"It started very routinely, sir," the first sergeant began, still staring right through Gibbs. "It was a straightforward rescue mission. SG-14 had been negotiating the release of a Tok'ra operative from the people of P2X-382 but were unsuccessful. The natives then took SG-14 captive as well. We were to retrieve both SG-14 and the Tok'ra."
"Authorized to use deadly force?" Gibbs interjected casually.
"If necessary, though it was intended to be a covert op," Leaven answered. "In and out, no witnesses, no casualties. We assumed there would be a guard, of course, and he would have to be dispatched accordingly. However, all indications had been that the natives were an otherwise peaceful people with...misguided notions."
Behind the glass, Daniel turned quizzically to Tony. "Since when do Marines use words like 'misguided notions'?"
Tony, too, seemed baffled but Kate answered Daniel's question in a whisper. "Leaven's an Ivy Leaguer. Top quarter of his class at Yale."
Both men turned to her with expressions of disbelief. "And he enlisted in the Marines?" Tony hissed incredulously. "Why?"
"Who knows?" Kate replied with a roll of her eyes. "Adventure? Testosterone? A 'misguided notion'?"
"We gated to the planet at night," Leaven continued. "The place was completely silent; everyone was asleep, as we'd expected. We started toward the village..."
Six men, black-clad forms barely distinguishable from the inky night around them, crept silently toward a sleeping hamlet. Night-vision goggles turned their world into a surreal green wonderland, while ready weapons preceded their owners into the darkness. All moved with calm confidence and catlike grace, until:
CRACK, followed by a muffled cry of pain. The last man in the formation dropped to the ground, clutching his leg. His companions, after ascertaining that the area was clear of enemies, came to his aid.
"Hoedemaker!" the leader hissed. "What happened?"
"I tripped, Colonel," the injured man whispered back, gritting his teeth against the pain. "Rabbit hole."
"We're on another planet," Leaven reminded him wryly. "They probably don't have rabbits."
"Well, whatever it was," piped up the fourth member of the team, from Hoedemaker's feet, "his ankle's broken."
"Aw, crap," groaned Hoedemaker. "Colonel, it doesn't feel that bad. I can keep on."
"No," Colonel Havelock replied swiftly. "Jones, you stay with Hoedemaker. Make your way back to the gate, but don't dial out yet. We don't want to tip these folks off any more than necessary. We'll complete the mission and be back before dawn. If we're not, get back to the SGC immediately. Understood?"
"Yessir," the two chorused, neither looking very pleased with the situation.
"Leaven, Smith, Greene, let's move out."
While the injured Marine and his escort slowly moved in the direction they had come, the four men continued toward the village in the same stance that they had been utilizing before the incident. In less than thirty minutes they had reached the outermost dwellings of the small settlement; five minutes later they were outside the house holding the prisoners. The colonel held up his hand.
"Smith, Greene," he whispered, peering into the shadows, "stand guard. Leaven, you're with me. Maintain radio silence. If we're not back in twenty, get to the gate and dial home."
The three nodded brusquely and the colonel vanished into the darkness with his first sergeant. They eased open the door, weapons at the ready. Creeping inside, they found...nothing. The single room was completely empty, dirt floor swept clean of any footprints and hearthfire dead.
The two shone their rifle-mounted lights in every corner anyway, just to be sure, before falling back and considering the situation. Colonel Havelock bent by the remains of the fire, sifting the ashes through his fingers.
"Still warm," he mouthed to Leaven.
Leaven, eyes flicking vigilantly, made another round of the room, searching for any sign that might indicate where the prisoners had been taken. An odd shadow caught his eye and he moved toward it, squinting slightly.
A barely audible 'boink' sounded from outside the hut, followed by several metallic swishes and a muted grunt. The colonel looked up sharply from his crouched position by the fire, Leaven pivoted swiftly, and they broke for the door simultaneously. To Leaven's surprise, though, the colonel stopped just inside the entrance and held up his hand. Motioning for Leaven to remain silent, he listened to the sounds of what was now unmistakably a low-volume firefight. Only when the night returned to silence did he allow Leaven to move. Sprinting to where they had left Smith and Greene, they were greeted with a grisly sight.
Greene lay slumped against the wall of the hut, weapon in hand, face set in grim determination. Dark blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, though, in stark contrast to the white foam coating his lips and dribbling down his chin. His eyes looked as if every blood vessel in them had burst and his skin, what little of it showed outside his uniform, resembled raw meat.
Smith lay nearby, sprawled on the ground in much the same condition. Leaven, frowning in disturbance, crouched next to the body and examined it as closely as he dared. He was about to roll Smith over when the colonel hissed at him from Greene's body.
Look, he mouthed, indicating Greene's neck. Two small, feathered darts protruded from either side. Leaven turned Smith over and found two darts in his neck, as well as one stuck in his vest. He grimly noted that he'd never seen a poison act so quickly.
Without a word, the colonel and the first sergeant each shouldered a teammate's body and set out for the stargate at as quick a pace as they could manage.
"We found three natives dead in the street," Leaven continued, his voice carefully masking any emotion. "Smith and Greene had managed to shoot them before they were killed. We didn't run into anyone else until we got to the gate..."
Leaven and Colonel Havelock ran, barely panting despite the heavy loads on their backs. The gate was just ahead of them and they could make out the shadowy form of Jones moving towards them.
"Colonel!" he exclaimed in a whisper, catching sight of the limp forms of Greene and Smith. "What happened?"
"The place was abandoned," the colonel replied. "They knew we were coming."
There was a sudden commotion by the gate and the silence was abruptly shattered by yells. The three men turned to see several dark figures struggling to carry...
"Hoedemaker!" Jones shouted, running toward the scuffle. There was a sound of tearing velvet and Jones flinched, grabbing his neck. The sound came again, and again, and again, darts hitting Jones in his arms, his vest, his face. It wasn't thirty seconds before he collapsed on the ground, dead.
The colonel and Leaven stared in horror from their sprawled positions on the ground; they had dropped as soon as the darts started flying. They raised their rifles and managed to hit one native before the gang melted back into the darkness, Hoedemaker's yells fading slowly into the night.
Leaven stood and readied himself to run after his teammate but the colonel stopped him with a hand on his arm. At Leaven's bewildered expression, the colonel explained.
"There's no way we can go in there. We can't protect against those darts!"
"We can't just --" Leaven began.
"The fact that they captured him alive is a good sign," the colonel rationalized. "We'll go back and get reinforcements, figure out some kind of protection against the darts, but right now we can do nothing."
Leaven gave the colonel a long look before slowly nodding. He picked up Smith again and carried him over to the gate, setting him down gently right next to the giant ring. The colonel did the same with Greene, and they both handled the larger Jones.
"Dial home, Leaven," the colonel sighed, and the first sergeant complied. The stone ring began churning with its encouragingly familiar sound and Leaven relaxed slightly.
A sharp 'thwack' made Leaven turn around. Seeing nothing, he glanced down in confusion and saw feathers sticking out of his vest. Alarmed, he grabbed the colonel and pushed them both to the ground. Crawling for the open wormhole, Leaven punched in his IDC and the colonel reached for his sidearm.
"Silence is out the window now," he muttered, squeezing off a deafening shot at an emerging native. Darts flew over their heads and occasionally impacted their vests, but so far none had managed to puncture the skin.
Again by mutual, silent agreement they thought first of their fallen comrades. Each grabbing one hand of Smith and Greene, and both latching on to Jones, they apologized for the indignity and dragged their friends through the gate.
Leaven finished his story with a small sigh but otherwise displayed the same lack of emotion he had maintained through the whole tale. Gibbs finished jotting a note before looking back up at the first sergeant.
"Do you blame Colonel Havelock for what happened?" he asked casually.
"No, sir," Leaven answered unequivocally. "The colonel did what had to be done. In his position, I would have done the same."
"Were you angry that he left Hoedemaker?"
"At first," Leaven admitted. "A Marine doesn't leave his men behind. But later I realized he was right. If we had gone after Hoedemaker, it only would have gotten us all killed."
"Why did you leave the Corps?"
"I saw three friends die that night," Leaven explained stonily. "Three horrible deaths, and one carried off to who-knew-what-kind of torture. I realized I wasn't ready to watch more friends die, or worse. General O'Neill gave me leave and when it was over, I decided that that life wasn't so bad."
"Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to kill Colonel Havelock?"
Leaven thought for a moment. "No, sir. The colonel was well-respected and liked by those who knew him. He was a bit aloof but not unduly so." Leaven paused. "Sir, this interview isn't about that mission, is it."
Gibbs raised an eyebrow and answered simply, "No."
Leaven's eyes closed briefly in his first display of emotion since the interview began.