THE TRENCH
PART SEVEN: THE PRISONERS (Part Two)
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The ten men swiveled around, to see a mud covered, ragged man pointing his P90 at their backs. His clothes were in tatters and barely recognizable, but it was definitely the same uniform as the two men inside the trench. His face was reddened and pale, and he coughed roughly as he stood there, though he didn't let it affect his position. McKay's hand were shaking around the weapon, but there was no mistaking the look in his eyes.
"Drop your weapons!" he demanded hoarsely. "Drop them, or I'll cut you all in half."
Pale Eyes smiled, and slowly began to turn. McKay sent a hail of bullets over their heads, causing them all to cower slightly. Luckily for the scientist, they weren't fast enough to see his brief astonished look as the bullets he sprayed impacted the Trench's shield, flashing brightly. When they met his gaze again, he had the P90 trained once more on their torsos.
"I said, drop your weapons! NOW!"
But these men were not about to give up so easily. Pale Eyes just continued to turn, though he did lower his gun slightly, his eyes glued to McKay's. His sickly smile was still on his face. The other men stayed in their half turned position, watching McKay and Pale Eyes, waiting to hear what their leader wanted them to do now. The scientist coughed coarsely again, but the P90 never wavered. It seemed to amuse Pale Eyes ever more.
Clay's single, massive eyebrow lifted in a full sneer, "You and what army, stranger?"
McKay blinked, looked over Clay's shoulder, then slowly began to smile.
"That one," he replied, indicating the other side of the trench with his P90.
Clay jerked his head back around, as did the others, and the smile fell from his face instantly.
Sheppard turned in the trench, and nearly sagged in relief at the sight on the other side.
Bates, Stackhouse and about fifteen more of Atlantis' best and bravest had come out of nowhere, backing up McKay's threat. They must have been moving through the woods for cover, listening to Sheppard's exchange with Clay over their radios, and thus hadn't been seen until they were practically on top of them. McKay's distraction had given them the element of surprise they needed.
"Drop 'em," Bates growled at the prisoners.
Clay obviously saw something in the sergeant's eyes that he hadn't seen in McKay's. Either that, or his survival instincts finally kicked in. The shield was one way. The Atlantian's could fire and hit the prisoners, but the prisoner's own bullets would only hit the shield. Against one man, they would fight. Against manyit was suicide not to obey, pure and simple.
As the prisoners set their weapons down and raised their hands, Bates risked a questioning look at the major. "Are you all right, sir?"
"I am," Sheppard replied, "but Ford's not."
Bates nodded. "Dunne, Greene, get in there and help the major and Ford out of there. McKay," Bates looked over the prisoners at the scientist, who was clearly looking the worse for wear, "You all right?"
"No," McKay coughed hoarsely again and walked forward, stiffly, "but I will be." He came around the side of the prisoners, and lifted the P90. "Back off. Ten feet. That way." His eyes narrowed when they didn't immediately respond, "GO!" he snapped furiously.
The prisoners flinched a little at the order, their own anger at the treatment palpable, but they did as they were told. Corporals Dunne and Greene jumped into the Trench. The tall Greene took Ford from the flagging major, while Dunne scrambled up the far slope, getting very muddy in the process. Once up on the other side, he took off the rope he'd been carrying around his shoulder and tossed it down. Sheppard caught it and secured it around Greene, beneath where he was cradling Ford. While Bates and the others kept Clay and the others in check, Dunne and McKay pulled Greene and the unconscious Ford in his arms up out of the trench while Sheppard watched. They had just gotten Ford lying on the dry ground when everything went to hell.
A sound like an explosion violently rocked the ground, sending Sheppard back into the now thigh high water in the center of the trench with a splash. Everyone, except the trained Atlantian soldiers on the far side, looked towards the east…to where McKay's preventative measures to stop the old machinery controlling the flood mechanism finally fell to pieces.
"Throw Sheppard the rope!" McKay shouted to Dunne. "Hurry!"
The young corporal moved as fast as he could, undoing the muddy wet rope from around Greene's torso. Sheppard, meanwhile, had emerged from his involuntary dunking, spluttering and shaking the stinging water from his hands and body, and was now moving to scramble up the muddy slope on his own, even knowing he couldn't possibly move fast enough on the slick surface. He could taste the horrible liquid on his lips and in his nose, and knew it wasn't a good thing that he'd just swallowed some of it.
Dunne threw him the rope, and Sheppard caught it. Quickly getting it around his waist. The prisoners watched, most with smiles on their faces. On the gate side of the trench, Stackhouse had to force himself not to pull the trigger of his P90 in order to wipe the smug looks off their faces.
The water in the Trench rose rapidly, more and more water gushing down in mini waves, looking to fill the Trench to the brim.
Sheppard continued to scramble, then slipped and fell on his front. It didn't stop his upward momentum, however, as he found himself being roughly pulled up by the combined strength of Greene, McKay and Dunne. But it did allow him to twist and look down the trench, where a tidal wave of water was now rushing straight for him.
"Heave!" McKay yelled over the din of rushing water. "We have to get him out! That water's poison!"
A strong tug, and suddenly Sheppard's upper body was up over the lip of the trench, and he was pushing with his legs…just as the water hit them. He felt his entire world shift sideways, as the water tried to pull him down and along, and he yelled as he gripped the slick rope in his hands.
Then the world lurched upwards one more time…and he was free.
He lay on the edge, gasping for air, staring at the flooded trench a few feet away with disbelieving eyes, hearing nothing but the sound of the water. My God…seconds…that had taken seconds for it to fill.
The trench was completely flooded, water sweeping down it at a record breaking pace. It really was a nasty trap. By common accord, everyone backed up a little as the flood waters threatened to spill over the top edge, and Sheppard tried not to think about what might have happened had he and Ford still been in there.
Then young corporal Dunne was leaning over him, asking him questions, to which he just waved a hand. When he realized the dark haired boy was asking if he was all right, he nodded. Sitting up, the sounds of the rest of the world finally clarified in his hearing, and he looked to check on the others.
Dunne was watching him, not hiding his concern. McKay was off to one side, coughing into his hands and half bent over. Greene, a field medic, was quickly administering to Ford, assessing the lieutenant's condition and checking the bandages. Ford was frighteningly pale.
Greene looked up at Sheppard's gaze, and nodded. "We need to get him back home, sir. Now."
"Then let's get the hell out of here," he commanded, glaring up at the unreliable sky, "Before that damn rain starts again."
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TBC
