AUTHOR: Wraithfodder
See PART ONE for disclaimers, copyright and other notes.
2. NOT AS EASY AS IT SEEMS
Sheppard kicked his boot against the base of the first board, which now buried a foot in the deep sand. Ford was busy setting up the second target about twenty feet away. What Weir didn't know wouldn't hurt her, and he figured that she might get a little antsy if she'd known he'd grabbed an entire side of the crate instead of just half. While he realized that their supplies were finite, somehow he didn't see that they would need the wood to re-crate anything, and if they had to resort to burning wood to keep warm, then they'd definitely be in deep trouble.
'Doug' would withstand quite of bit of auto shot action before he'd get knocked down. Sheppard had pushed enough sand up against the backside of the wood to ensure that.
The other target – 'Bob,' which had been carried right behind 'Doug' - would have a much longer lifespan.
"Are we ready yet?"
McKay's annoyed shout carried over the hundred feet of land from the gate to where Sheppard stood. There was no way that Sheppard was going to situate the wood facing near the gate, having heard enough horror stories about broken DHDs and stranded SG teams. Plus there were some great medium-sized dunes of sand right behind the targets to absorb any stray bullets.
Sheppard squinted through his sunglasses at the scientist who was sitting in the shade of the massive circular Stargate. In fact, that was the only shade within a hundred miles of their location, save for miniscule half-inch patches of shade from rocks when the sun went down at dusk. High noon was over, and fortunately the temperatures wouldn't hit past 90 degrees Fahrenheit for the rest of the day. However, they weren't going to stick around for the evening hours. He'd had enough experiences freezing in desert situations in the past that he didn't need to listen to all of Grodin's dire meteorological reports on that topic.
McKay made some impatient hand gesture in the distance, which Sheppard chose to ignore. While the scientist had more than proven his bravery in that debacle with the energy creature, Sheppard was still a little leery about putting a P-90 in the man's hands. A scientist with a gun in hand was scarier than a scientist with a nuclear weapon. Scientists knew about designing missiles, bombs and whatnot, but they didn't go into the field and aim the missile or drop the bomb. The military did. Scientists weren't forced to kill another human being in a kill or be killed situation. Soldiers were. While he knew without a doubt that McKay had been willing to sacrifice himself to save the base, he had no idea if McKay would be able to shoot another person to save himself or the team.
Teyla, on the other hand, he trusted implicitly. Although Sheppard had spent virtually his entire life lead by rules and regulations, he'd also let his gut feelings guide him. That was one of the reasons he was now on an alien world with pumpkin orange sand and light yellow skies that gave everybody a sallow complexion, rather than back on Earth, flying choppers in a battle zone in the Middle East. Teyla's devotion to her people was unwavering, and he felt that she would give the same devotion to being part of his team. He couldn't quantify his feelings in demonstrable actions at this point, but he was going with them. He knew that those instincts aggravated Dr. Weir to some degree, but so be it.
"Ready on my end, sir."
Ford had trudged through the tiny waves of sand and stood a couple feet away. His hands rested on the butt of the P-90 attached to his vest. He wore his ever-present cap and squinted at the gate and the two people standing in the shade. "Think we should have brought along Stackhouse and Markham on this jaunt, sir?"
Those two sergeants had been the first to go on missions in the puddle jumper. Well, first past the initial rescue mission to the Wraith's world. Sheppard wanted the first few trips to be military in origin, just in case they ran into more Wraith. Plus those missions had been a good training exercise for the two men. They would be heading up the second SGA team for off-world missions, and flying a puddle jumper was going to be mandatory in some situations.
"I think the less people in the line of fire, the better," responded Sheppard.
Ford's devil-may-care grin evaporated. "You don't think they're that bad a shot, do you?"
"No." Sheppard shook his head. "As long as we stand behind McKay, I think we'll be safe."
"I think that's a given, sir."
Sheppard waved for McKay and Teyla to come over to the targets. McKay waved back. "McKay, get over here," shouted Sheppard. Teyla was already heading their way. McKay grudgingly got up off the sand and proceeded out of the shelter of the soothing shade into the heat of the omnipresent sun.
"Is this going to take long?" McKay asked as soon as he arrived.
"Why?" asked Sheppard. "You have a date?"
"No," said McKay defensively. He continued to dust grains of sand off his pants. "It's hot. Why did we have to wear these vests? They're black. They absorb heat, at a rate of—"
"We wear them because they're the uniform we're going to wear on off-world missions," cut in Sheppard. "While I'm sure you've stuffed your pockets with power bars, we carry ammo and supplies, and the P-90 hooks here." Sheppard pointed toward the zipper clip on his own vest.
"It's uncomfortable and," said McKay in an abrupt tone, "My pockets are not stuffed with power bars."
"You're right." Sheppard studied the bulging vest pockets on the scientist. "You've got chocolate, too."
McKay glared at him. It was that same intense look Sheppard had seen McKay give some recalcitrant piece of technology the other day.
"Think it will melt in this heat?" said Ford.
Sheppard shrugged. "Nah, we had bars in Afghanistan that could go through a furnace before they even started to stick to the wrapper."
"These are … interesting … designs." Teyla was looking at his handiwork and, Sheppard knew, his artistic renderings.
"I think they're early Picasso." McKay diverted his attention to the board behind Sheppard and gestured dramatically at the face. "See this eye? Well, I think it's an eye. Could be someone just wasn't paying attention as the eyes aren't even on a horizontal line and one is bigger than another and well, these teeth. This wouldn't be any chance be … a Wraith?"
"Yes," admitted Sheppard.
"Hopefully this didn't take long to draw." McKay crossed his arms, the beginning of a smirk appearing on his face.
"No, it took about 30 seconds with a magic marker," said Sheppard, studying the lines. Okay, it wasn't really all that great, but… "Quite honestly, given more time I could draw a much better image as I had that lady Wraith's face just inches from mine not so long ago, and I can tell you for someone who was probably a few hundred years old or something she had a pretty good complexion but her hair looked like she dyed it in raspberry Kool-Aid, she needed major dental work, and her pupils looked just like a cat's, so if we ever go back to Earth, a cat will definitely not be my first choice of pet." McKay's smirk deflated. "Meanwhile…" Sheppard pointed at three X's drawn on the 'Wraith's' chest. "This is where I shot her through, back to front, and it barely made a dent in her. Of course, she was sucking the life out of Colonel Sumner at the time.
"Anyway, ladies…" Sheppard nodded slightly to Teyla, at the same time dismissing those nasty memories of his encounter with the magenta-headed Wraith. "And … doctor. We're here to learn how to use this weapon against the Wraith. Will it kill them? Don't think so, but we need to make a dent in them so we can get home in one piece, and preferably, at the same age as when we left the base."
Sheppard waved his hand at Ford. "All yours."
Ford smiled like a used car salesman ringing up the final sale while he held his weapon up. "What we have here is the FN P-90 submachine gun, a blowback operated, selective fire weapon. It's fed from 50-round magazines made of translucent polymer." Ford held up the clip. "The P-90 is capable of firing 900 rounds per minute, which is why we carry extra clips in our vests. You can blow a 50-bullet clip in 3.3 seconds at full auto, but the P-90 has a two-stage trigger so you can fire single or full-auto." He quickly demonstrated that feature.
"The spent cartridges eject downward, so don't wear sandals otherwise you'll toast your toes," Ford grinned. "The gun also features a day reticle and a low-light reticle optical sight, the latter's for low-light situations and is automatically adjustable. We're using a standard SS190 round, which can go through a car door as well as people, or Wraiths. Once you get the handle of it, you can break down and clean the P-90 in under four minutes. Effective range is 200 meters. Controls are ambidextrous, and the safety's located right below the trigger. We've also got a laser scope, actually we have both visible and infrared, and the optional sound suppressor. Recoil is minimal. Any questions?"
McKay raised his hand. "Yes. Are we ever going to shoot it?"
Sheppard resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes. In fact, we're going to demonstrate the full auto feature now."
He had the group back up several yards, then motioned to Ford. "Lieutenant, just top off Doug."
Ford looked from the target to Sheppard. "Isn't this Bob?"
"No."
"You sure?" Ford looked doubtful.
"Yeah, Bob has four fingers on one hand."
"Ah."
"Does it make a difference?" McKay asked.
"Of course," said Sheppard smoothly. "Different medical plans."
McKay's mouth just dropped open, but no response was forthcoming, which was precisely what Sheppard wanted. Less talk, the faster this all went, and the quicker they could all get home. He also wanted to get that blasted sand out of his boots. It was a lot grainer than earth sand, and he could feel the granules working through his socks to the skin beneath.
Ford sprayed his P-90 across the top of target. Splinters flew, and Doug's 'head,' severed at the neck, toppled to fall behind the large plank.
"Now, it would be ideal if we could just do that to the Wraith," said Sheppard, "but they have this tendency to run around and shoot at us. Conceivably you could decapitate a Wraith if you fired long enough but we have to conserve ammo to a degree, plus it would leave any of us too vulnerable.
"Okay, Teyla, give it a shot," said Sheppard, ignoring the bad pun and the pithy look McKay gave him.
She paid attention as Ford ran over the features again; she knew how to switch off the safety, how the trigger system worked. Sheppard watched her with an astute eye. She held the weapon well, considering how little she'd had the chance to handle it. Ford explained precisely what recoil was as it wouldn't do to have that as a surprise. She took careful aim and fired. Doug spewed off countless tiny splinters and then his upper chest joined his head on the sand.
"Powerful." Teyla was somewhat astounded at the weapon she held in her hands.
"Oh yeah." Sheppard smiled broadly. "And this is one of the easiest guns to use. Just aim and spray. Okay, safety back on."
Sheppard turned his eyes toward McKay, who looked both excited and yet a little apprehensive. Sheppard cocked his head at Ford, who got the hint. Being commander meant not having to do all the dirty work.
Ford began giving instructions to McKay, who had also listened but who, as a scientist, seemed to have endless questions about the operation of the gun. Even Sheppard hadn't had that many questions when he'd had that weapon dumped in front of him for the first time many years ago. It seemed that several long minutes had passed before McKay decided to aim the weapon at what was left of poor Doug. Glancing to his left, Sheppard noticed that even Teyla, who had the patience of a saint, seemed exasperated by the passage of time.
"What part do I aim at?" McKay asked of no one.
"Just cut Doug in half," said Sheppard. "Think of him as someone who stole a grant from you."
McKay swung around. "Very funny."
Sheppard instantly backed away, placing himself in front of Teyla. "Aim the gun DOWN!"
McKay was startled, but quickly obeyed and pointed the weapon down at the sand.
Sheppard stepped forward and brusquely snatched the weapon from the scientist's hand. Thank God the safety was still on. Seeing that gun aimed at him had honestly scared him more than when the Wraith had pinned him to the table like a doomed bug. "Do you realize what could have happened if the safety hadn't been on and you'd pulled the trigger?"
"I, uh. Yes," replied McKay meekly.
"Besides cutting me in two, you would have killed Teyla as well. Those slugs at this close range go through a human body like a hot knife through butter. Do you understand?" It was cruel to point out the facts so harshly, and he knew his anger was born partly of the shock of being so close to getting killed by accident, but he saw no other way to handle it.
McKay looked suitably cowed, mortified even. Teyla and Ford waited for whatever would come next, which meant it was up to him. Taking a deep breath, Sheppard handed the weapon back to McKay. "Ford, let's try this one more time. McKay, just face forward."
"I don't know—"
Sheppard cut him off. "McKay, you have to learn how to use it. Just do NOT turn around."
McKay nodded. It took a minute or so before he got the confidence back to fire the weapon. The target split, but more at a diagonal cut. Which was fine if you wanted to kneecap a Wraith.
Sheppard and Ford took turns in instructing Teyla and McKay on the full auto feature of the weapon. Sheppard finally relaxed and began enjoying it more when he realized his shouting at McKay had worked. The scientist was listening, was keeping the safety on except when he was actually firing, but he was still reticent in using the weapon. It might have been the dressing down, but Sheppard now realized that McKay seemed truly uncomfortable in using the P-90. He decided to break his own training pattern, letting McKay bow out of the how to run and use the gun scenario. It wasn't worth the risk at this point in time, and McKay did know how to use the 9mm in his holster, so he wouldn't be completely defenseless.
Once Doug was nothing more than splinters and kindling scattered across the ripples of sand, Sheppard called the auto firing session to a halt.
Now it was onward to Bob who would, sadly, be shot to pieces, one single bullet at a time.
Looking at his watch, and the drifting sun overhead, he realized they had about two hours left before sunset commenced, and no matter what, they were getting out of there before that happened.
There was no need to get close to Bob. The whole idea of single shot was to shoot from a distance and take out the target. In essence, be a sniper. He didn't expect he'd have to ask Teyla or McKay to perform this grisly task, but as someone said, forearmed is forewarned, or something like that. At least this session was going to be a lot less risky, which is why he saved it for last.
McKay stared at the target. "It does have four fingers."
"All aliens have four fingers." Sheppard said simply.
"I have never encountered any race of beings with four fingers." Teyla gave him a bemused gaze.
"Uh, in cartoons," corrected Sheppard. "I'll have to show you some when we get back."
"More of your videos?"
"Yeah, well, we folks from Earth are really fond of videos," said Sheppard.
"Major, who do you want to go first?"
Ford was eager to blow Bob to bits. Sheppard was sure of that. Plus he'd also noticed the young lieutenant shaking his feet from time to time. The dreaded sand creep. Next time he went to any world with sand he planned to duct tape his pants to his boots.
"Well, I'll take the honors on this one."
He made sure McKay and Teyla watched carefully as he switched the P-90 to single shot. That was the easy part. The hard part was aiming and hitting the target. He was only thirty feet away, the same distance he realized, as he'd been to the female Wraith when he shot her multiple times. Damn, it was hard to forget the vicious look in her eyes after he'd shot her straight through. He shook off the mental image, then pulled the trigger and one of Bob's eyes suddenly let light through.
"It's just a matter of aiming and pulling the trigger," said Sheppard. "McKay, just point at his head."
Both Ford and Sheppard flanked him on either side, just a step behind. Sheppard couldn't help but take that precaution. McKay seemed to be easily distracted, which could be a fatal flaw with a weapon in hand.
McKay pulled the trigger.
"Ouch," said Ford.
"That is not Bob's head." Sheppard just gawked at the new hole in the target.
"Well," said Ford. "It is, uh, never mind."
McKay lowered his weapon as a look of total disgust swept over his face. "Oh, that is just so gross."
"Gross?" repeated Sheppard.
"You know exactly what I mean," said McKay. "I can't believe you said that."
"I didn't say that," argued Sheppard. "Ford did."
"Oh, both your minds are in the gutter."
"What does his head have to do with McKay shooting the target in the crotch?" asked Teyla.
The question had been very innocent, but Sheppard suddenly became keenly aware of just how much earth slang was tossed about without anybody explaining it to the Athosians. In this case, he was not going to be the one to explain the precise definition of that word. And obviously, judging from the mortified expressions on both McKay and Ford, neither of them was willing to do it either. Had the temperature abruptly gone up a few degrees, or was he actually embarrassed about this mess?
The silence was deafening. Damn, couldn't this planet at least have crickets or high winds? "So." Teyla's voice broke his thoughts. "I can only assume that head has something to do with the male anatomy. You all have the same self-conscious expressions I have seen on teenage boys in my culture."
Maybe he should have let McKay shoot him.
"Uh, we can explain this back at base. Maybe Dr. Weir can—" Oh God, what was he thinking! Sure, go up to Weir and ask her to explain to Teyla, woman to woman, about certain sexual practices among people from Earth. Oh yeah, that would sit real well with the doctor. Besides the fact that gossip flew like mad on the base, the next thing he knew he'd get called on the carpet for corrupting the morals of alien cultures. Maybe he'd let Beckett explain it. Yeah, it had to do with anatomy. That was medical.
"Oh damn," said Ford. "I mean, uh, damn, sir."
Thank god.
Sheppard turned to look at what Ford was upset about. The target had toppled over.
"Doug never did that."
Ford could read him like a book. It took several minutes, but the younger man had repositioned the target back into the sand and came back.
"Okay, Teyla," said Sheppard. "Just aim and shoot Bob in the … uh, skull."
"Yup, skull," repeated McKay.
"I agree," said Ford brightly.
"I will aim right between the eyes on his head," Teyla said with a mirthful quality to her voice.
Damn, she was not going to let them forget.
Bob's other eye vanished. Not quite between the eyes, but a helluva good shot for her first try. Of course, her previous weapons had been spears and bows and arrows, all quite efficient, and all requiring great skill.
Should he let McKay take another stab at it? It couldn't get any worse. Sheppard motioned for the scientist to take another shot. After all, they had at least 45 minutes till they hit their two-hour mark.
Remarkably, the heart shot McKay was aiming for turned Bob into a three-digit cartoon character now. His second shot was a gut shot, which meant while he aimed high, he struck low. Of course, maybe shooting the family jewels off a Wraith might stop them in their tracks. At least you'd be able to hear them scream when you hit them. That is, if they had that particular equipment.
Thud.
Sheppard was interrupted from his bizarre thoughts when he heard Bob topple over again. "Ford…"
"Yes, sir."
Ford's enthusiasm had definitely dwindled from just a couple hours before. The lieutenant once again stuck the large board into a standing position in the sand and returned.
Sheppard checked his weapon, aimed and… "Oh, for Pete's sake."
Bob wobbled briefly, then toppled over again.
Ford heaved a tangible sigh of disgust.
"I'll do it," said Sheppard. "After all, if I could get Doug to stay erect, I can do it with Bob."
McKay let out a howl of raucous laughter while Ford immediately covered his mouth before he said something to his commanding officer that he'd no doubt regret. Sheppard stopped in his tracks, the very impact of that one word bouncing around in his mind. He smacked himself in the forehead. "Oh god, just shoot me," he muttered.
"Is that an order, sir?" laughed Ford.
"No, that is not an order," snapped Sheppard, picking up his pace toward the target that he would set straight in the sand. No, not straight, standing up. Oh god, there wasn't a single word that just didn't sound like a double-entendre from an R-rated movie. And dignity? Wasn't that something a leader was supposed to possess? At this rate, his dignity was vanishing like water down a drain.
The further away he got from his team, the less he thought about it, though. He stared at Bob, watching sand slowly creep through the punched-out eyeholes. Why the hell did the board keep falling over? They'd shot the crap out of Doug and he'd never toppled once. The sand looked the same. Maybe Ford just hadn't packed enough sand behind the wood. Sheppard grabbed the board and pushed it in the coarse sand. Yup, went down into the grains just like Doug did. He shoved some sand up against the back. Nice and solid, like an emergency dam he'd once help assemble out of sandbags around a flooded air force base.
Sheppard was only ten feet from his team when everybody started grinning like idiots and looking past him. Sheppard turned. A few choice expletives went through his mind, but he chose not to utter them aloud. Bob was flat on his back - again.
He already had so much sand in his boots that it didn't matter now. He dug away at the coarse granules with his heel, carving out a trench, then shoved the wood into the sand. He piled even more sand in back of it. Well, screw that. This time he got behind the wood, placed his hands on top and pushed down with all his might. The board abruptly sunk into the sand, leaving it several inches below his head.
What the hell?
Sheppard looked up at Ford, who looked back at him with the same expression of puzzlement – then his entire world exploded to black.