The gate shut down behind them.
"Bitch!"
Maybourne laughed. "Now, now," he smiled at his young Captain, and then a thought struck him: "The brilliant Major or your devoted Colonel?" he asked.
"C'mon, Harry," she grinned back up at him. "You're my bitch and you know it."
"That's Colonel Maybourne to you, Captain!" Maybourne's smile faded; he, too, could do without the pretense.
"Yes, Sir! Colonel Maybourne, Sir!" Hailey stood to attention, saluting. She knew where this little... contretemps... was going and... she hated the idea of having a third with them on this operation as much as Harry did. Orders were orders, but... "What you did? I owe you one," she sneered. The trouble was, she knew he'd only enjoy it; the same way he knew she did. "C'mon, Harry, let's get on with it." Hailey set off at a pace she knew would tax him just enough to make him upset. If the other one wanted to come along... well, he'd stayed quiet and out of their way so far, and it was his choice.
"Y'know," she heard Harry say, as he struggled after her, "I get back in this lark, and get her promoted, and sometimes I wonder."
"Me, too, Harry," their unwanted companion replied wearily. "Me, too."
It had been, Hailey mused as she ran, a perfect arrangement for her and for Harry. Then the resentment of what the two of them were doing -- what they had become -- had got in the way... despite their best efforts to keep their profiles as low as possible.
They'd become... successful. Harry got to play at intrigue, sowing his own special kind of lies and deceit where it worked best for the SGC -- and for him; while she got to use all her skills, her mental abilities and physical prowess, where it did the most for her -- especially if it meant putting one or two noses out of joint. Of course, Harry liked to do a little sowing of a different kind... but once she'd got to know him better...
Hailey picked up her pace. At first she'd thought he was... but -- she smiled -- it's what's inside a person that matters. And now... Harry was forty pounds lighter, his body was leaner, fitter. He still didn't like running, and his pack was a quarter the weight of hers, but when he got his breath back... Hailey slowed as she reached their first objective.
Orders were orders. O'Neill was with them as an observer; Harry was in charge, and they were to defer to the Colonel only in the case of an emergency. Otherwise, safety and protocol aside, he wasn't there.
She'd ran eight kilometers and they were perhaps a kilometer behind. For Harry that would be less than five minutes, which gave her time to shuck her pack and set up base one.
The Colonel, she knew, wouldn't be happy. She knew every SG-1 report, each one committed to memory; she'd gone over every fine detail, learning how they worked tactically and personally. She knew all about team-work -- and how it didn't apply to her. She also knew what everyone thought of Harry. And how wrong they were about him, too.
When Harry and the Colonel stumbled into the camp, Hailey made sure she was waiting. She lit the fire with a blast from a Zat she wasn't supposed to have taking both of them by surprise. Maybourne, coughing and laughing as O'Neill cursed, clapped his appreciation.
"Y'know, Jack, she really is the best," Harry said, carefully storing his pack away from the fire. "Out here... she's in her element." A brace of too-large, quite dead, rat-like creatures landed at his feet. "And she can cook, too." He laughed. "You gonna join us, or you wanna get your own food?"
O'Neill looked around for Hailey, but she'd gone off again. "You know about procedure, Harry." He shook his head. "Everything -- and I mean everything -- you two do is so wrong on so many levels it's a wonder..."
"You almost sound as if you care, Jack."
"About you, Maybourne? Not in the slightest. But Hailey... she's got a future and you're a bad, bad influence."
Hailey listened in as she always did. She knew what Harry thought, but the Colonel would give her a different perspective. And what she learned from him would help her progress -- not to taking Carter's place, or even his; her sights were set much higher. She was in it for the long haul, and she would get there any way she could.
"Oh, she's got a future all right." Hailey grinned as Harry looked around for her as well. "And not necessarily within the SGC. Everyone's watched her. NID, CIA... people you've never heard of. If Carter hadn't stepped in," Harry let his voice drop to a whisper, "You know they were waiting for her to get kicked out of the Academy?"
"Ya don't say," O'Neill sat down, feigning lack of interest.
"Say what?" Hailey chose that moment to let them know she was back, dropping an arm full of roots on top of the dead rats.
"Oh, I was just extolling your virtues," Maybourne grinned wickedly. "Or lack of," laughing at O'Neill's discomfort. "Dead rat?" he held up one of the ugly creatures, "Or... whatever this is?"
"Harry?!" O'Neill looked on in disgust as Maybourne pulled a flask from a pocket and took a shot of, knowing Harry, most likely a very fine malt. Hailey laughed as she caught one of the rats Harry tossed her and began skinning it. Still, much to his surprise, within minutes Maybourne had peeled the vegetables, Hailey had skinned and diced the rats, and as if they were gourmet chefs they had dinner skewered on twigs laced with whiskey, seasoned with he hated to think what, slowly cooking over the open fire.
Whatever else he thought of their methods, Hailey was certain the Colonel wouldn't deny that when they did work together, that they did it well. He didn't even turn his nose up at the food, but as night fell and O'Neill took first watch, his jaw did drop as she and Harry went to the same tent. As far as Hailey was concerned, the Colonel could make of it what he wanted.
But when O'Neill heard the first slap -- and worse, when he heard Maybourne chuckle -- if O'Neill hadn't wanted this assignment before, he wanted it even less now.
...
At first light they broke camp. O'Neill tried to concentrate on Maybourne ferreting through the pack he'd carried as Hailey stripped and took the little that she needed from hers.
"Whoa, Maybourne! They're not what I think they are?" O'Neill watched as Maybourne began assembling a pair of rifles that were definitely not standard issue. "Are they?"
"They're not P-90s if that's what you mean, Jack." Maybourne smiled at Hailey's dirty chuckle. "Russian. Dragunov SVDs. Very slightly modified, of course."
"And this sweetie is an IMI 99," Hailey continued. "Not as accurate, but strictly non-Kosher, just for Harry."
"That's just swell, Harry." And for good measure O'Neill shot Hailey a disparaging look. "If Hammond catches you..."
"Sir? Permission to speak freely?" Hailey interrupted. O'Neill nodded, mouth open, caught off guard by the young Captain's sudden change of attitude. "Sir, we choose the best weapons for the assignment. And Colonel Maybourne and I may be too over-familiar for your liking, but that doesn't mean there is no lack of respect, Sir. We do it this way because... because it works, Sir."
"Yeah, that may be so," O'Neill looked Maybourne up and down, "But I know where he's been."
Hailey grinned. "So do I, Sir."
"Seriously, Jack, we know what we're doing. If you don't like it, you tell Hammond when we get back. Right now, we've got a job to do. There's a thirty kilometer hike ahead of us, and then..."
The whole mood had changed. Hailey was waiting for his nod and Maybourne was reaching for his flask again like a tired old soldier. "Okay, okay. I'm not here," O'Neill relented. "You do... whatever."
"Good boy, Jack." Maybourne put the rifles to one side. "We travel light, just as we discussed in the briefing. Hailey will lead; I'll be tracking her. There's a low-power micro-transmitter... where you don't want to know. If you and I get separated, Jack, we'll rendezvous at the jump point. If either of us don't show, head back here at night-fall. The mission is our top priority. No excuses. Maintain radio silence, Jack. Trust us."
O'Neill nodded, turning disgustedly as Maybourne sped Hailey on her way. At least now he was in familiar territory. Ahead of them was fifteen-odd miles of dense woodland that Hailey could cover much more quickly on her own. Beyond that was open scrub-land where her speed and stamina would be essential to keep her from being spotted. Then there was the jump point. He and Maybourne would take a more circuitous route, but after Hailey got there she would be on her own anyway.
That was the part of the plan he didn't like. It smacked of Maybourne: skulking in comparative safety while someone else did the dangerous bit. But Hailey quite obviously more than trusted him; heck, even Hammond had trusted him.
The whole thing was wrong as far as O'Neill was concerned. Damn the Tok'ra and their sympathetic hides for allowing Maybourne back; and double damn the bad luck that let his path cross with Hailey's.
And as Maybourne set off at a slow dog-trot that even he could maintain for miles in the shape he was in, O'Neill checked his own P-90. If Hailey didn't get back in one piece, then he'd make damned sure that neither would Maybourne.
...
Hailey strolled the last eight kilometers to the drop point; the route Harry was leading the Colonel gave her ample latitude and almost too much discretion. The drop point was everything she'd hoped for: a hundred meters below, the ground sloped gently away from the base of the granite shelf; ahead for a thousand kilometers was nothing but open savannah; and behind her, as she stood at the very edge, the dry, dusty slope allowed her the room she needed.
In less than five minutes the canopy of her Ultra hang-glider lifted her out over the flat grassland. This was where she and the Air Force really belonged -- in the sky. And the Ultra -- her design, Tok'ra materials, a fifth the weight, double the glide ratio, twice as maneuverable, and ten times the challenge, was how she enjoyed to fly. She soared out over the plains, a speck so small that even if anyone thought to look for her, at any reasonable distance she would be all but unnoticeable.
She had two hundred kilometers to her intended target: a small, highly efficient clandestine unit that Harry had orchestrated years before but had been forced to abandon when another team of his had got caught. But soon after O'Neill had left Harry with the Tok'ra, through intelligence Harry had provided, the Tok'ra had made contact. Negotiations had gone well... but the rogue NID, attempting to out-wit the Tok'ra, had inadvertently allowed themselves to be compromised by the Goa'uld. Now the race was on to stop them before the intelligence they had acquired could fall into the wrong hands.
Harry's experiences had taught her never to trust the NID completely: they always wanted to play one side against the other, never satisfied if there was a chance to gain more power. The Tok'ra hadn't learned from Harry's warning, and now they were paying for NID temptation and Tok'ra arrogance.
Over the previous few weeks, between her, Maybourne and other Tok'ra, they'd tracked the NID and Goa'uld, eliminating each part of the threat one by one. She knew that although the timing wasn't crucial, they were at the most critical part of the mission. She couldn't allow herself to be distracted by the thrill of flying over the alien landscape or the small voice as Maybourne kept her updated of his and O'Neill's progress.
She knew that the NID had superior technology. The small transport vessel that they'd acquired had stealth capabilities, but there would still be a residual energy signature that should give their position away. Almost seven hours out, she saw the blink of the little tell-tale clipped to her wrap-around visor.
Deliberately she almost stalled the Ultra, dropping three hundred meters far faster than she ought too, but as she eased out into a long low glide, she gained a kilometer that she would have otherwise had to walk.
Down safely, she collapsed the Ultra, stowing it away in its compact container tube, and unslinging the rifles from across her back. She signalled Harry. For her, there was perhaps a five kilometer walk; for him... there was only uncertainty.
She knew she was better than good. As she walked she sighted the rifles, raising them together and in turn, then lowering them so that they hung by her side as she walked, making her arms accept their weight, and her muscles familiar again with the memory she'd drilled into them.
Three hundred meters from the craft, she stopped. The waiting game would begin.
The last four NID officers would have watched her approach. They would be debating who and what she was, what her intentions were, and how she'd got there. They could try to take her out from a distance; they could call for backup; they could even leave. And if they'd figured out what she was worth... The sun was about to set behind her. They had all the time they wanted. They were NID -- they were smart and resourceful and cautious; they wouldn't want the glory of her capture all for themselves, they wouldn't just...
The side hatch opened and all four strolled out, weapons raised.
She let them advance. Ten meters... twenty... fifty... Their alertness would be decreasing in inverse proportion to their confidence as they got closer. They were NID... they were...
One hundred meters... Very slowly she let herself lean forward, bending her knees, holding out her weapons, clearly surrendering. But before they could blink at the surprise, she threw herself forward, raising the rifles in a glorious arc, letting off four rounds, obliterating their heads from their necks.
Hailey knew she wasn't just better than good... she was the best.
And she couldn't wait to see the look on O'Neill's face when she arrived back at the drop point in the transporter. If he'd done as he was told after Harry had lost him.
Now she just had to hope that Harry survived his end of the ordeal.
