Chapter 4
{ Mission }

I stepped through the gate. The warehouse was one of a complex of seven about five miles off to my left. In this soft, lush green grass and cool damp predawn (it was 0800 of 2359 at the mountain, about 0400 of 3622 here) we'd walk it in an hour or two.

But we wouldn't have to.

No, sir.

Because, you see, there was no way a force our size could lug a warehouse in naquadah and still be in any shape to fight off pursuit. Not when whoever made the warehouse had to use ten Jaffa to carry each one, and that was without weapons at a speed somewhere between a slow shuffle and a sedate stroll.

So our good General pulled a few strings, and got us a nice little fleet of ATVs. We'd have to stash them a half-mile or so away to avoid detection, but an hour and forty-five minutes off the march was good.

* * *

I counted the clicking. We were keeping radio broadcasts as short as possible, as there were six more warehouses stuffed with Jaffa within a few miles. A double-click meant the team was in place, a single click meant more time, no clicking indicated they weren't responding to radio for some reason.

Seven teams.

Where the hell were the others?

I heard footsteps, and whirled around.

The airman stopped belly-crawling to raise his gun-hand.

"What is it?"

"Sir, there's nobody outside. No sensors either; we checked it out. We can set up right outside."

I turned and stared back, thinking.

Without that quick rush, there'd be no chance of anybody screwing up their explosives again.

"Okay, airman. Go tell the other teams."

He made a face but crawled off obediently.

Teal'c and I walked up with the ladder, Jonas and Carter digging the little divots for the feet. We plopped the ladder down, and leaned the top onto the wall.

No alarms.

Good.

Carter scrambled up, a block of C-4 in hand.

The clicks started coming in just as she backed down with the detonator.

I waited until everybody had gotten into place, then muttered, "Mark."

Four explosions rang out, followed by the rapid-fire boom-booms of the grenades.

I counted to three, then muttered, "Second wave, mark."

Carter squished the detonator handle down, then tossed the little box away as a door-shaped chunk of whatever the Goa'uld used for concrete flew above us.

"Go, go!" I cried, charging up the ladder.

The "door" wasn't quite level with the catwalk, and my first step plunged into the oblivion. I gasped, and caught myself with my other foot before hurrying forward.

The Jaffa were already engaging the floor teams, but a few managed to spray the upper catwalks with a withering hail of staff blasts.

I ducked down and took cover under the railing. For once I was actually grateful for the Goa'uld tendency towards the heavy and ornate; the railing was more like a little sandbag wall of gleaming metal.

Apparently somebody decided there was nothing up there, because the blasts stopped.

I poked my head over, then sighted on a bright cluster of staff blasts and let rip.

Targets and marksmanship went right out the window; the Jaffa had cut power and in the dim and uncertain light of the warehouse all that I could see were the little flashes ten feet below. I sighted a bit to the back of them and started popping off the little three-round bursts they teach in Basic.

The staff blasts were getting more and more sporadic, and more and more widespread. All would be quiet, with the people down there silently stalking each other in the gloom, then suddenly a P90 would chatter and a staff would reply with its distinctive t'sew! Then, as if taking encouragement from each others' resistance, more and more would reply, until the entire warehouse was a haze of bright, scything orange muzzle flashes and red staff blasts and blue zat shots zipping back at impossible speeds.

"Third wave, mark!" I shout, emptying my magazine into a little mob near SG-4's sector.

Where was SG-2? I glanced up at the ceiling, but it was blissfully unmarred by C-4.

More "doors" blasted on the catwalk, and such concentrated and intensive fire blazed through those smoking portals that every Jaffa down there must have been shooting up. I squinted down my barrel and dropped a Jaffa or two.

Damn this haze, these bullets are supposed to be smokeless!

The number of Jaffa shooting dropped suddenly.

Had they used those precious moments while the Jaffa were shooting the empty entries to cut them down?

Obviously not, because staff and zat fire suddenly lit up the center of the warehouse. They weren't just shooting any more, they were shooting under central guidance and command, in organized volleys, sending radial waves of searing light down the little alleys between the high-stacked crates.

If the Marines dropped in now, they'd be cut down instantly.

I glanced at the roof. Was that a jackhammer I just saw flash out of the concrete?

Suddenly, not the fragmented shower of light debris originally planned, but a single huge circular piece of concrete dropped down. The predawn gloom filtered in.

The air was silent except for the high-pitched whir of the ropes and the quick, short bursts of P90 fire from the Marines fast-roping in.

The Jaffa were apparently so stunned by having half the ceiling drop down on them they weren't even shooting back now.

It took ten minutes to mop up after that.

Carter, grinning like a kid in a candy shop, grabbed a Jaffa's staff and shot the clasp off a crate.

I use the term crate lightly. Unlike the normal wooden things we'd use in the mock-up back on Earth, these crates were dark, smooth-polished wood bound in that glittering gold metal Goa'uld seem to love so much. There were twelve bands crossing the width of the crate, six of which were wider and more intricately carved than the others. These ended in a pattern of gleaming gems set into the gold.

Carter walked around the crate, shooting each of these little gem clusters. "Help me lift this."

We grabbed hold of the lid and lifted. It was heavier than I expected, but we budged it aside a foot before setting it down.

Carter grinned and picked up a little ingot.

I started to reach for one, to see if the stuff was really as heavy as they said it was.

Carter snarled at me. I swear, she snarled.

I jerked my hand back. I was as brave as the next guy, but Carter was possessive about her doohickeys. A warehouse of naquadah was probably better than chocolate.

And Carter was crazy about chocolate.

Carter returned to her contemplation of the little ingot in her hand. Then she unwrapped it, and popped it into her mouth.

I gaped. "Carter?"

She smiled blissfully. "Goa'uld grauld'fitzch, sir. Finest white chocolate in the galaxy."

"Carter!" I yelp.

"I never said it was naquadah. You assumed it was naquadah. You assume too much, sir."

"Hey, you know something, this is pretty good."

I turned, a lump of leaden already forming in my stomach.

Jonas grinned at me, oblivious to his very imminent and very painful death, and popped another of the little chocolates into his mouth.

I covered Teal'c's eyes.


Like it? Hate it?

Please tell me! The 1-10 scale is fine. Just review! I'm starving for some feedback here!

PS: The sequel is named PMS: The Ultimate Blanket Authorization, and is written from Carter's Point of View. I realize Carter was a bit too snappish in this one, but it was done deliberately. Yes, believe it or not, I had this planned. The sequel explains it all.