30th Avenue was a small place, full of detached suburban houses on one side, a bare grassy area on the other before more houses. Pylons were set parallel to it, with dozens of industrial thickness electrical cables crisscrossing the houses.
The three black 4x4's moved in, one from each end, the other cutting across the grass. Two more stopped at opposite ends of the street, black-clad troops piling out and creating blocking positions. They were SFOD-D, some of the best in the world.
The three vans stopped at 6196, a rather dilapidated house in comparison to the other, with boarded windows and a couple of large shrubs growing outside, slightly out of control.
Six black clad soldiers, faces covered, exited the vehicles and made a perimeter around the front of the house. Two more ran to the door.
Mitchell, Teal'c and Macara followed, each holding one of H&K's new Commando Carbines, designed for the British special forces. The weapons were silenced, scoped versions of H&K's G36c, designed for use by insertion teams.
Vala and Daniel, agent Barret slightly behind them, joined the perimeter team, two of those Delta's then running round the back of the house. Teal'c jogged round with them.
Mitchell stood at the door, the Delta beside him hefted a SPAS-12 shotgun at the hinges. Macara stood ready with a flashbang. Unlike the rest of SG1, the Marine had his face covered like the SFOD-D, so no unnecessary questions were asked about why a British soldier was invading US homes.
"Stand by," Mitchell said, listening through the door. "Stand by…."
"Go!"
The Delta shot the hinges and kicked down the door. He rushed in made space for the other sot follow.
Mitchell dashed in, just as the first Worshipper, Eppleheim, came out the living room, P90 in hand.
"Shit!" Mitchell said, diving to the ground.
Eppleheim tore up the wall with a burst from his weapon, clipping the Delta's arm. The SF reciprocated by firing two blasts into Epplehiem's chest.
"Alive! We need them alive!" Mitchell roared.
More firing was heard at the back of the house, followed by a quick zat burst.
"We have Brody, colonel Mitchell," Teal'c radioed calmly.
Macara, and the Delta next to him, listened through the living room wall,
"Then who the Hell is that…" the Delta breathed.
With a roar, a full blooded Wraith major crashed through the paper thin walls, firing yet another blasted P90.
The Delta beside Macara crumpled to the ground. The Delta with the shotgun brought up his weapon to fire, but the Wraith punched him across the hall. With a crack of ribs, he slumped to the floor.
The Wraith swatted Macara out of the way with the swipe of the P90, the major rolling with the blow, taking most of the force to his SF helmet. The Wraith Major dashed outside, firing the last of his clip, Mitchell firing from the ground.
A moment later, seven automatic weapons opened up for almost three full seconds.
Mitchell dashed out the house, Teal'c behind him. Macara was seeing to the two injured Delta's.
The Wraith lay in the driveway, the perimeter team still with weapons trained. Mitchell walked over and placed two rounds in the things head, just in case.
"Okay, move in and police all the evidence inside!" he barked, and the SFOD-D ran in.
"What's it like in there?" Vala asked.
"You do not want to know, Vala Mal Doran" Teal'c said simply.
Macara walked through the house with the Deltas. He had to admit their form was brilliant; SFs par excellence. They left nothing unchecked and moved with great professionalism.
Not one had mentioned the strange looking alien technology, not one asked why there were so many weapons, many of them alien, in the house. They collected it all stoically, silently.
Yet none of them had been left unaffected by the scene found in the kitchen. The bodies of six people, including, as far as they could tell, the houses original occupants of who two were children, lay shriveled and drained of life.
"That's not right," one of them had snarled. One went outside to throw up. But not one said anything questioning what had happened. All they knew was they had stopped more really bad things from happening.
"Major, get to the van We're leaving this in the hands of agent Barrett and the SFOD-D. We are driving to a safe beaming site," Mitchell radioed.
"On my way," Macara said quietly.
Several hours Later
Teal'c strode from the interview room.
"He has told us everything, and is waiting to make a full video confession,"
"Good," Landry nodded. "And once he has, get him on a plane from Peterson to Area 51. That's his new home. Forever."
"Right, let's hear it then," Macgregor said, ushering SG1 from the hallway to the conference area. "You too, major," he said to Macara, who was once again back in his comfortable DPMs.
"Yes, sir."
"After we returned to Atlantis, we knew what we had to do. The Wraith gave us all subspace transmitters, but without any power source. So, we got in contact with the Trust. The Wraith had given us a plan;….." there was a pause in the video as Brody sniffled. It was a moment before he continued. "We would offer the Trust a chance to get rid of SGC and take control themselves. They would contact the Alliance and offer them a trade treaty with Earth if the Alliance helped them get rid of the Stargate Programme. But that was just a ploy so we could use their technology. Tanaka and Lavarde became imbedded with the Trust.. They would pass info to the Trust who would then pass it to the Lucian Alliance."
Macara gritted his teeth, and Mitchell slammed his fist onto the table, giving everyone a start. MacGregor waved him down as the video continued.
"Eppleheim had reasons to go off world before he went AWOL. On one mission, he killed his team and made contact with the Alliance. Once he had gotten aboard their Ha'taks he then convinced the Alliance to take the transmitters to the edge of the galaxy and send messaged to the Wraith for us. We made out that the Wraith could help the Alliance take over Earth, instead of being in alliance with the Trust. That is how the Wraith found out about the 401's existence, and when they would be arriving. Meanwhile, we were slowly gaining access to important constructions and sabotaging them. All the while, we would transmit to the Lucian Alliance who would relay the messages for us."
A voice in the video prompted him.
"Is that why the Alliance began attacking us, then?"
"Well, they thought they were playing us, the Trust and the Wraith. They didn't realise that they and the Trust were the ones being played. They attacked the 340's because, after the last battle with the Wraith, a Wraith Dart had hooked on to the Fraiser, near a damaged section, and went undetected. This gave the Wraith ship a chance to detach undetected before reaching Earth. The Alliance had an Al'kesh waiting for the Wraith aboard on the nearest planet, and that's how the Wraith made it to Earth undetected." Brody spluttered.
"Damn it. They must have been operating this plan for months," Mitchell said. "They have been playing everybody off against each other to get a Wraith to Earth."
"Shh," Macara replied.
"How did the Wraith get our weapons?"
"We gave them the locations of numerous caches that had been left for native populations to defend themselves with,"
"Have the Wraith received data as to the location of Earth?" the voice of the prompter came again.
"No. We were working on getting the information to the Alliance to transmit, but the Trust were sniffing in too much and we couldn't let them know that we were risking Earth, or they would have turned on us, maybe even gotten you involved,"
Landry stood and turned off the recording.
"That's it then. We have the situation under control, more or less. It seems there will be many more fights with the Lucian Alliance, and we need to root out the Trust. But we have gotten rid of the traitors."
Macara stood. "With respect, can we be so certain?"
Landry replied calmly. "All other captured personnel have been accounted for, and where not on the Lucian list of contacts. Also, they are still in Pegasus, or dead, major. We will monitor them more closely now, but I think we're out of the woods."
Macara nodded politely. "Permission to return to Atlantis, sir?"
"Granted, thought, I believe MacGregor wanted a word first," the general replied.
"Very good, sir." Macara came to attention, and as neither had their regimental headdress on, left without a salute.
"Okay, SG-1. We have a new mission for you, and you are to take a new temporary member with you. We want some recon done on an Alliance world where they are growing kassa and storing weapons,"
"Who's the new member?" Mitchell asked.
"Her," Landry smiled as Cate entered the room.
"Welcome," Teal'c said, bowing.
"Glad to be here. Who's arse do we kick now?"
Macara stood in Macgregor's office.
"What's been eating you, son?"
Macara remained stoically silent.
"Come on, Nathan. I thought we were friends. You said you would show me full support."
"I believe I done so, sir. I have fulfilled all orders given me."
"I don't mean simply that. You've grown colder since Hong Kong. What is going wrong?"
Macara looked MacGregor straight in the eyes.
"Nathan, you shot that woman despite orders not to. That's not the Marine I know." Macgregor said sadly.
"Sir, she shot three men dead for no reason, and injured a young civilian. Do you honestly think I was wrong?"
"No, Nathan, I don't. But it was still cold blooded and not what I had come to expect of you. Or any officer. Now please, tell me. What's wrong?"
Macara looked back at the admiral, the older man seeing the melancholy in his eyes. Macara knew he could trust this old sailor, but he didn't want to offend him either.
"Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Go ahead."
"This politicking is getting to me. We are meant to be upholding an alliance, yet the US and Australia are spying on their allies, sending agents to other countries without permission, misusing the technology gained through the Programme. The IOA does nothing but moan and double guess the decisions made by people who know better. The US, quite frankly, does not trust or value the UK's input, despite the blood shed, the Chinese and Russians are still trying to nick the gate, and the Australians, whom I believed would come in and be the perfect mediators, bringing everyone together, have just fallen in step with the yanks. Let's not even go into hardware," Macara stopped, talking a breath from his rant. MacGregor raised an eyebrow, but nodded gently.
"No, do go into it Major. You sound like you need an outlet,"
Macara sighed, then replied. "Well, the US would barely allow us to have our own 304, and then when we made a ship of our own, they went mad. The AAS was only allowed to be constructed because we were making the prototype for the whole Alliance's use, especially the USMC. But even then, they did everything they could to stop us getting them. Btu when you guys came along with the proposed plans for the 340, they were happy as Larry, granted you permission straight away and even gave you financial and technological assistance. We had to beg, borrow and steal the APBWs we had, but you guys got whatever you wanted. Then you got the 401, and because you gave the designs to the US, once again you could do anything you want. I know it's not you personally sir, and believe it or not I have the utmost respect for you and what you are trying to achieve, but the lack of trust and co-operation in this alliance is starting to sicken me. I'm handing in my resignation at the end of my tour in Atlantis."
MacGregor was silent for a moment. "Those are all very good points, major. I thought your grievances were going to be far more petty, but you have obviously been thinking about the situation deeply. I, you may surprised to find out, agree with you. I am sick of the infighting and the inequality in the Alliance. Whilst the US have ploughed billions into the programme, and stood along for almost five years, they deserve a larger say in the Alliance. Agreed?"
Macara nodded slightly; it was a fair point. "But the Brits have, since their assistance with the Ori invasion, put an out of proportional amount into the SGC, both with finance and troops. They do deserve to be treated better. The US are afraid of their autonomy, that's all. And you should know, from your time here that whilst their government may not appreciate what you and your country have done, everyone in the SGC itself does." MacGregor paused to let it sink in.
"That is true, sir." Macara conceded.
"It is. And due to that, no matter your grievance with the upper echelon, Major, don't allow it to colour your opinions of the people you work alongside. You are a very intelligent young officer, Major General Salmon agrees. Use that intelligence to see the heart of things."
"Yes, sir." Macara said simply, colouring at the cheeks slightly. "Also, You won't need to send the General your next report; through Melchett, I have come to an agreement with General Salmon that I will divulge any information he wants."
That brought a look of surprise to Macara's face; both that MacGregor knew what Salmon had asked, and that Will was willing to help him. On second thought, Macara realised he should have trusted the Admiral sooner.
"Thank you, sir."
Macgregor stood. "Right then, I think I have said enough for the moment. Get your gear and get ready to head back to Pegasus."
The Admiral stood, and said. "I would also like you to rethink your resignation, major."
Macara looked at him without flinching. "Thank you for your honesty and your willingness to help sir, but for every man like you, there are three arsehole bureaucrats. Until such times as Alliance works properly, I have no wish to be in it. I will serve my tour, sir. But I won't change my mind. Thank you for your kind words, however." Macara said, taking the offered hand in a quick shake.
"Think it over, Nathan. We need men like you."
"No, sir, we need men like you." Macara replied. Breaking protocol, he saluted sharply and proudly, before walking off.
Macgregor shook his head, before pressing his desk comm..
"Get me Melchett, please,"
Macara sat next to Trang in the infirmary. The SF major had slept the whole time, sedated for his pain. His burns were healing well, but he was still left in agony most days. His skin graft at the nearby medical hospital had gone well, too so by his own request Trang had been brought back to Cheyenne mountain.
Macara had sat for an hour, telling Trang everything that had been happening. He stood now.
"Well, Vic, by the time you are up and around, I'll be back in the Sandbox. Good luck mate,"
Macara left a bottle of 25 year old Glenfidditch on the table next to Trang, and picking up his kit bag walked to the gate room.
"You'll be glad to get back, I bet?" Landry said through the tannoy.
"Yes, sir." Macara replied quietly. The gate burst into life, and with no further comment he marched through, going back to Atlantis.