minute before figuring out it was a fake.
The second rom was unused, if you didn't count all the knives and AK-47s. A large plastic rug covered the floor wall to wall. There didn't seem to be room to step inside due to the weapons. But weapons were not what he came for. A few more rooms were setup similarly. Only missing the armies worth of weapons.
The third rom was a master bedroom. The bed took up most of the small room, with an unused desk and several drawers taking up the rest. Compared to the downstairs rooms this was obviously for Gregorvich. The trash on the floor demonstrated his sexual conquests of the week, and the clothes strewn out reflected his wealth. Unfortunately, a search of the drawers and closet only yielded a key.
Simon struck gold with the last door. It had a heavy duty lock, but that was easily opened with the earlier key. Inside was the cleanest of the entire house. If he drug his finger across the wall he doubted there would be a speck of dust. Everything was completely white, except the hard wood floor, with nothing but a desk on the far wall. Piles of paper cluttered the desktop, contrasting the immaculate room. Going through the files was a laborious task especially when every paper had to be perfectly replaced. There was some form of organization here, Simon just didn't recognize it.
Most of the papers were hand written notes on drug and weapon smuggling. Not a big surprise. Simon used his own paper to take notes on any names and locations, but it was not his top priority.
It wasn't until he searched through the drawers that anything was found. It was a file on Dudayev. Apparently, whoever supplied Dudayev's revolution also supplied Gregorvich. When the Russian revolutionary fled to Georgia he needed weapons to replace everything he had left behind. He came to Gregorvich.
Again Simon took notes of the names, dates, places, and other important information. The most interesting, though, was Dudayev's payment. With access to little money, he provided some information. It wasn't anything to significant, but enough to spike Gregorvich's interest. Enough to spike Simon's, too.
A drawing of a circular stone table. Strange symbols surrounded a central red gem. Another drawing showed inside the object; many crystals of different colors. A crude interface and years of work only told that another item was needed to make it operational.
How this came into Dudayev's possession was anyone's guess. Perhaps it was worked on in his state for the USSR, or someone loyal to him was part of the project. A single reference at the bottom mentioned the object being moved. The destination was a series of numbers, and the starting location entirely absent. Simon decided to take these papers. His Russian was bad anyways, he couldn't translate half of what was on the drawing. After removing he documents from the file, he efficiently replaced everything in the Dudayev file.
Moving to cover up his presence Simon dragged the drunk from outside to the TV. He was very heavy, probably because of his beer belly. After sufficiently placing the two guards in various states of drunken collapse, Simon returned to retrieve the beer cooler. Most of the cans he poured out around the house. The CIA agent completed his master plan by pouring the remaining over the unconscious men. The crumpled, used cans were tossed around the room.
The sprint back to the road, and the subsequent walk to his car, were the most frightening moments of Simon's life. The excitement made him want to do it again. Maybe he should apply to be a field agent.
Was the bench different? It seemed much more uncomfortable. He just hoped he didn't get shot right away. That might be a bit of an exaggeration, but it was a no-no to miss a post-mission check in.
Actually though, Simon had never really been exposed to the more dangerous sides of the CIA. How was he to know how they dealt with late agents. Did they just assume them AWOL and have a sniper waiting to blow their heads off? Or was it more discreet, a handler coming up and stabbing him with a toxin covered blade. Maybe even more quieter; like flooding his room with CO2 while he slept.
Simon was letting his imagination go wild. He needed to calm down, but the nerves from his spontaneous infiltration hadn't left.
"You know, she thought you'd never show." When had someone walked up next to him!?
"W-what? N-no English," it was protocol to always authenticate first.
"Uhh whatever: When's the next bus? Think there is one in a few minutes. I guess I'll wait then. There- you have your countersign. No use really, who else would be trying to meet with a nobody like you," expressed the man as he plopped down on the bus bench next to Simon.
"So what took so long? Cold feet? You know its okay if you didn't get much. We'd just have to wait for him to get near our next operative in a week or two," expressed the man as he sipped his coffee Where'd he get that coffee?
"No not that. I followed him home actually," nervously admitted Simon.
"So? I thought she told you we don't have any response teams ready. Besides, we don't really want to shoot our way through this. And if we had a qualified operative we'd have already sent him in," his nonchalant attitude had drifted to the same irritated as the earlier woman.
"I -umm- actually went in?" That wasn't supposed to sound like a question.
February 17, 1997
Gateroom - Abydos
"Haul ass, Barnes!" ordered Colonel Dixon as he hopped onto the LSV. Still buckling up his helmet, Dixon patted down his vest and made a checklist of all his equipment. He was nearly thrown out the back of the dune buggy like vehicle as Barnes slammed his foot down on the accelerator. The other three SG-13 members began preparing their weapons for a fight. Plumes of sand expanded behind them as they raced towards Ra's pyramid.
"We need backup! They got one of those damn shields!" screamed out Lieutenant Sanderson over the radio. The gate room had been caught with their pants down. SG-13 was preparing to rotate off-world with SG-11 and just before they had finished dialing the alpha site an incoming connection formed.
"Hold them off with the grenade launcher, the debris thrown up from the explosion should be slow enough to get through!" advised Dixon through the radio.
"We're running out! What's your- ," the radio was filled with an explosion then static.
"Shit," Muttered Dixon, "Barnes do you have the package onboard?"
"What!? You can possibly be thinking-"
"Where is it!"
"It should be strapped down right there next to you!" yelled the Sergeant over his shoulder.
"What!?" The sound of the vehicle was deafening.
"To your Right!" Screamed Barnes.
Dixon looked down to his right and saw the box attached to the buggy's roll cage. After a few seconds of fumbling he managed to rip off the Velcro straps. Moving it into his lap he almost dropped it when the buggy hit a particularly hard bump.
"Be careful with that thing!" Cried Barnes.
"Just watch where you're going!" Dixon ordered as he focused on opening the box. Promptly ignoring the biohazard sign on the top he forced open the latches and tore the plastic seal. Dixon grabbed the tranquilizer and a CO2 container from their respective foam cutouts inside the box. Gingerly holding the gun he screwed the small cylinder into the back and cringed at the sound of escaping CO2 until it tightened and formed a proper seal.
"We're here!" Barnes yelled back at him as he buckled his own helmet and reached for his M4 in the passenger seat.
As Dixon looked up he realized they were indeed in front of the pyramid. Hearing noise, Dixon looked back to his left and saw SG-8 arriving in three other LSVs. Colonel Andrews hopped out and ran towards him, faltering a step when he saw the item in his hands.
"Lord, I hope you know what you're doing with that thing," muttered Andrews before rushing off with Barnes and the rest of SG-8 into the pyramid. Dixon followed close behind, his tranquilizer always pointed at the ground and his finger not even close to the safety guard.
The sounds of gunfire and thumps of Goa'uld energy weapons became more pronounced as they ran down the narrow passageway. A loud explosion reached their ears and all sounds from farther in stopped. As they reached the entrance to the antechamber Colonel Andrews threw out the countersign.
"Sand! Sand! Sand!" The Colonel yelled around the corner.
"Storm! Storm!" Was the response. No sooner did the stargate personnel to round the corner with their weapons drawn. The antechamber was once a breathtaking sight of architecture. The massive room was lined wall to wall with tall gold covered limestone pillars that were so flat and shinny they produced a reflection. Sculptures of sphinxes and Pharaohs filled the empty space in the middle of the room. The massive ceiling was once covered in paintings that lauded the achievements of Ra in amazing color and scale.
That room was no more. A war zone now stretched out in front of the SG teams. Boulders filled what was once the far The once magnificent pillars were toppled from explosions. The gold finishes were melted from the heat of Goa'uld energy weapons. Bullet holes riddled the walls on the far side of the room. Dixon would swear that some sand on the floor had been turned to glass by the plasma bolts that had been fired. Two toppled sculptures of Ra provided the perfect protection for three SG-13 members. One other was hidden behind one of the few remaining upright pillars.
"Cochrane, SitRep," ordered Dixon to the man taking cover behind the aforementioned sculpture.
"Sanderson took a nasty hit to the head, thrown around from the explosion of one of those energy staffs. We had to retreat from the gate room when we ran out of M302s. Damn shield was taking our 50 cal like it was nothing. I count 10 plus footmobiles and what has to be another one of those snakes, he was the one with the hand shield," reported Second Lieutenant Cochrane.
"I'm guessing you hit the failsafe," asked Dixon.
"Yes sir, went off like a charm." C4 had been placed in the tunnel between the antechamber and the gate room as a last resort. The debris filled tunnel was a testament to the power of the explosives.
Suddenly dust kicked up from the rocks blocking the tunnel. Vibrations races through the room at random intervals and rocks began to shift forward from the collapsed entryway.
"Ra did some telekinesis shit to SG-1," muttered an SG-8.
"No way. That's got to be at least a thousand pounds," remarked Barnes, who raised his weapon regardless of his own words.
"Lieutenant, get Sanderson back to the LSVs. Everybody else start moving debris in front of the entrance to cover our retreat," Ordered Colonel Dixon.
"Colonel, we've got them out numbered at least 2-1 now," reminded Colonel Anderson.
"Only one of our weapons will pierce that shield, and I don't plan on staying around to see it," remarked Dixon.
"Yes, sir," conceded Anderson. General Hammond had placed Dixon in overall command and Anderson deferred to his decisions.
The rubble in front of the tunnel began moving significantly now. The vibration began getting louder and more frequent in a sort of ominous chant that reverberated through the room. With a final boom the tunnel was cleared and the rubble shot out like an explosion. The SG teams scampered behind the wall of debris they had erected in front of the entrance, a few peaking out with their guns.
"Hold your fire," muttered Colonel Dixon as several warriors stepped into the room from the other side. They looked just like Ra's except this time the animal helmets were snakes instead of birds. Unfortunately for the SG teams none of them seemed to skimp out on armor like Ra's soldier. While Ra's warriors mostly only wore their upper body armor and/or helmets; these warriors had the full body treatment of plate and chainmail. Four of the warriors with snake helmets stepped in before their leader appeared. He wore the same attire as the others, but his armor was completely gold.
"That's the one with the shield. Has to be another snake, just look at that gaudy armor," said one of the SG-13 members.
"Foolish mortals, hiding behind walls of stone. Just like countless before you, you shall bow before me or die," spoke the gold armored man. The bird helmet retracted to show the face of a younger black man. Remarkably he seemed to have a gold plate fused to his head.
"Anyone here speak snake?" Dixon asked rhetorically, "Alright, clear out now. I'll take off once I fire the tranq"
The rest of SG-13 and SG-8 began slowly sneaking back out of the pyramid. Unfortunately the Goa'uld didn't give much time for a response to whatever he said.
"Kree," ordered the man while pointing at the wall of debris. The four warriors levels their staffs at the cover Dixon was using and prepared to fire. The tips of their weapons split open and energy crackled to life around them. Colonel Dixon carefully poked the tranquilizer around the corner and lined up a shot at the leader. The man saw his barrel and raised his hand, no doubt conjuring up his shield, but it would do him no good. Colonel Dixon only had one shot, but it was all he would need.
The small dart raced out of the end of the barrel and straight through the glimmering shield that appeared. A sharp clang was heard as the dart struck the Goa'uld directly in his chest plate. The dart didn't have nearly enough power to penetrate, but that was not the goal. Colonel Dixon was already sprinting back out of the pyramid at this point. The Goa'uld reached down at the offending object that had dared to scratch his prized battle armor.
The small dart wasn't like normal tranquilizers. The front needle had been replaced with a pressure sensor attached to a two second fuse. As the Goa'uld reached down the explosive activated and the small plastic vial of liquid VX nerve agent violently erupted in front of him.
VX is the most toxic nerve agent ever produced. The deadly chemical causes the body to uncontrollably send signals to muscles. Eventually muscles tire and can no longer sustain breathing and blood pumping. The LD50 for VX is 10ml; meaning 50% of people would die if exposed to 10ml. The tranquilizer used by Colonel Dixon, normally used for rhino capture, had the equivalent of just about 2 times that much. The Goa'uld had no chance to avoid the chemical that just blew up in his face.
Dzhokhar Dudayev was killed April 26, 1996 by two Russian laser guided munitions. Conspiracists claims that the Russian Signal Intelligence (SIGINT) in the area was not sophisticated enough to pinpoint Dudayev's location due his sparse and short uses of his satellite phone. Claims that the National Reconnaissance Office aided the ex-Soviet General's assassination have been strongly denied. Furthermore, conspiracists can not provide a reason that the US would want to kill the pro-democracy revolutionary.
Please review if you like it, or have if there is anything you might want me to include in my story. :)