Into The Fire - Part Three - Chapter Three(?)

A strange clicking sound filtered through the fog surrounding two unmoving figures. A slight breeze played with their jackets and chaotic hair. The smaller of the two dazed humans slowly moved with a low groan; the other remained still. Cautiously, the smaller one opened an eye hesitantly, then the other. Mist swirled around like something out of a cheap horror film, and strange clicks and moans echoed around them.

"Oh fuck."

The second, larger human stirred, roused by its companion's exclamation.

Craning their heads around the two tried to regain their bearings.

"Lieutenant?"

The smaller human twisted to look at the speaker, "sir?"

"Why are we hanging upside-down?"

A strong breeze pushed at the hanging captives and set them gently swinging back and forth, bound hands dragging against the rough dirt.

"Je ne sais pas, sir."

Reaching up to rub its beard, the larger human sighed and mumbled, "great. Just great."


Perschke kept the remaining team members still and silent for at least three hours before deciding he really, really, didn't like things. Quickly and silently, he ordered Welfing to get Keller back to the 'gate and secure the area.

"Sir?" Welfing protested as the captain went to go ahead down the path Trapper and Orr had gone. "Should we break ourselves up like this? It's not advisable if there's hostiles."

Though he was loath to agree, Perschke had to admit that the kid was right. IF, and that's a big if, the colonel and lieutenant were mia – there would be some baddies around and looking for any friends their prisoners might have had tagging along behind.

"Fine," he gave in with a hissing sigh. "Keep Keller between us, I've got point."

Welfing nodded and tapped Keller's shoulder, passing him his zat sidearm.

"I've got my own, sergeant," the archaeologist pointed to his handgun.

Welfing smiled, "this kills better. Now keep your head down."

They fell out, in a steady crouched pace, following the footprints of two pairs of standard issue combat boots, one size 12, another size 8, leaving behind their own assorted tracks.


Rhoannan's head felt like it was about to split in two.

Being suspended upside down doesn't help either, she thought as the blood pooled in her brain. She could just imagine how red her face must be.

"What's the last thing you remember, echo?"

"We were checking out some big stone thing when I saw you get cracked over the head from behind and something tried to do the same to me. I dodged it, but it smacked me pretty good in the chest and I passed out. Knocked the wind right out of me."

"Damn," Trapper muttered. His head was aching just as bad, if not worse, than hers.

"Did you get a visual on the baddies?"

Rhoannan shook her head, instantly regretting the movement as her brains seemed to smash around on the inside of her skull. It was enough to rip an agonized groan out of her. Trapper twisted to see a look of terrible pain on his lieutenant's face.

'Sons on bitches,' he thought angrily. "All I saw was something big and dark."

"Yeah," she agreed. "That about sums up what I saw."

"Son of a bitch."


'Come on, Mike, where the hell did you go?'

Perschke crouched next to a pair of footprints, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

Behind him Keller and Welfing squatted behind some big shrubs off the path.

It just didn't make any sense to him – they followed the prints this far, then they just stopped, like they were plucked right from where they stood. Tracing a print with his fingers, the 45-year-old Marine Corps captain groaned. His knees hurt like a bitch, damned arthritis, and he couldn't find a trace of where Mike Trapper or the lieutenant. He was getting far too old for this.

"Still no answer on the radio," heasked over his shoulder.

Welfing shook his head, "negative, sir."

'Where the hell did you go?'


Trapper had managed to free his hands by chewing through the hemp like rope.

'Needs salt,' he thought with a laugh to himself. He didn't bother saying anything out loud, Orr wouldn't care or find it at all amusing most likely.

"So, echo," he spit a piece of rope out of his mouth with disgust, "need a hand?"

Orr turned and graciously held out her own wrist to be untied.

"Thanks, sir."

If they hadn't been hanging upside down he would have shrugged.

"No prob – keep your eyes peeled."

Soon the ropes fell away and Trapper noticed, for the first time, that the young woman's hands were covered with blood. It was old and drying, but had obviously come from deep cuts on her wrists where the ropes had been tied.

"Jesus, kid! What the hell happened?"

"Nothing, sir." Orr covered her wrists with her sleeves and tried to wipe away the blood. "Just got a little cut up from the ropes while trying to get them undone."

Trapper looked at her in disbelief, but realized that he would get nothing more from the stubborn lieutenant. Craning his neck, the older man looked up to where his ankles were securely tied together and the short amount of line between his feet and the bough they were suspended from. It would be tricky, but he could probably pull himself up and untie himself. Without any further ado he started straining to get himself up to his ankles, fighting gravity the whole way.

Meanwhile, Orr began calmly searching her vest and the pockets she could reach for anything useful. All she found was a picture in her breast pocket of her family. Everything else had been taken away.

Well, almost everything. In her boot she could still feel the dagger stuck between the layers of leather and her wool socks.

Before she could even think of reaching up for it, something black and foul smelling appeared like magic in front of her. Looking up, she saw it was one of the things that had attacked them… and it was holding her zat.

'Oh shit,' ran through her head just as the weapon fired.


Welfing, Keller and Perschke all spun around with their weapons up as the familiar sound of a zat discharging echoed through the woods.

"Where'd it come from," Keller whispered, moving back to back with Welfing who kept his P-90 trained on the surrounding trees.

"I dono," Welfing answered hoarsely.

Sudden static breaks on their radios made the archaeologist jump nearly out of his skin. A pattern was repeated with the static taps. Keller listened closely.

"Is that Morse code?"

Welfing shook his head.

"No… I don't recognize it… if it is it's garbled, meaningless."

The breeze shifted and the light fog got denser and swirled around their feet.

Keller had a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. It was like the time he chugged a bottle of Buckley's on a dare – burning, but cold at the same time. Welfing felt more like there were frogs bouncing around in his gut; he was getting antsy, and he clutched his p90 like there was no tomorrow.

Perschke rose silently and began rounding the imposing rock pillar, checking for any signs of entrances or some sort of teleportation device. There were none that he could see, but the drawings that were on the stone disturbed the stony old marine.

Images of people hanging from a tree, and what looked to be dogs or wolves jumping at them… all drawing were bordered by two tall, robes figures that seemed to be leering over their captives.

Then he saw it – in the bushes on the far side of the pillar was a pile of equipment that had previously been carried by Mike and Orr. Missing was a radio, a zat and handgun.

He froze, looking back at the drawings on the stone. Something clicked in his mind when he saw a picture of a third robed figure looming behind a tree, as more human figures seemed to be searching.

"Fuck!"

Keller and Welfing were startled when Perschke dashed over to them, grabbed them by the shoulders and began dragging them back down the path.

"Sir," Welfing had to keep himself from shouting the word questioningly.

"Turn of your radios," Perschke growled as quietly as possible as they ran, "and shut the hell up. Keep you eyes open – we're going back to the gate now!"

Neither of the younger men thought to argue, but Welfing couldn't help but exclaim, "but the colonel and Orr?"

Perschke didn't look back, and kept running the whole time as they hastily made their way back to the gate. Keller dialed the DHD, entered his code and ran up to the gate.

"Code entered sir," he gasped, as he reached the wormhole.

Perschke nodded then pushed the scientist through, then jumped himself, pulling Welfing along with.

Once on the other side he looked up from where he had fallen and motioned to the control room to shut down the gate.

"Captain, what the hell happened?"

Perschke looked over to see General O'Neill walking into the gateroom with a less than happy frown on his face. All the others could do was shake their heads.

"Something got them – I think it was using our radios to try and find the rest of us. I found their stuff in the bushes by a big rock thing," he panted, pulling himself up off the ramp ignoring the young marine guard who offered his hand. "Whatever they are, they're fucking big and scary and they've got Colonel Trapper and Lieutenant Orr."

O'Neill closed his eyes and made a face that looked like he was trying not to swear.

"Sir, permission to mount a rescue with lots of back up?"

With a grimace and an eye rub, the General nodded and waved his hand.

"Yeah, I'll call up SG-1, 9 and 14 for backup…" he started saying, then opened his eyes and took a hard look at the three exhausted looking men before him. This seemed familiar, like it'd happened before. Had it?

Janet.

Yeah, that's what this reminded him of – when they lost little Napoleon…

Seeing the blank look on Perschke's face he realized he had stopped for an inner monologue mid-sentence. He was too tired. Too old.

Well… not that old.

"I'll call them up to meet in the briefing room AFTER you've gone through everything with SG1 and seen the doc."

He could tell from Perschke and the others' faces that they wanted to protest but he raised his hands and shook his head, pointing to the exit. Perschke saluted, grabbed Keller by the shoulder, and led the way to the infirmary.

Nodding to Walter in the control room he mumbled, "call up the cavalry."