General George Hammond was furious. It had all gone wrong, and he'd lost people, damn good people. What galled him more than the Tok'ra's abject apologies for the botched mission, what made him fume and seethe like a mistreated circus lion, was that he might not be done losing people.

General Hammond stood outside the infirmary, unable to tear himself away from waiting for word on his people, and decided it was just as well. If he did move, try to do anything other than remain glued on that gray door, he might just pummel one of the Tok'ra wandering the base, and Hammond was pretty damn sure the Tok'ra/Earth alliance wouldn't weather a good beating too well.

"General Hammond?" a meek, tentative voice called out to the older man.

"What?" Hammond snapped. He looked over at the airman who stood a few paces away making his stance as unimposing and subordinate as he could. It was flavored with the sadness and anger that everyone at the SGC was feeling today. Everyone had lost friends, some people as close as family.

"President on the phone for you, sir."

Hammond knew it was the one thing that could pull him away from his post outside the SGC infirmary. "Thank you, Sergeant. Stay here and if Doctor Fraiser comes out I want you to come get me immediately."

"Yes, sir," the airman replied as he took up the stance of the immovable, not about to budge from that spot of vigil until there was a report from the good doctor or the general expressly asked him to move.

A path was opened and cleared by every errant person on the base as Hammond strode through the halls to his office. When he reached his destination he found the red phone sitting in wait atop the table.

"Mister President... Yes, sir... No, I'm afraid I have bad news; the joint Tok'ra/SGC mission to P78-294 to destroy the Goa'uld Montu was unsuccessful... Bad, sir. We lost all members of SG-13, two members of SG-9, one from SG-19 and 20, and Colonel O'Neill from SG-1... No sir, the remaining members of SG-1 are in critical condition. Teal'c is expected to survive, but there's no word yet on Doctor Jackson or Major Carter... I will, sir... Yes, Mister President."

Hammond hung up the phone, nerves on edge. Only this morning SG-1 had been sitting in the briefing room with him, safe, unharmed, all of them alive.

Hammond looked out his office window to the briefing room, barren now, oblivious to the disaster it had seen allowed to happen. Frowning, the general thought back to a mere matter of hours ago before this screwed up mission. He thought about the members of SG-1 and hoped the words they'd spoken then would not be the last memory of them he would have.

"Montu?" Daniel Jackson's eyes had widened, his eyebrows rising at the Tok'ra's words.

"You know this Goa'uld, Doctor?" Hammond inquired.

Daniel looked toward Hammond, fingers gesticulating as he answered, "No, but I know of the Egyptian myth of the Theban war-god Montu. He was supposedly a very powerful god."

The Tok'ra nodded, "He is in fact a Goa'uld of great power, a far greater military tactician than most of the System Lords. He is unusual in that he makes use of advisors and counselors, a technique rare among the Goa'uld and the very trait that makes it difficult for the Tok'ra to launch any attacks against him."

"How so?" Major Carter asked.

The Tok'ra man looked toward her, "With the Goa'uld we possess certain constants that we use to our advantage in our fight against them. Their arrogance, their egos, and their paranoia of other individuals. Montu is rare in the sense that he accepts the advice of a select number of advisors. Montu's strength lies in the versatility and skill of his advisors. Tok'ra operatives have found it difficult to get close to Montu because his counselors are very vigilant of their lord, and predicting his actions is difficult because rather than try to anticipate one individual's behavior we must take into account the input of his staff of advisors and counselors, a much greater task, as you might imagine."

Hammond frowned, "If he's so difficult to predict then why are you so certain will be on P78-294?"

"One of our operatives has been working within Montu's ranks for twenty years, gaining his trust and earning a position on the advisory staff. He communicated to us Montu's plans to stage a deception against the Goa'uld Seshat."

"The Egyptian goddess of writing?" Daniel queried.

The Tok'ra nodded, "Seshat and Montu have been rivals for many hundreds of years. Their intense personal conflict has been the reason that neither Goa'uld has become a larger concern for the galaxy... they have been at war with one another to the exclusion of nearly all else."

"Kinda like the McCoys and the Hatfields," Colonel O'Neill offered.

The Tok'ra gave Jack a blank look before turning his attention back to Hammond, "Recently there have been indications that Montu might be receptive to an alliance with some of the lesser Goa'uld lords. If this is permitted to happen he will undoubtedly succeed in finally defeating Seshat, and once she has been destroyed Montu will easily absorb the forces of the weaker Goa'uld he aligned with.."

"At which point he turns into everyone's problem," Jack finished.

The Tok'ra nodded. "Montu possesses great military skill and if that intelligence is turned against the enemies of the Goa'uld many will die."

"And what is this deception you are so certain Montu is about to pull?" Hammond asked.

"Our operative has communicated Montu's intention to send a large portion of his fleet to the distant border of Seshat's territory to draw the Goa'uld away from one of three primary planets within her territory where she mines naquadah. Montu intends to strike this planet and cripple Seshat's production of weaponry in preparation for the joint strike against her. While awaiting Seshat's pursuit of the decoy fleet, Montu and his closest confidants will be hiding on this world, the one you call P78-294. He will be sparsely accompanied and will not expect an attack. It is our best chance to strike against him."

Major Carter chimed in, "And why exactly have you come to us?"

The Tok'ra looked evenly at Sam. "The Tau'ri are more familiar with the kind of attack force that will be required for this operation to succeed. The Tok'ra operate by deception and subterfuge; a frontal assault of this manner is not a tactic at which we are skilled. There is also the matter that Montu's military predispositions means that you of the Tau'ri army are perhaps more equipped to anticipate his mind-set and actions than the Tok'ra. Also, the Tok'ra at the time do not have the numbers available to make up a formidable strike force such as this. In many ways your expertise and skill would be critical."

Jack glowered, "You know, I get a really bad feeling every time the Tok'ra start complimenting us."

Hammond turned to his second in command, "Colonel? What are your thoughts on this matter?"

Jack O'Neill eyed the Tok'ra at the end of the table dubiously, looked at each member of his team, then shrugged, "It reeks, General, but it doesn't seem we have much choice, the last thing we need is a Goa'uld military tyrant loose."

Hammond nodded, "I would have to agree. You and SG teams 9, 13, 19, and 20 will accompany the Tok'ra on this mission to P78-294."

"Yes, sir."

"General Hammond?"

Hammond was pulled from his thoughts as he looked toward the door to his office. Captain Rawlins of SG-9 was standing just barely in the office, her hands clasped together and face down-turned somberly. The pallor to her skin and sunken despondence in her eyes were signs that George Hammond had seen too many times before on the faces of good people throughout his years of service. Rawlins had lost her commanding officer and the team's second in command; Rawlins herself was the only member of her team to return relatively unharmed, the fourth of SG-9 coming back with a broken leg and internal bleeding. When Hammond got around to calling Doctor MacKenzie, Rawlins was his first concern; sometimes it was harder to be one of the few that survived than one of the ones who died.

"Come in, Captain," he said gently.

Rawlins moved to one of the chairs opposite Hammond's desk and sat down without a sound, instead staring vacantly at the items on his desk for a moment. She was still in shock, sighted wandering the base with a bewildered look on her face. Hammond had more urgent business to attend to so he allowed her to move through the halls of the SGC as she saw fit. He merely informed all the checkpoints to the surface not to let her leave the mountain. Rawlins was a trained soldier, a good officer, and was already starting to recover her self-control. Everyone on base would know she'd lost half her teammates, and wherever on base she might think to go she'd be watched after. During the worst tragedies Hammond found his pride in his people stronger than at any other time.

"I know this is a difficult time for you. If there's anything I can do..," Hammond offered.

Rawlins nodded, her military poise slowly but surely returning to her. "Yes, sir. I came to ask if we'd be returning to P78-294 to retrieve... the bodies."

Hammond felt himself recoil at the thought of his people lying sprawled and unattended on a planet millions of miles from home, bodies left to rot like vermin carcasses on a lonely highway. "I would like to see them brought home as much as you, Captain, but at the moment retrieval is not a viable option. The Goa'uld we went there to kill is still on the planet and if the Tok'ra," he tried not to spit the word, "intelligence is right he's planning on being there for at least two and a half more weeks. I couldn't even consider a mission back to P78-294 until we were assured Montu is gone. I'm not willing to risk any more people."

Rawlins went pale, lips pressed tightly, but she nodded and said in a flat voice, "Yes, sir." Hammond frowned because he could tell she knew what that time frame meant. Nearly three weeks... by the time they did return there wouldn't be much left to retrieve, much less anything they would recognize as their lost friends. At a point it would be harder to find them than leave them where they were killed.

"I'm sorry, Captain."

Rawlins nodded again, eyes trained on the carpet at her feet, then she slowly stood, "Thank you, General," then pausing, her hand dipped uncertainly into her pocket. When it withdrew Hammond recognized the very familiar jingle of standard issue dog tags. Without a word Rawlins stepped closer to the general's desk, reached out, and set the silver chain and tags on the desk top. Turning and exiting his office, she left Hammond to reach out and pick up the dog tags that were coiled and twisted in wait before him. They were stained, the chain and slips of metal both, with rust-colored dried blood and flakes of burned skin that chipped under Hammond's touch and fell to the paper atop his desk.

Hammond brushed his thumb over the tag to clear the name, expecting one of Rawlins's lost teammates. He swallowed his anger and his sadness.

'O'Neill, Jonathan USAF'.

Hammond curled the broken chain around his hand and pressed the tags into his palm as he cursed all snakes, Goa'uld and Tok'ra alike, for this day.