Revised on 1-26-06 on advice from beta.
Beta: J.A.B.
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Chapter 3:
If hearing a culling was bad, then seeing it was gut wrenching.
As she ran back to the caves and Ronon, Teyla saw many people taken after she left the swampy land. No matter the method, culling beam or being physically stunned, it was a vicious reminder of Wraith dominance and power.
They were plucking this place clean of people as easily as she used to pick berries when she was a child helping the gathering groups that provided for her village.
Teyla did what she could as she ran, but a lone warrior with one P-90 and a 9 mil could do little to stop the atrocities that flashed by her. She didn't even have the time to spare to regret or have compassion for these almost-allies and what may have been a wondrous treaty that would have benefited three cultures.
Her fighting abilities were needed now, not her horror or her anguish.
"Ronon!" she called over her radio. "I am near the caves. Be prepared for my arrival."
The ex-Runner's voice replied with a husky grunt. "I'll try not to shoot you."
He didn't seem to be joking.
When she finally arrived, the bolts from Ronon's energy weapon where lighting up the darkness in red flashes as he took out soldier after soldier, their white thickset bodies littering the ground.
Some of the townspeople who were lucky enough to have escaped the initial attack were doing their best to help in the defense. Their weapons were crude compared to Ronon's gun and Teyla's P-90, but they were managing to kill what Wraith who blundered into their kill zone.
Desperation and the threat of annihilation were great motivators.
There was no time to take stock of how many where in the caves, Teyla just secured herself close to Ronon and let her mind and body settle into the battle tempo of killing without conscious decision. In times like this, all of her training during her childhood, and her newer abilities gained from the Atlantis Marines, allowed her body to respond with practiced and ingrained moves.
Darts tried to get near to the caves to take the survivors. Their culling beams cut close, but the rocky overhangs blocked most. A few defenders were unlucky enough to be caught outside the protection, and their forms sparkled away into nothing.
Except for a scream or two from a friend or loved one, there was no time to mark their disappearance.
"Sheppard and McKay?" asked Ronon's rough voice as he lined up for another shot. His face flickered in the low light, his expression moved between fury and a deeper maniacal grimace left over from the days that he was Hunted to the edge of his sanity.
"In the watery lands," she jerked her head to indicate the direction. "The Colonel is trapped and Dr. McKay stayed to defend him."
Ronon grunted again in approval.
The little man had surprised him earlier when Rodney had insisted on leaving the protection of the group to go look for their leader. Not just insisted, he had demanded with a hard edge to his expression that didn't bode well for anyone who tried to interfere with his plan.
Ronon had stepped aside, letting Rodney go unmolested and Teyla had followed him— hoping to speed up the process so they could make it back to the caves that much quicker.
McKay was like a never-ending twittering bird sometimes, but he was honorable and showed a great capacity for determination and loyalty. Ronon was almost reluctant to admit he was starting to like the hyperactive and egotistical man.
"Good," was Ronon's only reply to Teyla's comment.
"Have you tried to reach Atlantis?" asked Teyla and then had to move as a Wraith soldier took aim at her. She shot it down, ignoring it when the runny dark stuff that served as its blood mixed into the rain to join the growing stain upon the land before them.
She turned to sweep the area to locate more. It was becoming increasingly difficult to tell the difference between the Wraith ground force and the wispy illusions they used as distractions.
"The gate's still active. Can't get through."
'Of course,' thought Teyla, 'the Wraith would keep the gate active so there would be no escape for these poor people.'
She muttered in her rising temper and took it out on two more Wraith soldiers that she still wasn't sure were real. It only took a second for their bloody forms to confirm that they were solid, and dead, after her attentions.
Then she could only watch as another townsman was dragged away, to be taken back for his life force to be drained from his body. Her angle was difficult for killing the Wraith but she was tempted to fire anyway.
Better for the man to be killed by a friendly bullet, than for him to be terrorized as a Wraith hand clutched his bare chest and ripped away his years.
In the end, she just turned away to kill what enemies she could and to push the terrified man's face out of her memory.
"We can do little here," she spat out as she pulled the trigger and to let out a long burst of fire at the ghostly figures in the dark.
Ronon just grunted.
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It seemed perfect. The perfect plan.
Rodney wasn't strong enough to get Sheppard out of the mud, but the Wraith were.
They would see a potential meal trapped in the mud pit and they would drag Sheppard out with little physical effort. Then there would be no need for the Puddle Jumper or ropes or waiting for the culling to ease before getting help from Atlantis.
Rodney would call for backup during the Wraith 'rescue' and maybe Ronon or Teyla could make it back to help him take out the Wraith, and to retrieve the Colonel before Sheppard was taken off world.
They would have surprise on their side in the middle of the chaos of the culling, with the Wraith occupied by Sheppard and the others.
And if Ronon and Teyla were still busy at the caves, he would take out the Wraith by himself.
He was a good shot. Even if sometimes he got too excited to remember to reload his gun. He was better at doing the reloading automatically now after a little more practice with Sheppard and Ronon.
It was no problem.
Sheppard would give him that grin and they would go back to the caves, fight the Wraith off and go home.
At some point, there would be praise for the plan and his excellent plan making ability.
Rodney shifted in barely suppressed energy, waiting for his time. The perfect time for the perfect plan.
As the Wraith rescued the Colonel from the mud, Rodney tried to put his perfect plan in motion before Sheppard was used like a cocktail weenie appetizer before the big buffet of beleaguered townspeople.
Uneasiness hit Rodney when there was no answer to his radio calls back to the cave. He felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the cold rain as his mind raced to give him horrible images of why Ronon and Teyla were not answering him.
He could almost smell the blood as his inner eye splayed out their dead bodies in gruesome detail. They were dead at the caves, broken in the fight, life sucked out of them, captured, and waiting for their end in a holding cell . . .
The dull uneasiness elevated as the surprise part of his plan went right out the window as the lead Wraith ordered the other two to search the swamp after inspecting the lethargic Colonel, the vines and the extra uniform jacket.
He hadn't even thought about his coat being around Sheppard. Rodney took a second to glare at the treacherous garment. Why hadn't he thought of that? It was so obvious!
Rodney crouched down in the wet; his dark pants smeared with muck, as he wiped the rain from his eyes and tried to find a place to hide. The scientist didn't notice when his hands trembled and his body shivered.
He spared another moment to glance at his friend to see if he was still alive and relatively safe. He saw Sheppard on the ground and feebly tugging at the vines. Rodney let out a breath of relief. At least Sheppard was out of the muck and still conscious.
With an expression of revulsion, McKay turned away and slid under another tangle of slimy roots, as he started calling for help again.
"Teyla! Ronon!"
If that last name came out in a squeak, he didn't notice as the sound of large feet splashed toward his hiding place.
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The cold rain eased a bit allowing John a clearer view as the enemy searched for Rodney.
Damn it.
He weakly pulled against the vines, but they seemed too strong just to pull free. He contemplated taking his vest off, but his clumsy fingers didn't seem to want to hold the little tab to pull down the zipper.
Double damn it.
He wasn't happy about just lying in the rain and waiting for the Wraith to drag him away to be someone's evening meal.
John shuddered as his body tried to reheat itself as he lay on the ground with roots and rocks probing the more delicate parts of his body.
Maybe he should start wearing an athletic cup on these missions. And maybe a helmet. Although the helmet would probably flatten his hair, it would give his back his cocky pilot look.
He tried to move again and all his joints decided they were going to complain about their ill treatment and the weather. He hissed quietly to himself and tried to rub some feeling into his hands and then he felt a burning needle sensation.
This was Rodney's plan?
Leave him with a possibly hungry and pissed off Wraith?
He might not be thinking straight after spending some time in a cold mud hole, but John was sure he would have come up with something better than this.
Well, he was pretty sure.
John took a quick look to make sure Rodney was still in the clear, and sighed in relief as the Wraith continued to look in the underbrush with impatient motions.
Go, Rodney.
With half-numb, half-burning fingers, John probed his gunbelt to discover his 9 mil had not survived the muck. It was a shame, really. He liked that gun. It had just the right balance and he'd named it Wynona.
John Crichton's weapon was named Wynona on the Farscape television show. He remembered a firm discussion he had with Major Lorne about the naming of his weapon. Remembered the look on Lorne's face when—
He abruptly shook his head hard enough to see sparkles in his vision. His rain-flattened hair spiked up as the droplets flew to the ground. What the hell was wrong with him? Now was not the time to let his thoughts wander down memory lane.
John rolled slightly and felt the back of his belt for his knife.
It wasn't his favorite thing, his favorite weapon, but it was good for cutting and poking at things he didn't want to touch with his hands.
He took a moment to eye the lead Wraith as it stood watching the searching soldiers. It seemed to be ignoring him and if that was because it didn't see him as a threat, or it was just that sure of victory, John wasn't sure.
As quietly as Sheppard could and with as little movement as possible, he tried to hack through the blue vines. Sons of bitches were tough to cut, especially with his fingers feeling like they were two sizes too big and his shoulders hurting from the strain of holding on to the roots earlier.
The blade slipped more than once, leaving cuts in his uniform and on his hands.
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"T . . . la," hissed the radio. "Ron . . . n!"
Teyla stopped to catch her breath behind a boulder and she tried to make out who was calling her. It had to be Dr. McKay, but the signal was broken and distorted by interference.
"Dr. McKay? Are you and the Colonel well?"
The transmission stopped and she heaved a sigh born of frustration and guilt.
It had been hard to leave the two men behind. As a leader, she was often a protector – of the weak, the hurt or the downtrodden.
Her time with these people from Earth and the time she served on Sheppard's team was a new experience. On the team, she was expected to follow orders even if she disagreed with them.
That was not how it worked with her people. All of those who were able had a say in the protection of their homes. There were discussions amongst the leaders to find the correct path that would benefit them the most.
Communication was necessary for their survival and for the community to stay together.
Sheppard was from the Earth's 'military.' When she first met him, she saw how his leader, Sumner, gave orders and expected them to be followed without question or hesitation. And even though she saw Sheppard's tightly controlled rebellion against the orders, he was similar in his need to give orders and to have a clear channel of authority with his team and his soldiers.
Most of the time his orders were sound, but sometimes his want to protect his people overrode common sense and self-preservation.
Eventually, she came to understand him a bit more and made her own decisions after getting her orders. Sometimes, John Sheppard himself needed protection.
It was an insight that she tried to pass on to Ronon since he was new to the team. Sometimes it took more than her vigilance to keep the hardheaded military leader of Atlantis in one piece.
She saw both the need for the control of authority and the need to protect in Sheppard's face when he had ordered her away from the swamp. He wanted to protect her, Ronon and the townspeople left behind in the caves.
Wanted them to have some cover during the battle, even as he was left open and sinking into the mud.
She understood it, but she didn't have to like it.
Teyla did wonder why the Colonel had allowed McKay to stay behind. As much as they fought and as much as they pushed each other, they were friends with a deep bond. Someone that Sheppard would strive to protect in a situation like this.
Another blast came from nearby and she glanced at Ronon's fluid form. From the way he was viciously taking out whatever came into his sights, he was not pleased at the separation from the Colonel or McKay either.
Teyla didn't startle when the figure of a man fell against the boulder to her right side, taking gulps of harsh air. She gave the figure a glance and identified it as the town's Director, the one in charge of the day-to-day running of the community, and the one who had been in charge of negotiations for the treaty.
"Where is your Colonel Sheppard? Where is the help?" asked the man in a loud, dazed voice. His stressed face was moist with fear-based sweat and rain, and his breath was heavy. The man looked about to break from the strain.
To him, these new people had seemed secure and powerful, with strange weapons and technology that allowed them to fly. His hope for a better future had leaked throughout his town and his people viewed the visitors almost like some sort of saviors.
Their complete failure in keeping his town safe amidst the carnage was almost incomprehensible and he was desperate for any sign from Colonel Sheppard and his team that they were going to be able to help end this fight.
Any help at all to keep his people alive and safe . . . for his culture to survive.
Teyla understood. Watching your people and way of life being destroyed didn't allow for clear thinking.
"He is there," she replied shortly, indicating the mangrove-like trees and the watery muck.
At his wheeze, Teyla turned her full attention to the shivering man. "What is it?"
"How long has he been there?"
Teyla allowed a frown to form. "For some time. He was trapped in a pit filled with mud and he was unable to get free. Dr. McKay stayed behind to help him."
"Oh, dear," muttered the man, his hands shifted restlessly against the rock, and his eyes showed further disillusionment. "We didn't have time to tell you of our Sodden Lands."
Two Wraith captured Teyla's attention and she jerked up to send them to the ground with her P-90. "I do not understand," she hissed back at her rock companion.
"I'm afraid if your Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay do not return soon, they may never return. Wraith or no Wraith."
Her eyes were hard as she turned on the man. "Explain!"
The Director was a broken man, but he still felt fear as the female grabbed his arm with a rough hand.
TBC