Title: Deconstructing the General
Rating: R George curses a lot.
Synopsis: This is slightly AU. In the beginning of the series, Maj. General George Hammond was irked with Jack O'Neill when they first met. Some people believe that it was because Hammond was angry that his easy job to retirement had been shot to hell. The truth of matter is simple, really.
For thirty years, George Hammond has held onto a folded piece of yellow paper. In his own handwriting, he requested assistance for four 'Soviet Spies' and there are two dates and times listed. Now thirty years later, with the foretold General stars on his shoulder and Jack O'Neill in front of him, Major General George Hammond is wondering if the four Time Travelers were worth the personal price that George Hammond had to pay.
WIP
"Sir?" Captain Carter queried.
There was a slightest quiver in her voice, which meant she was uncertain. Whether Captain Carter was uncertain that her CO was dead and thought her career was over before it had barely begun or what, he couldn't have said.
"Captain, let me guess, we're no longer in Kansas, are we?" George Hammond questioned drolly.
"No, Sir," she agreed.
"I hope I didn't hurt you when I dove through the gate. That Al'Kesh was getting a little close to comfort. Colonel O'Neill? Doctor Jackson? Teal'c?" George called.
Quiet.
Ah fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!
Captain Carter cleared her throat, and he sighed. Inwardly, as Generals never ever sighed in front of their subordinates. No, they always remained calm headed and cool, even though right now, he knew that they were in a hell of a lot of trouble.
"They're not here, are they?" George questioned. He sat up, refusing to give voice to the pain in his shoulder and after he mistakenly opened his eyes, the General closed them quickly before he vomited, as everything went black and swirly on him.
"No," she answered.
"The Colonel would be mouthing off by now," George retorted. "I hope that means they got home safely, as they were in the wormhole before us. Can you dial us home, Captain?"
Silence.
"There's a problem with the DHD?" George questioned patiently, as he was all too familiar with how to pry vital information from close-mouthed Subordinates. Though this was the first time he had to do it off world with a concussion, and hopefully the last.
Good God, his ears were still ringing like he had been kicked in the face by a mule.
"Yes, Sir," the Captain whispered.
He was still sitting up, his long legs stretched out in front of him. George then tried to move his right arm and from he could sense, his right arm remained immotile. Carefully he opened his eyes, slowly, experimentally, waiting for that tell-tale disequilibrium to make a command appearance. It didn't and the nausea was gone, replaced instead by a screaming, fiery ache in his shoulder.
Both eyes opened, he then took a look at his surroundings. Lots of trees. Must be an old forest as their heights literally reached the sky. Their leaves had fallen to the ground, and there was that crisp smell in the air that forecast a hell of a lot snow. The clouds were dark, and either the sun was just rising, or it was going down.
Couldn't really tell.
What he could tell when he gingerly turned his head was that his right shoulder wasn't looking quite right, and there was a noticeable bulge a few inches below his shoulder. Shit. That was probably the head of the humerus bone that had popped out of his shoulder socket. He could move his fingers on his right arm, but not much else.
Damn, damn, damn. He had dislocated his right shoulder once before, and now, he could never say that again.
Hey! Least I'm a leftie!
There were a few old stone buildings nearby and the grass was quite high around the Gate, which combined with no Jaffa trying to kill them, meant that in all likelihood this was an abandoned Gate. It would be one hell of a bumpy ride on the road in front of them as the surface of thoroughfare was fractured and cracked.
Glancing quickly at the sky, he noticed that there were three moons in the sky which meant that they were in a different solar system than the one they had left. It also loudly announced that they hadn't landed on Earth in some god-forsaken, long forgotten beta site.
Please, God, let there be no hostiles.
Also out of the corner of his eye, he could see that a concerned looking Captain Carter was hovering near him.
"No, your CO ain't dead yet, Captain," he snapped. "Are you hurt?"
"Not really," she answered quickly.
Too quickly, in fact, which meant that she was probably hurt from the Ole Man throwing her through the Gate. From years of reliving a certain incident of his life over and over again, his blue eyes flickered to her hands. No wound.
Thank God.
Well, maybe that was a good sign?
"I do believe you're lying to me, but I can't do anything sitting down in the dirt," George growled. "Give me your hand; you'll have to help me on my feet, Captain."
Hesitantly, she extended her right hand out to him. Grasping his left hand with it, she gave a mighty yank in which Captain Carter was nearly successful in pulling her off her feet and onto his broken shoulder.
"Captain," George said quietly, trying hard to bite back a very bitter laugh. "You're a straw weight if I ever met one."
She looked confused by his term.
"Boxing weight class," he explained curtly, hoping she wouldn't think that he was commenting on her being a lightweight officer. Last thing he needed now was her to go off on one of her "I'm Female hear me roar!" speeches.
"Let's try it again, Captain, and this time, is there something you can hold onto? I need to get on my knees at least."
Carter nodded her head once, extended her arm again and gracelessly, he wallowed in the dirt, until this time he was on his knees. He managed not to scream only through sheer determination and biting his lip. Taking a few deep breaths didn't really help, and his right hand still wasn't doing a damn thing except swinging in the breeze, a few noticeable inches longer than the other one.
He was kneeling in front of the young officer, his left arm once again firmly on his right arm trying to give it some sort of stability and support and he sighed. There was no easy way to do what had to be done next, but he had to bite the bullet. Therefore he looked into the Captain's eyes, and said in his best no-nonsense voice, "Captain Carter, I require you to remove my belt."
"Sir?"
That was a definite squawk of an answer.
What the hell?
Did she think he wanted to knock their boots together?
While he had a dislocated shoulder?
Good God in heaven!
"I believe that I have dislocated my shoulder," George explained patiently. "I require my belt and yours, Captain. Because you'll be donating yours to the cause also as I'll need you to sling and swathe my shoulder. Use your belt as the sling, and swathe it with my belt. When we get back to the base, the orthopedic can just pop it back in after you fix the problem with the DHD."
"Sir, you haven't looked at the DHD yet, have you?" Carter questioned, too polite to remind him that she had told him that there was a whole heap of trouble with the DHD. "It looks like it was hit with staff weapon fire, as it's missing a few symbols."
That bit of news motivated him to actually stand up on his two feet under his own power, cursing creatively due to the agonizingly intense pain of his separated shoulder. Captain Carter appeared surprised by his ingenious and unique treatment of the English language and several foreign languages including Arabic.
There was nothing quite like cursing in Arabic as it got your blood moving and your heart pumping.
"You're not familiar with Arabic, are you, Captain?" He questioned quickly while he was staring at the charred remains of the shattered and melted DHD. Of the 38 symbols normally on the gate, there were a total of 30 or so.
"A wee bit, Sir," she admitted. "That last one was really rather inspired."
He barked a laugh, and then winced as laughing caused a whole new realm of sensations to occur in his right shoulder, none of which were pleasant, and were in fact, down right excruciating, agonizing and unbearable.
"Have you tried dialing out yet?" George knew the answer most likely was. "I'm not sure if I blacked out or not. Everything's a little fuzzy, Captain."
"No, you weren't out for long, Sir. I haven't tried to gate yet," Captain Carter informed him.
Good, she was settling down. A little nervous upon realizing the extent of the situation, but now she was calm, cool and collected. She had a mess of bruises forming on her face, but he didn't see any else.
"First, let's get my arm in a sling and swathed, Captain. Then let's give you another go around to see if you can get the gate to open," he ordered.
Samantha Carter
Great.
She was on a strange planet with her new CO, who knew her father.
In fact, Major Generals Hammond and Carter were thick as thieves as her father had faithfully gotten a George Hammond sketched Texas-style Christmas card every year as long as she could remember. The year before her Mom had died, they had received a card with a Santa wearing a cowboy hat, a black leather vest and cowboy boots with spurs riding a bucking bull much to her mother's amused disbelief.
Also her psyche kept jabbing her with a sharp needle and screaming that she should remember meeting General Hammond earlier on in her life. It was a Carter Christmas tradition to mention how for years, Samantha and Mark Carter had believed that Santa delivered babies on the day after Christmas.
Her father had blamed a "GEORGE" for that conviction and as far as Samantha knew, George Hammond was her father's only "George" friend.
She couldn't ask her father about George because she didn't desire Dad calling George. Being in the service as long as she had been, far too many Generals knew her as ole Jake Carter's baby girl, and she wanted to sink or swim on her own abilities, especially now, as she appeared to be drowning completely on her own merits.
The only time she could remember meeting George Hammond was after her mom's funeral when she had gotten overwhelmed by all the mourners in their house. Looking for an escape from the milling crowds, and despite wearing a dress, she had climbed high up among the big limbs of a perfect tree for climbing that overlooked their backyard. Five minutes after she had reached her leafy ascent, an auburn haired lite colonel by the name of George Hammond had joined her and suggested that she get her ass back on the terra firma as she was freaking out her father and both sets of grandparents.
Then he warned her that if she didn't go willingly, he'd haul her ass back down.
She had never mentioned that incident to him, as he had threatened to push her off the tree limb when she sassed him back and told him she'd like to see him try.
Yes, General Hammond had never mentioned how well he knew Jake Carter, fire breathing dragon or that he had met her in a tree prior to her walking into the SGC. In fact, he usually didn't say too much. Instead, he was always watching SG1 and her in particular, she knew. Measuring, qualifying, and making his own private judgments about each member of his flagship team.
Hammond didn't look too thrilled about the current situation, and in fact, the General had looked generally irked at her when she had wanted confirmation that he wanted her to remove his belt. It wasn't that Samantha thought that her straight laced CO was making a move on her, but she had a bit of ringing in her ears.
"Require you to remove my belt" had for just a moment sounded like, "Linus and Lucy Van Pelt".
The General was hunched over; supporting his right arm with his left, and he appeared to be in a hell of a lot of pain.
"Sir? Let me take my belt off," she requested. "I can sling your arm with it, and then…"
You can take your own belt off was what she was tempted to say, as undressing Senior Officers was usually a very bad career move that led to only one result.
"I can let go of my arm long enough to unbuckle my belt, but I don't think I'll be able to get my belt out of the loops," Hammond interrupted. "It's gonna hurt like a son of a bitch, Captain. But if you can't get that gate working, you'll have to pop back into the socket as I'm next to useless right now."
"First things first, I can move my fingers, so I'm assuming that means I have a pulse. Please check that and my capillary refill, as I'm afraid if I let go of my right arm again, it will fall off," Hammond insisted dryly and rather tersely. "You'll need to take my watch off. Fortunately, it's not my left hand, so you don't have to get my wedding ring off. Only way that you'll get it off of me, is if I'm dead. Then you're to take it, and ensure that my eldest daughter gets it."
Considering Hammond was in a significant amount of pain, Samantha was rather impressed with how calmly he was speaking. Yet, there was going to be blood spurting from his lip if he didn't stop biting it.
Quickly she confirmed that he had a pulse in his right hand, had a strong grip in his right hand and his cap refill was good. The General growled and winced during her exam, and for a moment, she heard his whispered, savage curses. When she looked at him, he actually blushed, and gave her a tight smile.
"I hope my language isn't offending you, Captain."
"No, no, sir, it's not," she agreed, trying not to show her amusement that her CO's face had gone tomato red because his junior officer had understood his rather fluent and rather original curses in Arabic.
The watch came off with a stifled scream, and Hammond nodded his head in approval.
"Take your belt off, Captain," he instructed.
Then Samantha quickly unbuckled her belt and removed it, making damn sure she didn't look at him when she did it. Then Hammond spoke to her quietly.
"Captain? There's been a slight change of plans. I want you to confirm that my shoulder is indeed out, and you're going to pop it in right now."
"Sir?" Samantha questioned, wanting to confirm that she understood.
"My muscles are spasming. Either the bone gets put back in right now, or I'll start… screaming," Hammond stated very, very intensely. "It's not that hard. It's very easy to put back in. It happened to me once before, and I was able to pop it in myself, but I just can't place my arm into that position this time."
"I haven't done this before," Samantha admitted.
"It's easy. I'll just lie down on my back," Hammond stopped for a moment, took a deep breath, held it and then exhaled. "You'll put your foot on my chest for leverage, and then you'll pull my arm…at forty five degrees or so until it slides in again."
She couldn't help but stare at him in complete bafflement. She was supposed to put her FOOT on her GENERAL'S chest and give his arm the old heave ho?
"Do it, Captain," Hammond's voice was no longer the low, mellifluous Texas drawl with which she was familiar, no, he now he sounded like a Goa'uld. "Do it now…You've got one chance to do it, and you better do it right."
The muscles in his arm and shoulder was having a goddamn party and hooting and hollering all over the damn place. The pain had increased tenfold when Carter was taking off his watch and he couldn't help his involuntary and truth be told, extremely crude voicing of his pain. He could, if had been alone, have attempted to pop the bone in by himself, but… that method was the last resort.
He was in too much pain to even think about getting back on the ground and wrapping his bad arm around his knee…
"Hold the arm," he ordered. "I have to take my jacket off."
Captain Carter grabbed his left arm, and he sighed.
Out loud, like a raw recruit.
"Right arm, Captain?" He hissed.
"Oh yes," she said with a slight flush.
"My fault," George apologized tersely. "My instructions weren't clear."
What followed next would have been funny; except for the fact he nearly screamed four or five times from the pain when his right arm got jarred. As it was, he did scream twice, before two of them maneuvered the field jacket off him and he was wearing only his short sleeved bdu shirt in the brisk wind.
"Now cut the right sleeve open," he instructed. "You need to confirm that my humerus is out of the socket, instead of merely broken in half."
Merely? MERELY? If it's merely broken in half, you're gonna need an orthopedic surgeon, George!
Carter carefully cut his sleeve in half and when she had finished, she paused.
"That's my wife," he explained through gritted teeth as he knew that she was staring at his tattoo.
Maggie Mae was in all her glory, wearing nothing more than a big smile and a Texas flag that barely made the tattoo legal in eight different states. Underneath her picture was the date of their marriage, the names of their children and the date of her death. Every few years, he got 'her' inked up again, and in fact, had gotten her prettied and freshened up just before Jack O'Neill sauntered into his life, so he knew that Maggie Mae was looking fresh and vibrant and the Texas Flag was doing everything but ripple in the brisk breeze.
Well, maybe it did look like it was rippling, as his arm muscles were in spasms.
"Wow," Carter exclaimed. "That's one heck of a tattoo, Sir."
"Stop admiring it, Captain. Just confirm that the bone isn't where it's supposed to be, and that the bone isn't snapped in half. If for any reason, you maneuver my arm so that my bone is sticking OUT of my tattoo rather than inside my arm socket, that will be an automatic cause for a court martial."
She winced, and he sighed.
"Joke," he said tightly. "Just an attempt to lighten the mood and get my mind off the pain, Captain."
Carter flushed again, murmured an apology and then poked and prodded his arm. He growled, roared, whimpered and whined while she poking his arm, and he was able to make a very rude comment, two stars be dammed when Carter agreed with his assessment.
Yup, the bone was out and dangling in the breeze. Well, least his knuckles weren't dragging on the ground yet.
"I'm sorry, Sir, I just haven't seen a tattoo like that before," she said. "It's exceedingly detailed."
Gingerly, he sat down on the ground, trying to ignore his pain. It was a constant pain, except when a spasm occurred and it started anew. It was almost… like… labor pains, he thought with bitter amusement. Then he bit his lip hard, before lying on the ground.
"Thank you, Captain. I drew it myself, and one of my buddies was handy with a needle," he explained, trying to pretend that this was a normal conversation and he wasn't breathing heavily to ignore the pain. "I have to admit that I'm surprised that you haven't seen one like this before. Now, grab my arm by the wrist and pull… gently… On my count of five."
He took her belt and put it between his teeth, wishing not for the first time that there was a doctor or two with a dozen shots of morphine with his name on them. Carter grabbed his wrist carefully, and then she gingerly placed her foot on his chest. With his left hand, he began counting down.
On the count of two, Samantha Carter pulled his arm and he commenced screaming. While Maggie had been able to give birth to Jocelyn with only a small whimper or two, he wasn't that strong. Samantha was a smart girl; she knew if she waited to start yanking at the count of five, he would have already tensed up from the anticipation of the pain.
Maggie was tuckered out. He was sitting next to her on the Carter's couch. He had one arm around her shoulder protectively and she had snuggled close to him. They were watching the Carter kids play with their Christmas presents even as they were whispering about their hopes for their next Christmas together when Viviane entered the room.
"Maggie, you look exhausted, why don't you go to bed? Jake's agreed to sleep in Sam's twin bed, George will get the couch, and you, Sam and I get the king sized bed," Viviane explained.
"I don't mean to kick you out of your bed, Jake," Maggie protested.
"Nonsense, I don't mind," Jake insisted.
It took a bit of maneuvering as Maggie was awkward these days, and she leaned heavily on George for a few minutes after Jake and him had gotten her upright. His wife was carrying awfully low these days, so George knew that it was only a matter of time before she had the baby. Goddamn it, of all the times to get transferred! He had requested this transfer back in mid August!
And because of that damn spy episode, the powers that be had hemmed and they had hawed and they had made him jump through hoops even though the new commander at Cheyenne had made plain his strong desire to see the back of everyone's head had been involved in the Soviet Spy Incident running out the door to a new assignment.
Damn it, he had ruined a lot of good people's careers, as that was a blemish on their records that would haunt them for the remainder of their enlistments. Plus, he had those four plus months of hell he had lived through, and it was nothing compared to the abuse and castigation his wife had gotten from her so called friends.
George helped Maggie get ready for bed, and tucked her in. He then returned back to the living room where Viviane grabbed him by the arm.
"When is your wife due again?" She questioned.
"Two weeks or so," he informed her.
"Are you sure?" Viviane questioned intently.
"We saw the doctor yesterday. He says it's a good two or three more weeks," George insisted. "Why do you say that?"
"Your baby is on the launch pad and counting down, George," Viviane insisted. "She'll have that baby by New Year's."
Jake heard the conversation and shook his head, "As long as it's not tonight. There's three feet of snow on the ground and they're forecasting another couple feet."
Soon everyone was asleep, including George, even though the sofa wasn't that comfortable. But it had been a long day, and he was tired… It was close to midnight when he felt someone jab him.
"Not tonight, Mags, I'm tired," he groaned. "'Sides girl, what will the Carters think? In the middle of their living room?"
"Hi," said a little girl's voice. "Are you awake?"
He opened one eye and saw Samantha Carter staring at him. He couldn't believe it; the little girl hadn't talked to him all day and all night even when they had played Matt Mason underneath the dining room table. Instead she had shyly issued her commands to her Executive Officer, that being her dad, who in turned gave her orders to George, and she was now waking him up to talk?
"Thank you for Matt Mason," she said in a very serious voice. "I love him. I want to be an astro …astro…"
"Astronaut?" George smiled.
"Yeah, I want to be an astro nut when I grow up."
She looked so serious that he couldn't even crack a smile when she mispronounced the word.
"That's nice, dear. I'm sure you'll be a great one! Now why don't you go back to bed with your Mom?" George questioned, not wanting to get too annoyed. "We can talk tomorrow morning."
"I can't. Mommy says wake you. Woke Daddy. Woke you." Samantha explained in that too serious voice of hers. "I sleep on the couch. Mommy says. Mark has to sleep on the floor.""
George sat straight up and tried to find his shirt. He was just wearing a pair of sweats.
"Pretty," Samantha whispered, pointing to his shoulder. He had a tattoo of Maggie on his arm which he had gotten inked two days after they had gotten married. The picture didn't do her justice, but it was a way of keeping her with him always.
"That's my wife," he explained, as he was still looking for his shirt.
"Her tummy hurts," Samantha explained before giggling. "She wet the bed!"
Samantha giggled again as George's heart sank.
"Like a baby!" Samantha said helpfully. "I'm not a baby anymore. I'm a big girl!"
"Aw… SHIT!" George cursed. "She can't be in labor."
Samantha giggled wildly at him.
"You said a bad word!" Samantha giggled. "My Daddy says them too! He tells me to not tell Mommy! He also tells me not to say them!"
"Samantha…"
"My name is SAM!" she interrupted.
"Ok, Sam, I'm going upstairs now. Get on the bed and go to sleep," George instructed.
Jake Carter met him at the stairs. He was wearing his pjs and he had obviously dressed in a hurry as his shirt was inside out. His dark eyes were a little wild eyed and he was muttering something rather obscene.
"I'm to boil water. You got your pilot's knife on you?" Jake questioned.
"In my pants' pocket," George explained. "Downstairs by the couch."
"I'm to sterilize my knife and yours with whatever I can find plus boil water. Viv's on the phone with the hospital and it looks like we're delivering the baby here. I just checked; we can't get out of the driveway as the snow is still falling."
"The doc said two more weeks!" George protested. It was a vain, futile protest, but Good God, Maggie was in labor in a stranger's bed!
"It's tonight, George," Jake informed him. "Now get up there, grab as many towels as you can from the bathroom on your way."
Maggie was scared.
He could tell the minute he walked into the room.
Viv Carter had the heart of a drill sergeant, as the bed was neatly stripped of its covers, except for a few blankets that covered Maggie. Viv had a watch in one hand, gripping Maggie's hand with another and somehow managing to balance the phone as she was reporting information to the doctor.
"Her water's broke, one second… George… I need you here, please, by Maggie's side."
George kneeled on the side of the bed next to Maggie. Maggie latched onto his hand with a death grip. She was terrified. And to his amazement, after all his deep, dark fears about becoming a father, now that it was happening, he was outwardly as calm as the proverbial June bug. With his free hand, he wiped her sweaty hair out of her dark eyes.
"Hey Darling, fixin ta to have a Christmas baby, are you?" He spoke in a slow drawl, stressing his small town Texas accent, as Maggie and he always did when they were alone together.
"George…" Maggie whispered in a very shamed voice. "I ruined their mattress."
"Darling, we'll make amends with a new one so don't you get all worked up about it," George promised. "I'm so sorry, dear. So sorry…Your mamma wanted to be here for this…I wish we were in Colorado… oh God…oh how I am wishin' we were still in Colorado…It's all my fault we're here in Alaska."
Well not completely his fault, and again, he realized the extent of burden he had so glibly accepted, unknowing and uncaring of the pain he'd put Maggie through.
"I want my Mamma, George," Maggie whispered. "I'm so scared. "
You four better be worth it, he vowed. Or else I'm taking it out of your hides when we meet.
"What happened, darling?" He questioned softly, trying to project a confidence he was sorry lacking. She needed to be in a hospital! Not in a near stranger's king size bed! "You're fixin ta have our baby, quick as a hiccup in the Carters' bed. They've been right neighborly with us, real good folk, but that might be askin' a bit much."
"I've been having short little cramps since we moved. Yesterday, I asked the Doc when he examined me and he just told me it was nothing to fuss about, that it was just false labor as my body was getting to ready to have the baby. He told me that I was to worry only when they came real regular like and hurt real bad," Maggie explained softly. "They weren't regular during the dinner, and they didn't hurt, so I figured they weren't nothing. Nothing at all, George. I was so tired, and went to bed early. I was barely asleep when I made a big mess on their bed, George."
"That doc's a fucking idiot," George snarled.
"George, I ruined their mattress," Maggie wept. "They were so kind to us."
"Darling, don't worry 'bout the mule, just unload the wagon," he whispered.
Viviane questioned from the foot of the bed in a very concerned voice, "I have no idea what you two are talking about, but there will be no mules in my bedroom!"
Maggie and he both laughed hard, until Maggie had another contraction. She gasped and grabbed his hand hard until the pain eased.
"Easy, easy, girl," he whispered, as he wiped a cool cloth against her sweaty face. "Everything's going fine."
Then he turned to face Viviane. "I just told her to have our baby, and I'll make amends with you about the mattress. The only mule in the room will be me, as I'm a stubborn Texas mule."
"Are you alright, Sir?" Carter questioned intently.
His junior officer was having one bitch of a time trying to get his arm positioned correctly. His spasming muscles were tighter than hell and the goddamn shoulder wouldn't go back into position, no matter how many times nor how hard she yanked his arm about. It was a near miss each time, he could swear, like a scared pilot unable to land on the naval aircraft carrier.
Zooming in, almost touching down before getting scared and pulling up into the wild, blue yonder.
"Don't worry about the mule," George said loudly with a great deal of asperity. "Just LOAD the damn wagon, Captain!"
"I have no idea what you mean, Sir! There are no mules here!"
He had to laugh, as Samantha sounded exactly like her mother had all those years ago.
"Just do it, Captain!" George informed her.
George let out a full fledged scream, as Samantha Carter twisted and hoisted his arm back in the socket. Then he gasped in relief when, with an almost audible click, the bone went back into position.
Jack O'Neill waved his arms in the hopes of keeping the medic at bay. He had far more important things to worry about, such as he was missing his CO and his 2IC after a nice day off world.
Plus the Gate was down.
Yes. The Gate was down, as was half the mountain apparently. There had been a surge of some sort and the Gate had hiccupped, sparked an arc and then had shut down. Sgt. Siler, the resident mechanical genius, was shaking his head. He held a voltmeter in one hand, and a large wrench in another, plus he had a large blood soaked bandaid on his temple. The surge had thrown Sparky clear across the room and he would need stitches to close the wound, but Sparky had slapped the bandaid on and insisted on going back to work when he realized that Hammond and Carter weren't back.
The news had traveled fast through the SGC, and there was a surfeit of volunteers from the all the departments, all insisting that they be allowed to help.
"Problem, Sergeant?" O'Neill questioned.
"I think the Gate blew a fuse." Siler stated in his usual laconic way.
"Think you might be able to run out to the Home Depot and find the right fuse?" O'Neill snapped.
O'Neill waved an apology, as he knew he shouldn't be short tempered with the injured man, but damn it!
"It's not that simple, Sir," Siler explained. "We have to test the semiconductors…the wiring…"
"It never is easy, Sgt," O'Neill retorted. "That's what makes our job so much fun. Now tell me what you need to get the gate back online, and how much time you're going to need."
"A minimum of forty eight hours," Siler stated firmly.
"Forty eight hours? May I remind you that there is a two star general that is in command of this facility that is under enemy fire right now?" O'Neill reminded him. "On another planet? He'll be looking to get home, Sparky. That is not acceptable!"
Siler took a deep breath, and the NCO began speaking patiently.
"Sir, there was a major energy spike the moment you three exited the event horizon. There were two other entities were in transport through the wormhole, at that time, which I'm assuming were General Hammond and Captain Carter. We also know that there were two energy patterns forming in the buffer. They were about to exit the event horizon when the spike occurred. Sir, every circuit breaker connected to the Stargate popped," Siler explained. "The computer crashed and even it took the UPS system and the half the mountain down with it, Sir. And when the computer came back up, Sir, the buffer was empty."
"Wait… wait…" Daniel Jackson inserted quickly. "What happened to Sam and General Hammond? They were in the buffer?"
"Yes…" Siler explained. "But they're not now."
"Where are they then?" O'Neill questioned. "I wish Carter was here. She'd give me a straight answer…. It wouldn't make any sense, but it would be a straight answer! Sparky, where are they? Spit it out!"
"Sir… I don't know," Siler explained. "They could have returned to the gate of origin…"
"With a few hundred Jaffa waiting for them," Jack reminded him. "Let me hear the other choices."
"They could be on another planet," continued Siler. The sergeant paused and then said the ultimate, final choice which Jack didn't want to hear. "Or… they could be dead, Sir because their energy patterns are no longer in the buffer. But there must be a failsafe device to protect patterns that are in the buffer, Sir, but we're not sure."
"Like a tape backup?" Daniel questioned.
"Tape backup?" mouthed O'Neill. He shook his head and then turned to the SGC's resident Gate expert. "T, what do you know about the gate? Is there anything you can think of that might be useful?"
The Jaffa shook his head slowly, and regretfully spoke, "I am afraid not, O'Neill."
"Very well then, as of now," Jack looked at his watch before spitting out the time and date.
"I'm taking command of this establishment. All resources are to be focused on getting our personnel home. I will contact General Ryan and advise him of the current situation," O'Neill ordered. "We will get our people home. There is no OTHER acceptable alternative, is that understood? No one is ever left behind!"
Some people might think he was a goof-off, but when the chips were down, he played to win.
It was getting brighter, rather than darker, George noticed. Thank God something was going right! His right arm was neatly slung and swathed, and he could move his right to about so high before he had the urge to scream.
"Captain Carter," George drawled. "How do you feel?"
She began mumbling some horseshit and he cut her off quickly with a single gesture.
"Captain Carter, when I ask you a question, I expect you to be completely honest with me," he explained patiently. "Cut the good solider crap please. I hit you pretty hard when I threw you through the Gate. Are you ok?"
"Little dizzy, Sir," she admitted finally.
"Ears ringing?"
"Yes, Sir," the blond agreed.
"How many fingers am I holding up?" He asked her.
She peered at his hand and George shook his head.
"If it's taking you that long to count them, then you've got a concussion to match mine. Any idea why we're here? Do you think the rest of SG1 got back safely?"
Carter gave him a rather succinct report, a perfect textbook example of a junior officer reporting to her CO. While he was quite grateful that she wasn't longwinded, he wanted more than an interpretive tap dance of "I don't have a fucking clue."
"Captain, can you try to get the DHD online? I'll guard you, though I think if there were any hostiles around, we probably would have been discovered by now," he admitted. "'Specially with me screaming my fool head off when you put my arm back in."
For a moment, Samantha Carter almost smiled, before she nodded her head in agreement.
"Yes, Sir, I'll do my best to get the DHD online," she announced.
"Good. I'm going to scout the terrain slightly. This place is…. peculiar…" George paused, wanting to see if his junior office understood him.
"The grass is too high," Captain Carter agreed after a moment's pause. "Most DHDs… well… the few that I've actually seen… are usually in a well traveled area. The roadway is fractured and cracked."
"Grass is growing in the cracks, and I think that sapling over there is a year or so old," George pointed at a small, crooked seedling that was inching skyward after having sprouted among the cracks of the pavement. "Captain, it's going to snow. If you can't get the DHD online and working, we need to figure out shelter."
"Yes, sir," she agreed.
Jacob Carter's daughter began walking toward the DHD and he could see the unease and uncertainly that she was trying to hide from her superior officer. For a moment, she reminded him of a young Air Force officer, stationed in Alaska with his wife and a brand new baby, who was facing his new CO for the first time with the blemish of the Cheyenne Mountain incident hanging over his head. He couldn't be as brusque to Carter as Mansfield had been to that red-headed boy from Texas. But now, decades later, what he remembered more than anything about Mansfield, was that old General Gripe & Guts has boosted his self-esteem by reassuring George that he'd get a fair shake from his new CO.
He could do no less for Samantha Carter.
It was the only fair thing to do, as the first-rate Generals, the Generals he'd admired when he served under them and the Generals he had vowed to be like when he was wearing stars on his shoulders, always took care of their own.
No matter what the personal cost, he was finding out.
Mansfield had ordered personnel out into a middle of a blizzard because his newest officer's wife had delivered a baby off base and needed medical attention. Then he had jumped into the driver's seat and driven one of the rigs himself because he took that sacred responsibility between General and his personnel that seriously.
And while currently George was willing to ponder the fact that he just might possibly be a cranky bear with a sore tooth in regards to four particular members of the SGC, he'd still do his damnest to make sure they were safe.
Emotionally, physically and mentally.
There was an easing of the ache in his soul, because he was at last working through his feelings toward the time travelers. Treating them like every other personnel under his command was a good start. He had known that his ambivalence to the four was unhealthy, a holding onto past hurts and griefs that prevented him from marching healthily into the future… but… damn it… how he missed his Maggie.
She was kind-hearted, and would have called the deal square and fair, his bucking for General and all the trouble his career had made for her, in order to save those four lives, but…that was such cold comfort in a large, lonely bed.
Yet, right now, he needed to stop worrying about himself and his whining about what had happened and what was to happen, and to focus on Carter. His junior officer's self-confidence was a might shaky, and so George did what he had done before for others in that same situation, and would continue doing for as long as he wore the stars on his shoulder.
One booster shot of self-confidence coming up!
"Captain," he stated quietly but firmly. "I have the utmost confidence in your ability to get us home."
"Sir, if the DHD is broken," Captain Carter began explaining.
He cut her off quickly with a fast gesture.
"Captain, you have to understand something. I know without a shadow of a doubt, that we'll get back to Earth, probably in time to call my grandchildren at three thirty. You see, Captain, I met a blonde hair, blue eyed gypsy a few years back, and she read my lifeline. She prophesized about my future for near an hour, Captain, and I haven't done most of what she told me that I was gonna do."
"A gypsy, sir?" Samantha questioned with a slight smirk. "May I ask what she told you?"
"She told me that one day I'd go through a big, pool of blue and find myself on another planet, Captain. I also knew way back then that I'd make General before I retired. I'll tell you the rest of what she predicted after it happens, as I don't think I should screw up the timeline. But rest assured, Captain, I've got hell of lot more living to do on Earth."
That quip earned a real smile from Captain Carter and her uncertainty of a few minutes previous had disappeared to places unknown, and instead there was a growing sense of hope and possibility of escape in the current situation.
If the ole man thought she'd get them home, well… he might be right.
Then George began scooping out the surroundings, trying to keep his mind firmly on the situation at hand, but he was overcome by memories of Christmas past. Damn it, he hadn't thought about ole Tommy Mansfield in a dog's age.
It was day three in the Carter Household, and without a shadow of a doubt the three Hammonds were rapidly wearing out their welcome at the Carter's. The Carters weren't saying it out loud as they were decent folk, but one knew that unexpected houseguests always started smelling pretty foul by the third day. He and Jake had shoveled the driveway out after it had finally stopped snowing. They had then given up in disgust when they "hit" the main road as it hadn't been plowed. The ambulance driver had claimed that they were unable to drive out to the Carter's house located outside the base proper until the roadways were clear even though Maggie was a tad feverish and needed to be checked out by a real doctor.
Then the clouds had opened and the snow flakes began falling fast and furious.
Viviane was already planning a surprise baby shower for Maggie, as Jake's wife had been dismayed to find out that Maggie hadn't been given one in Colorado by her fellow officers' wives. George had been at a lost to explain the entire situation with the bitches… err… officers' wives to Viviane, and loath to give too many details about why he had desired a transfer to Alaska in December with a very pregnant wife to Jacob. Simply put, after being officer non grata in Colorado for those last four plus months of sheer hell, he feared risking his tentative friendship with the man.
He and Jake had a similar sense of humor, as they had spontaneously decided to inform the young Carter kids that Santa had delivered young Jocelyn (named for Josh, his dad) Anne (named for Viviane who was one hell of a crackerjack doctor, midwife, scrub nurse and military wife all rolled up into a very pretty blonde hair and blue eyed package) Hammond during the night.
Viviane had sent the kids to sleep downstairs by the Christmas tree when she realized that Maggie was in labor as she didn't want the kids to get scared if Maggie had cried out. Maggie had been a real trooper, but damn, she had been in a hell of a lot of pain toward the end, but determined not to cry out.
The Carter kids had managed to sleep through it all, and they had appeared rather perplexed by Jocelyn's arrival. The Santa story was a good cover, and Mark had easily accepted it. But Samantha was a smart kid, so naturally she didn't believe any part of the "Santa delivers babies" story.
"Santa doesn't bring babies!" Samantha insisted. "The stork does."
"Sammy, storks get grounded sometimes," George explained while looking at Samantha's father for backup.
Jake was trying not to grin, and Samantha shook her head.
"Adverse weather conditions prevented the stork from flying," her father insisted.
"A verse?" Samantha questioned.
"Bad weather, the stork couldn't deliver the baby," George continued smoothly. "So Santa said he'd deliver Jocelyn after he was done delivering toys to all the boys and girls."
"The baby came AFTER Christmas!" Sammy insisted, a little too gleeful that she had poked a hole in their story.
"Santa needed to make a fast delivery, Sammy," Jake stated firmly. "Else the baby might have gotten a cold during the blizzard."
Viviane was hustling about and there were assorted pans being rattled in the kitchen. The phone rang and Viviane grabbed it quickly. She had a hurried conversation with someone and then she hung up the phone.
"George, get Maggie and the baby ready to go," Viviane said when she entered the room.
"Viv, it's snowing outside and the roadway still isn't clear," Jake reminded her quietly. "We'll get stuck before we get out of the development."
"I know that, Jacob. The ambulance is coming," Viviane stated firmly.
"The roads aren't plowed, they said they won't leave the base to come here," Jake reminded his wife. "The joys of off-base housing."
"Jacob," Viviane stated in a no-nonsense voice. "I just spoke to the doctor on the phone just now. He says that they'll be here as soon as they can. I need to warm some water, so I can make sure the hot water bottles are ready to go as we'll have to make sure Jocelyn stays warm during the transport to the hospital. George, you will make sure that we get them back?"
George nodded his head, though he had to admit that he was really confused.
"Viviane, what did you do?" Jake questioned.
"I spoke to Shelby. She agreed that it wasn't right, and that she'd handle it. The doctor just called and said he'd be here within the hour."
That was said quickly, before Viviane strategically retreated into the kitchen. Jake groaned, and shook his head.
"Shelby?" George questioned.
"General Mansfield's wife," Jake explained. "If the doctor just called and agreed to send out the ambulance, I would expect that Mansfield will be arriving with them."
"Fuck," George prayed a curse or cursed a prayer. "I am indeed grateful to your wife, but a very small part of me was hoping that I wouldn't come to the attention of the General just yet."
"What the hell happened to you in Cheyenne, George?" Jake questioned.
George sighed, and he leaned closer to Jacob to ensure that Samantha wouldn't hear his explanation.
"Time travelers aborted a Titan Missile launch and then escaped with my assistance to wreck complete and utter havoc on the time line because the Future General Me had sent the Current Lieutenant Me a note to help them," George explained.
There was NO way in hell Carter would ever believe him, but George really needed to tell someone… anyone… the truth.
Jacob pulled back, before giving him an incredulous look and shaking his head.
"Fine, don't tell me then," Jake laughed. "General? You'll make General when I do!"
Mansfield was a solidly built, non-nonsense man who looked like he ate rocks for breakfast, with a rasping voice that sounded like he drank shots of turpentine with pebbles for chasers, arrived with two ambulances, one for the patient, and the other carrying assorted MPs and other conscripted airmen complete with shovels and other snow removal equipment, and a freckled face, dark haired doc that wasn't the doctor that had examined Maggie and glibly assured of her supposed due date.
For one thing, Doc looked competent, and he was kind enough to apologize for the other idiot.
"Mrs. Hammond, as much as I want to examine you, I think it's better if we get you to the hospital first," the doctor explained. "Mrs. Carter was quite concerned as she thought you were feverish?"
Maggie was looking rather wan and she nodded her head once. She was wrapped in her coat, assorted blankets and she was noticeably shivering.
"Gentlemen," Mansfield ordered four husky boys that were carrying a modified chair of some sorts, "You'll carry Mrs. Hammond to the vehicle. Lieutenant, please get into the vehicle as you'll be sitting next to your wife, I'll bring your daughter out."
Jocelyn was wrapped inside one of Jake's old thermal underwear shirts, lying inside a straw laundry basket. There were two hot water bottles in there, plus assorted blankets, and to George's surprise as it was a brisk 10 degrees outside; Mansfield was taking off his jacket. The General placed it carefully over the basket, and then picked the basket up easily.
"Mrs. Carter, thank you for bringing this situation to my attention. You can rest assured that I will be following up on that personnel issue as I am not pleased to hear about their behavior," Mansfield rumbled.
Later on at the hospital, after Mansfield had reclaimed his jacket and Maggie and Jocelyn had been admitted, the General gestured to George. It was only the two of them in the waiting room, so George approached warily and the General gave him a long look over.
"So you're the transfer from Cheyenne, eh?" Mansfield questioned. "I did a lot of reading on you and what supposedly happened there."
"Yes, Sir, I am", George admitted cautiously, but refusing to defend himself. Defending himself would just make him look guiltier than he already did, so he just looked the General in the eyes.
Mansfield gave him another long look, and then nodded his head in approval over whatever he saw in George's eyes.
"You're from Texas aren't you, son? I'm from the Ozarks myself, a hop, skip and a jump from where good old Harry S was born. Got an old saying back on the farm. Shit rolls down hill, and it splatters something fierce. Their entire report sounded like someone fucked up something fierce and was trying to cover their ass. Did you ever read that report, son?"
"No, sir. I did have several parts of it read to me, Sir," George admitted.
"And what did you think of it?"
George pondered for a moment, knowing that this was a test and he mentally sighed. "I understood how someone might view what happened that way."
"I thought you were a flyer, not a pansy assed diplomat, Lieutenant. I'm asking you did you agree with what was said about you in the report? The Major was pretty insistent that it was the convoy that was at fault for the escape."
George just swallowed and instinctively he touch his wallet, with that folded piece of paper with those times and dates he had copied down on it along with the request for him to help them. He hadn't been able to put that vital information someplace safe yet, and so he was carrying it with him.
"Well, son?"
"Sir, I beg your pardon, Sir, but I know that you want me to say one thing or the other, but right now, I'm too tired to think straight. My wife and I haven't been on base for a week yet, and we're not even unpacked. The doctor told us that my wife wasn't gonna have our baby for another two weeks or so, and… we didn't even know the Carters until we moved up here. Viviane met my wife in the PX the other day, and invited her to dinner."
George paused and Mansfield nodded his head.
"Sir, thank you for getting my wife and daughter to the hospital. That's all I can think about right now, and…" George paused, and he rubbed his aching head. "I'm just so appreciative, Sir."
"You've got to learn something boy," the General drawled. "As General, I take care of my own here. Even if you are a grade A fuckup, I will take care of you. And if something goes to hell, and it's my fault, I will look you in the eyes and tell you that. The buck stops here and will go no further. I expect all my officers to understand that. If you can't understand that, then you better hope your three years here go by awfully quick."
"I don't know the symbol for here," Samantha Carter mumbled to herself. "But let's see if I can get the DHD up and running."
She punched in the symbols for earth, the DHD flickering slightly and then she paused. Her instincts focused on one particular symbol and she hit it. Well, if she was wrong, there were only 30 odd more combinations to try.
No.
General Hammond had sounded extremely convincing about his faith in her getting them home. But a GYPSY?
A GYPSY?
She could do it.
She would do it!
SHE WAS A FORCE TO BE RECKONED WITH!
SHE WAS WOMAN! HEAR HER AND ALL HER MANY DEGREES IN ASTROPHYSICS ROAR!
ROOOOOAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!
The DHD, uncaring of whatever positive thoughts George Hammond and Captain Carter might have on the two of them leaving this planet, decided that it wasn't having any of that crap. The light sputtered on the DHD and went out.
"Ok, that didn't combination didn't work," Samantha announced to herself. "Let's try this one…"
She touched the keypad, and the DHD failed to reinitialize.
Samantha Carter pressed the symbol harder and then leaned all her weight on it when it failed to light up. The keypad remain unlit.
"It's not working at all," she whispered. 'It's not working at all."
George peered carefully over the rim of the valley the gate was in, trying not to make too much noise. Keeping one eye on Samantha Carter, he peered downward at the village below. Not liking what he thought he was seeing, George pulled his binoculars out and began looking first one way, then another. As far as his eye could see, there was nothing but carnage, death and destruction.
The houses had been destroyed through explosions and fire, and there were only a few walls that remained upright. The worst part was the large pile of bodies in the middle of the village. Not bodies really, but skeletons… which meant whatever brutality had happened here, it had happened several seasons ago. No... probably more than a year... based on the decomposition of the skeletons... the growth of grass in the residental areas.
He saw something…a wall on something that might have once been the biggest building in the town.
A meeting place or a government center.
There were two symbols on the wall and his blood froze when he recognized them.
"No… no… George… this ain't looking good," he said softly. "Captain Carter better have that gate running."
He slid back down the valley, trying not to make too much noise, but realizing that the amount of devastation he had bore witness to said that the conquerors had just concentrated on destroying all that had opposed them.
They were probably long gone.
They had scorched the Earth, salted the wells and burned their victims… making the planet inhospitable and barren. Those that had opposed them had been slaughtered.
Oh God damn it, please let them be long gone.
His brilliant idea about going off world had landed him and his junior officer in a whole mess of trouble on a planet that used to be Ra's… but which was now under the control of Apophis.
