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
Captain Carter didn't look very confident when he returned to the DHD.
"Captain, please tell me that you can get us offworld," he requested.
Her face fell, literally and he bit back a curse. George knew that he was cursing a bit too much since he went on this three hour cruise and that he needed to keep a firm eye on his tongue. General weren't supposed to curse, at least not in front of their junior officers. The senior NCOs, hell yes, but not the J.O.s.
"I can't, Sir. The DHD isn't reinitializing. Did you see anything?"
"Captain, we need to get off this world immediately," George told her bluntly. "This planet used to be Ra's, and it appears that after Colonel O'Neill created a power vacuum among the System Lords, Apophis decided to pay a visit. Over the rim, I saw what used to be a village. Now, it… makes the Massacre at Hue look like child's play. There doesn't look like there is anyone within miles of the Gate, but I don't want to be proven wrong."
The blonde nodded her head in agreement.
"What is your problem with the DHD?" George questioned.
"I tried dialing Earth, and I just arbitrarily picked our point of origin. On a hunch," Captain Carter admitted slowly. "For a moment, I thought it might have connected, but it won't reset."
"I imagine that the Al'kesh fired on the gate while we were leaving," Hammond commented.
"The blast must have disrupted the wormhole, which in turn, could have fried the gate at the SGC," Carter continued.
"On top of that good news, I'm predicting snow, and lots of it," George informed her shortly. "Do you think you can fix the gate within the next hour?"
"Sir, it depends on what the problem is," Carter answered. While she wanted to be positive, she also knew that she had to be truthful.
"Very well, you crack open the DHD, see what you can ascertain," George decided. "I'll break into that building over there and see if it will qualify for shelter."
Snow.
She had been vainly attempting to ignore the brisk wind that was blowing from wherever… but General Hammond's prediction of a hell of a lot of snow just made the wind blow that much colder. She was wearing her light weight jacket, and Samantha couldn't help but shiver.
She turned to the DHD, and she was examining it meticulously when she felt Hammond's jacket hit her.
"Wear it, Captain," he ordered tersely. "You're turning blue in front of me. In my utility vest, I have a roll of duct tape and my leatherman."
"Duct tape, Sir?" Samantha questioned. "You expect me to fix with DHD with duct tape?"
"Captain, you haven't heard that old saying, 'To err is human. To repair with Duct Tape, divine'?" Hammond quoted in his rather distinctive drawl. "Here's your change to prove your divinity to your CO."
Least she was forewarned before he tossed his vest at her, so she could catch it. Hammond had a hell of lot more in his vest than just duct tape and his leatherman, a souped up version of the swiss army knife, as the vest weighed a good twenty pounds.
"Keep an eye out for hostiles and wild animals," the General reminded her. "I'll report back on what I find in the building. I'm hoping it's a guardhouse of some sort, which could mean supplies and some form of heat."
She wanted to be strong, prove that she was worthy of being in "this man's Air Force" and protest that he could keep his jacket, but the General stomped on her objection thoroughly before she could even give it voice.
"Captain, I'm part Grizzly bear. I already have a nice layer of padding over my old bones as I was planning on locking the door to my office next week and hibernating for the next couple months," he informed her. "The cold won't bother me for a while."
It took all of her willpower, but she didn't crack a smile at the comment. Instead, she wondered about the thaw occurring in her CO.
Samantha Carter's lips were turning a lovely shade of blue which accented her blue eyes. When he looked at Samantha, he saw VIV. A freezing Viviane Carter, no less, so he threw his jacket at her and lied, claiming he was part-grizzly bear and he already had a nice layer covering his old bones, as he was planning on hibernating in his office one day next week.
The jacket donated, and Captain Carter was looking a tad ludicrous as she was literally swimming in a sea of camouflage but at least she had stopped trembling from the cold. He owed Jake Carter's daughter that much, if not a hell of a lot more.
"The leatherman's a gift from my granddaughters, I expect it back," he stressed. "It's got pliers, wire cutters, crimpers, wire strippers, a couple screw drivers, files and an awl punch. It's in the lower left pocket. The duct tape should be in the same pocket. If we're still here in a bit, we'll need to take an inventory of what we have. I have a couple power bars in the right pocket, as I didn't get a chance to eat before we left. So between that and the MRE I didn't have for lunch, we should have food for a couple days. Water will be another issue, but we can melt snow for drinking water."
"Sir? I hope to get you home in time for you to call your grandchildren," Captain Carter offered that slowly.
George looked at his watch, and then smiled slightly. It was a bittersweet smile, he guessed, as it was tinged with old memories that still rubbed him raw when he looked at them too closely. How many times, had he promised he'd be there for his wife and kids and then… the phone would ring, the unit would be mobilized…
"You've got ninety minutes, Captain. I hope you can do it, but if you can't, it's not the first time I've had to disappoint my family due to the military."
He then strode toward the stone building, trying his hardest not to recall how many times the military had played havoc with his personal life and how being a general had just increased the intrusions.
"Walt, I'm glad you're there. You'll know what has to be done if I don't get back to the base…" George murmured out loud. "Smartest damn thing was getting you and Siler involved with the program. Just keep O'Neill focused, Walt. You see right to heart of the matter, and hopefully, you can keep him in line."
He was home later than he wanted to be, and he sighed. His best intentions on getting out early to spend time with Maggie hadn't worked today as all hell had broken loose. It was near 7 PM, and he was at last pulling into his driveway. Julia's car was still there and he sighed. Julia had three kids at home and she was only supposed to work until 4:30.
Julia was a godsend and a breast cancer survivor. Maggie's oncologist had suggested that Maggie join a support group and as a newbie, she had been paired with Julia, a self-described purple heart veteran of numerous rounds of chemo, whose cancer was currently in remission. Julia was in her late thirty somethings, vivacious, funny and her clipped hair was the soft, baby fine down of new hair. The two women had promptly become inseparable regardless of the age differences, and he had cautiously felt out Julia about being Maggie's paid companion during the times that he just couldn't get out of his office.
His Exec, Hank Landry, was juggling George's schedule as best he could, but sometimes, sometimes, George had to miss a chemo treatment.
Julia had refused the money originally, until he had put his size 13 foot down firmly and he had started handing her the money in a white envelope every Friday afternoon. Three kids, her husband probably in the military as she acted like a military wife though Julia would never admit that she was even when he asked her pointblank; he knew that a little money under the table would be useful.
One day Julia cornered him and decided that he needed help. It was just his luck that he was home earlier than his norm and Maggie was sleeping soundly, so that meant there was no escape from the woman he had nicknamed Hurricane Julia.
He was pouring a glass of lemonade, wanting to savor it after a long, hellish day at the office, when Hurricane Julia swept into the kitchen. The eye of the hurricane focused on him and then decided that he was in need of her help.
"George? Do you actually talk to anybody?"
The question was so simple, yet he had a hard time telling her that he didn't talk to anybody as he was too busy trying to be Maggie's Rock of Gibraltar and all around cheerleader. He had to be strong and he had to be positive, even when Maggie was puking her guts up or crying because she was scared.
But it was only a matter of time before the support group had roped him into being buddy-buddy with someone, and maybe it wouldn't be too bad talking to Julia's husband. And so somehow he found himself being partnered with Julia's husband, MSgt. Walt Davis, the resident computer guru under his command. He had been startled to realize that Julia was Walt's wife, and Walt had been flabbergasted to realized that the Maggie Julia was partnered with was in fact his CO's wife.
And so Hank, knowing that he had no real choice in the matter, had smiled brightly, and began squeezing in a weekly, hour long meeting between Walt and George into George's painfully tight schedule.
Walt was a good man, even though George had to order him to call him "George" rather than "General" during their chat sessions, as they were just two men whose spouses had breast cancer commiserating about the highs and lows they were experiencing. As Walt had been living with the diagnosis for the past three years, he took the lead in their conversations, while George, being the rookie, just had to follow.
This past week during their chat, Walt had hesitantly asked about George's sex life. George nearly swallowed his teeth and his tongue then, as he hadn't been expecting that question.
It had taken him a few minutes to formulate a reply. His face was burning, and so was Walt's, so he knew that this question had been asked because it had to be asked, rather than because Walt was a bit too curious about the Ole Man in bed.
"It's important, Sir…" Walt explained.
"George…" George reminded him. "If you're gonna talk to me about me and my wife's sex life, you better call me George."
Walt nodded his head once, in agreement.
"George, I don't mean to embarrass you, but it's important that you and your wife still emotionally connect. The oncologists don't really ever mention this part of your lives. They're too busy nuking the cancer with the equivalent of an A-Bomb on the cellular level to worry about this part."
George pondered Walt's question for a bit, and then he figured, why the hell not, he might as well just tell the boy the truth.
"Our sex life is non-existent, Walt. We cuddle and we kiss, and that will have make do for now. If and when my wife wants to make love, she'll let me know. But I'm not gonna pressure her. When she's ready, willing and comfortable to make love, Maggie will let me know."
"She might be afraid of your reaction to her mastectomy scar," Walter suggested softly.
"I've seen it," George growled. "I changed her surgical dressings; I emptied her drains, I help her dress when she's so weak she can't, so I can assure you that I've seen it."
Walter gave him a slight smile and nodded his head.
"George, I know, but I also know that I had to make the first move with Julia as she was more scared about my reaction than she was about the cancer."
"We've been together for almost forty years, Walt. I knew her back when she just one of the boys hanging out after school. We were ten years old, Walt, and even then I knew that I wanted to grow old with her. It just took me a few years to convince her that I was worth it and to go steady with me. I made that decision that she was the one, before she developed, and breasts, or no breasts, my feelings toward her aren't changing. How fickle do you think I am? She's stayed with me even though as I'm almost as bald as a cue ball, Walt. Lust fades in time, Walt, but love and desire are eternal."
"George… have you told her this?" Walt questioned intently.
Obviously, he was missing something, and Walt was too damn military indoctrinated to tell his CO that he was being a complete ass and not seeing the forest for the damn oak tree.
"I tell her she's the same woman I married," George explained. "I don't press too far. I don't want her to think that we've got to make love. She's got to want it also, and I'm doing things at her speed."
"Sometimes…. Sometimes… you need to press the issue, George. She may think you're rejecting her because she's physically undesirable…"
"She's not!" George protested. "The one good thing about this disease is that it's made me realize hair or not hair, two breasts or one breast, surgical scar or not, she is the only woman that I will ever love and the only woman that I will ever desire."
"And you don't want to ask her because you think she's still weak from the chemo. That emotional schism starts so small, often times because the two people involved are so overly considerate of the other one's feelings, and soon there's no way to cross that gap, George."
"You've got to talk to her, George, and let her know that you want to be intimate with her," Walt explained.
He had requested that Walt leave right after that comment, as he needed to be alone to decompress for a bit. Try as he would to avoid facing the facts, Maggie's cancer was raging fast and furious in her body, and he was worried about squandering whatever all too precious time he had left with her. He should retire; he would retire, except he was destined to meet with a certain Captain Carter.
Then when his demeanor was a little more composed, he picked up the phone and dialed an old friend.
"Jacob? It's George Hammond, how the hell are you doing? How's Mark? How's that daughter of yours? Has she made General yet?"
After the conversation had ended, and he had confirmed that Samantha Carter was still a lieutenant and had years to go before she could be even considered to be commissioned as a Captain in the USAF, he had ordered Hank to rearrange his next appointment for later that day.
Then he had locked the door to his office, sat down in his chair and placed his wallet on the desk to remove a small piece of paper. He had kept a copy of the note for himself all those many years ago. It was a good thing too as Captain Carter had grabbed the original note before she high tailed it out of his life. His copy had been folded and refolded for so often over the years that it has long since disintegrated and even its replacement's replacement had been replaced.
"You better be worth it, damn it," he growled. "You better fucking be, or so help me God, I will make your lives a living hell."
He didn't like that anger he was feeling toward them. He knew it wasn't their fault. He could say that but he was still weary of the burden.
Over the years, that responsibility just kept getting heavier and heavier. That mental obligation, that promise he had made, was always present, weighing on his soul, guiding every decision he made and would make for years to come.
But for now, he needed to take every opportunity that was left to him, so George reached for the phone, his heart skipping a beat. His fingers punched in the familiar number and he waited for the phone to be answered.
"Hello?" Maggie answered in a very wheezy voice. She must have run to answer the phone as she sounded slightly out of breath and breathless. It had been far too long since he had called Maggie for a little heavy breathing, and he felt like being a very dirty ole man.
He put his long legs up on his desk.
"What are you wearing?" He growled in a very soft voice.
"Is this an obscene phone call?" His wife questioned, even though her tone of voice had lightened, which meant that she knew who he was. "I must assure you that my husband will find out who you are and beat you to a bloody pulp. He's exceeding good with his hands."
"I've been having the most…" George paused and then gave a rather throaty growl. "Illict fantasies about you, Ma'am."
"Really?" Maggie questioned. "Ma'am? Am I your mother?"
"No, I'd never confuse you with my mother, as you're wearing something silky…and I want to get you out of it so bad," he rumbled. "Definitely not my mother as she only wore flannels to bed."
"I pride myself on never having own a pair of flannel pajamas. I only wear lace and silk," Maggie purred.
"Do you now?" George questioned. "Your poor husband, you must drive him insane with desire."
Maggie paused and her voice trembled slightly when she answered.
"He doesn't touch me like that anymore…" she whispered softly. "Ever since I got sick and they…" Her voice cracked, "They had to remove my breast…my husband doesn't touch me like that."
George spun around in his chair and put his feet solidly on the ground. He rested his elbow on the table and he tried to find something to say.
"I'm sure he wants to," he whispered, trying to hide the tremor in his own voice. "He probably desires you very, very much but he knows you've been sick…and he doesn't want you to feel obligated…"
God, he was such a coward, as he was talking about himself in the third tense. Yet it was a way for him to say what he felt… so… it was better than saying nothing at all.
"I miss him so," Maggie whispered. "You think he still wants me that way?"
"I know he does," George assured her. "In fact, it's damn good thing that he's married to you, because a man who looks on a woman with lust has in his heart already committed adultery. You're the only thing that saving his eternal soul right now, Maggie Mae, else he'd be breaking that commandment right and left, up and down. Lust… is a shameful sin, and he should be ashamed of those illicit thoughts he has about you."
"I've heard that said, but there ain't no shame in our loving," Maggie stated unequivocally.
"There ain't no shame in loving, darling, I know you taught him that," George assured her.
"He tries so hard to keep a positive outlook," his wife explained. "He's trying so hard to be brave and strong for me that I don't want to add even the slightest more to his load."
"He's got broad shoulders," he insisted. "How about this? You tell me everything you want your husband to know… and I'll make sure he knows how you feel."
Long pause, and George was about to say something when Maggie spoke softly.
"Do you think you could tell him that I miss him?"
"I could, and I will, dear," he promised. "You know, you should really tell your husband these things, rather than your local obscene phone caller."
He rubbed his eyes, and whispered a prayer that he was strong enough for this conversation. God, he just wanted nothing more than to break down and sob.
"I know… but I don't want him to think that I'm nagging him. He's so good to me, as he loves to cuddle and kiss me. You don't know how much that means to me…when the two of us cuddle together on the couch, but he must know how much his sweet affection means to me… that it reassures me that he still wants to be close to me… but I want… I need… more…"
"Well, you tell me what you're too afraid to tell your husband, and… well… I'll make sure that he knows," George offered again softly.
"I miss him. I… I miss hearing him… say my name… that way… after he comes. He says it so soft and gentle, and he makes me feel so special…You have no idea what it's like, to be in the arms of the man you love and he calls out your name so soft and so sweet.. At that moment… because you know… at that split second… you're everything to him….."
"Maggie…" he breathed her name softly.
"Like that…" she whispered. "How I miss that."
"Oh, Maggggie," he repeated slowly. "Maggie, my beautiful, beautiful Maggie."
"I have to tell you something, and I hope I don't embarrass you." Maggie's voice was barely more than a low whisper.
"Maggie, I'm the obscene phone caller, shouldn't I be the one embarrassing you?" He teased.
"I so miss… making love with my husband. Would you tell him that we can keep the lights off in our bedroom?" Maggie questioned.
"I think he'd want the lights on, dear. Making love ain't nothing to be ashamed of, remember?" George reminded her gently. "Even at our age, Maggie, though I have to admit that your husband has gotten rather solid around the equator…"
"It's not that," Maggie stated.
Oh God, she was crying.
"I've got this ugly, ugly scar…It's so repulsive. I don't blame him…that he's no longer interested… in me…"
"Listen to me," George began, before he heard Hank knocking on the door. Loudly. "Dear, give me just a moment please?
He put her on hold.
"HANK! I'm on the phone," he roared. "Unless it's the President of the U. S. of A standing next to you, tell them to wait until I'm off the phone! And if it is the President, ASK HIM TO TAKE A SEAT!"
He picked up the phone and took her off hold. He swallowed quickly, wanting to keep his voice from shaking.
"Darling, listen to me. I have a prediction to make. Your husband's gonna come home early today from work. He's gonna have flowers and when he sees you, he's gonna pick you and kiss you so hard, you'll be breathless. Your toes are gonna curl, girl. And then he's gonna carry to your bedroom, and then, with the lights on, you two are gonna make love for the entire evening, or else he's gonna die in the attempt. Those lights will on, girl. I swear to you that they will be."
And so he had promised, before all hell had broken lose and everything had gone to hell so damn fast. Half the computer system went down during the upgrade and it wouldn't come up for all the tea in China, all the rice in India and all the damn coke in Columbia.
And as time slowly ticked by, he grew angrier as he was gonna break another promise to Maggie.
Finally he had enough.
"Sgt. Davis," he growled. "A moment in my office, Sgt."
"Sir?" Walter asked when they were inside the safety of George's office.
"I made a date with my wife for this afternoon, Sgt, based on your helpful suggestion. I trust you're doing everything in your power to get that computer system back online, as I do not want to disappoint my wife."
Davis looked at him and George growled again when Davis' face fell.
"You have permission to speak freely, Sgt," George assured him.
"Sir, there's no way I can get that computer system back online before this evening. I'm rewiring and rerouting everything, Sir," Davis explained.
"There is NO WAY?" George questioned. "What happened to your can-do attitude?"
"Sir, I'm not going to get your hopes up. I can't do that to you, Sir, and I can't do that to your wife," Davis looked sincere and he shook his head. "Believe me, if I could, I would do everything in my power to get that computer system online. But the only way it'll happen, is if the Pentagon gives us a complete new system."
"Fuck," George swore, ignoring Walter Davis' look of surprise.
He dismissed Walter and then he dialed his wife.
"Hello," he said. "Maggie…"
"It's my obscene phone caller again! What can we talk about now? Can we talk really, really dirty?"
Her voice was upbeat and cheerful.
"I really want to be in the mood when my husband gets home. He should be home soon…I keep peering out the window, and hoping that I see his pick up truck pulling into our driveway. When you see him, tell him that I'm not wearing flannel."
"Maggie…" He repeated her name again.
"My husband won't be home early, will he?"
Maggie's voice, formerly so vibrant and joyful, turned gray and lifeless.
"There's been a problem with the computer upgrade, darling."
"When do you think he'll be home?"
"Later. Maybe seven or so," he admitted. "I know he'll still want to make love as he's been thinking about nothing else all blessed day."
"That'll be nice," Maggie agreed.
"You alright? You sound a little down," George questioned, the pretense shot to heck. "I'm so sorry. You don't know how sorry I am. I promised you that I'd be home early…"
"I'm actually… a little tired… so I might be sleeping when you finally get home. Sometimes, I just get so tired all of a sudden. It's like my batteries get depleted. I need to recharge."
"Maggie… I was really looking forward to tonight. I've missed you so much…" He pleaded. "Why don't you go lie down and…maybe… maybe… you'll be rested by the time I'm home?"
"George… go back to the computers. I'll lie down and… we'll see how I'm feeling," Maggie's voice didn't sound very promising.
"Maggie… I so miss making love with you," George whispered. 'It's all I've been thinking about since we spoke earlier today."
"I'm sorry, George…. It's the chemo; it just knocks me for a loop. You've been so patient with the fact that I haven't have been in the mood the last few months…" Maggie's voice slowed. "I'll take a nap… and when you come home… I'll try…and be in the mood."
"Maggie?" George questioned. "Darling, you don't have to try and force yourself to be in the mood. I understand that you're tired and I'm gonna be home late from work. You got to bed, dear, and… I'll sleep on the couch when I get home. That way you get a full night's sleep as I won't disturb you with my snoring."
They said their goodbyes and George grabbed the telephone book. He found a florist and he picked up the phone.
"I need three dozens red roses and three dozen white roses," he told the flustered clerk that answered the phone. "And I need them delivered within the next hour. This is the note that you'll put on the card for the red roses. 'For our thirty six years we've been together' and on the white roses, the message will be, 'for our next thirty six years together'.
The clerk began protesting and George finally had enough.
"My wife has breast cancer. She is having a rough time with her chemotherapy. She is the world to me, and if you can't get those flowers to her, you will find me a florist that will. I don't give a damn how much it's gonna cost."
Samantha sat down next to the DHD, and then she pulled Hammond's vest over her lap.
"Leatherman, leatherman… left pocket," she spoke out loud, before slipping her hand into the pocket and rummaging through it.
She pulled out the heavy duty utility tool, candidly admiring it as the Leatherman was the top of line model, before remembering regretfully that she had promised that she'd give it back to her CO. Then Samantha reached back into the pocket for the duct tape.
"A true leader always has duct tape," Samantha laughed after she quoted her father. "Duct tape is like the Force; it has a light side, a dark side, and it holds the universe together."
Her fingers felt something else, and she pulled that out also.
"If I have to make inventory, I should know what's in his pockets," she decided, trying to squelch that icky feeling of rummaging through the General's pockets.
It was a small leather journal, maybe four inches by five. The soft leather was well worn as though Hammond had used the journal for years, and the leather was embossed with his initials. Sam looked for Hammond, found that the General was busy working on the door, and she opened the journal.
On this inside flap, someone had written, "G. With this, know that I'm with you always, M. Christmas 1964"
The journal refill was half used, it appeared, full of Hammond's scribbled handwriting and assorted drawings. Her eyes glanced at the first entry.
March 1997
Maggie just a few more weeks until I retire.
As you can see, still keeping the journal up even though you aren't around to read it. Old habits die hard, I've been writing in this from the day you gave it to me, and I haven't stopped just because you're no longer here though I admit that it took me a while to start writing again after you got called home. It's probably a good thing that I'm still writing as some book company approached me to write a book about what I've seen, what I've done. Don't really need the money, but maybe it could help pay for Kayla and Tessa's college education.
Isn't that funny, girl?
I can hear you laughing, and saying, "But George, you're just so damn boring! Who'd want to pay money to read your rambling?"
The powers that be gave me an easy, coasting assignment to retirement, a bone for this loyal, old dog.
Can't tell you what I'm doing, as it's Super Top Secret, darling. You need a clearance ranking just under Michael the Archangel to even hear a whisper.
But you'd have liked it here, as the girls live real close, so I can see them real regular-like. Making up for all that time I missed when they were younger and I spoil our granddaughters rotten.
And in honor of my new and thankfully FINAL assignment, I put a new realm of paper in the journal you gave me for our first Christmas together.
You're laughing again, I know it, 'cuz I'm back in Cheyenne again. My life's a circle, darling.
All
my life's a circle; Sunrise and sundown;
Moon rolls thru the
nighttime; Till the daybreak comes around.
All my life's a circle;
But I can't tell you why;
Season's spinning round again; The years
keep rollin' by.
No straight lines make up my life; And all my
roads have bends;
There's no clear-cut beginnings; And so far no
dead-ends.
Our
love was like a circle;
How I wish I could go 'round one more time
with you.
But every day I go to work, I think how I'm one step closer to an empty retirement where you aren't growing old with me. I should have retired years ago… while you were still alive. But all I've got now is time… a hell of a lot of empty time with no one to share it with.
All
I got is time, Nothing else is mine.
All I want is you and one
more tomorrow.
Nothing lasts to long, When I leave it's gone.
So
I send my mind ahead and hope to follow.
Yes,
I know I have a lifetime coming,
But I've got it all figured
out,
Everybody's lonely, Everybody's lonely,
Everybody's
lonely, That's what it's all about.
I've
had my share of heartaches, misfortune and mistakes.
Occasion'ly
this life has left me battered.
But I can't blame no one else,
'cause what I've done to myself
is the only kind of history that
matters.
But I can't blame no one else, 'cause what I've done to myself is the only kind of history that matters. Girl, that's the god-honest truth and every day when I look at myself in the mirror, I remind myself of that simple truth.
Sam wretched her eyes away from the journal, as Hammond's grief-tinged writings were far too personal for her to comfortably read.
There was a folded piece of paper that looked as though it had been folded and refolded numerous times, and there were two pictures. One was of the General with his children and grandchildren, it looked identical to the one he had on his desk, and the second one was a picture of Hammond kissing another bald man.
Wait a minute!
No, the bald man was actually a woman, as the woman, who was sitting in Hammond's lap, was wearing a dress. In one hand, the woman was holding mistletoe over George's head and the two of them were rather energetically kissing.
Samantha, feeling like a peeping tom, no, a voyeur of the worst sort who was rummaging through another soul's misery just for their own personal kicks, flipped the photo over.
She was getting close to understanding Hammond. Maybe this would be the final key?
"Mom and Dad Christmas 1992. Mom's last Christmas" was written on the back. Underneath the photo was the names Maggie and George Hammond.
Hammond had an easy rapport with the Chevron Guy, Walt Davis and Sly Siler.
When the SGC had been activated, the enigma known as Hammond had requested these two men be assigned, and both men had jumped at the chance to work with Hammond again.
In fact, she remember that she had overheard Davis telling a tall tale about how Hammond had gone toe to toe with the Join Chiefs of Staff to take care of his one of his subordinates.
It had to be a lie, there was no way Hammond would have actually… there was no other word to adequately describe what Hammond had allegedly done except blackmail… yes, Hammond had allegedly blackmailed a superior with the completely perplexing comment about a duck, some tar and a mule!
The benevolence was a direct contradiction of the man her CO appeared to be! The fact he'd actually blackmail someone that high up on the food chain to protect an airman?
And yet, he had thrown his jacket at her when he noticed she was shivering.
Then why the aloofness toward SG1?
Her father's personality had changed radically after her mom had died.
The barely remembered carefree Jake Carter had turned more demanding and yet increasing aloof from his children. It wasn't that her father had stopped caring about Sam and her brother, but that the experience of losing his wife had left with him with a mountain of grief and guilt that had tempered every interaction with his kids.
All those years, her father had kept her at arm's length…
If she didn't know better, she would have sworn that Hammond was acting the same way, except for the fact that 'his kids' were the members of SG-1.
But how could the death of Maggie Hammond from CANCER be linked to the members of SG1?
She slipped the photo back into the journal and stuffed it back into his vest. Carefully she opened the Leatherman, and decided which tool to use.
Hopefully, she could get the DHD working.
Colonel O'Neill strode down the hallway with the much shorter Sgt. Davis almost running to keep up with him.
"Sir!" Davis protested.
"I'm calling Ryan now," O'Neill informed him. "I'll talk to you after I speak to Ryan."
O'Neill entered Hammond's office and then he closed the door on the flustered sergeant with a stern, "I'm calling Ryan in PRIVATE!"
Then O'Neill sank into Hammond's chair. It was a nice chair, O'Neill noticed immediately. It was a fancy chair, with burgundy leather that cradled his weary and sore legs tired after a twenty mile sprint through the woods, a lumbar support that cushioned his aching back just so… complete with a three way adjusting lever, sitting behind a really nice mahogany desk complete with a picture of Hammond, two women, two men and two little girls and another picture of very young Hammond and a dark haired woman.
"Family photo, George?" O'Neill questioned as he picked up the photo with the children. He glanced quickly at the other picture. "My God, you did have hair at one time."
Experimentally, he swung around in George's chair, wondering if the Chair o' Power did indeed swivel. To his delight it did, and he swung around, wondering what The Man's reaction would be if he had witnessed Jack doing circles in his chair.
Steam would have been coming out of his ears, Jack thought.
Hammond's face would have been cherry red… and so for good measure, he circled in the chair once again.
He reached for the phone, hit 1 on the speed dial, trying not to smile when he saw that the President was the only name listed on the speed dial and located in the #2 position at that, and O'Neill mentally prepared himself to make his report of, "We lost General Hammond" to Ryan.
Might as well get it over with.
He took a deep breath, and swung around again while the phone rang.
To his surprise, he got a little girl on the phone.
"Grandpa?" The high voice said in delight. "Tessa! It's Grandpa! He called early!"
Grandpa?
FUCK!
He had called The Man's grandkids.
The Man had his GRANDKIDS under #1 on the Speed Dial!
Ahead of the President!
Ahead of Ryan!
The shock caused him to nearly tumble ass over tit out of the chair and only with the startled squawk akin to a duck being shot was he able to keep himself in the Chair o' Power. As it was, he dropped the phone with a muffled curse. He picked it up quickly, hoping that The Man's Grandkids had not learned anything new linguistically thanks to him.
"Hi," Jack said slowly. "I think I have the wrong number."
"You're not Grandpa!" The voice said with some annoyance. "Mommy! Someone's calling from grandpa's phone and it's not him!"
There was a brief scuffle and an older female voice got on the line before tersely ordering a Tessa and a Kayla to hang up immediately.
"This is Jocelyn. What happened to my father?"
"Ma'am?" O'Neill questioned.
"Look, I don't know who you are, but I am a military brat. It's never good news when somebody from the base calls the next of kin. The last time someone called from the base about my father, his plane got shot down and they didn't know where he was."
The female voice was trembling, the fear for her father's safety apparent to O'Neill.
"What happened to my father? Is he ok? Is he… alive?"
"Ma'am… this is Colonel O'Neill, I'm your father's second in command. I think we started this conversation off on the wrong foot as I wasn't expecting his grandchildren to answer the phone. I hit the wrong number on the speed dial, Ma'am. I'm using the phone in his office, and I thought this number was someone else's. I didn't realize that General Hammond had his grandchildren listed as number one on his speed dial," Jack explained.
"He always calls them at 3:30 in the afternoon. They had a half day at school today, so they thought he might call them earlier as we're leaving for a long weekend shortly," Jocelyn explained. "Now, what's going on with my father?"
"There's nothing going on with your father, Ma'am," O'Neill lied.
"Then why are you calling from my father's office? He's obviously not there if you're misdialing using his speed dial," Jocelyn questioned.
"Your father gave me permission to use his phone, Ma'am," Jack answered.
"Good, let me talk to him then," Hammond's daughter demanded.
"I'm afraid he's off base at the moment," Jack informed the daughter smoothly.
"You told me he gave you permission to use his phone," was the fast retort.
"I spoke to him on the phone," Jack explained, wondering when the phone had turned into the Hammond…err… Spanish Inquisition. "He's not in his office right now."
Long pause on the phone, and Jack tried not to sigh, as it appeared that part of what made George The Man had been inherited by his daughter. Yes, the ability to tell when someone was fudging the truth appeared to be genetic, unless, it was part and parcel of being a parent. He had always known when…
Stop that, he growled at himself, as he didn't want to think about those few times Charlie had lied to him….
"Ok, then tell Dad, I want to speak to him before we leave today, and I won't leave until he calls me," Jocelyn decided.
"When I see the General, I will give him the message first thing," Jack assured Hammond's daughter easily.
They exchange their goodbyes and then he hung up the phone. Growling, he got out of the Chair o' Power and opened the door to search for that snarky sergeant that probably knew who rated where on Hammond's speed dial. Out of his peripheral visions, he saw a rather nervous looking Sgt. Davis standing nearby.
"Sir," Davis began slowly, in a tone of voice usually reserved for a soap opera when the doctor intones, 'We regret to inform you'.
"Number one on the speed dial is his GRANDKIDS, right?" O'Neill snapped.
"Yes, Sir," Davis said in a please don't kill the messenger tone, completed with a fixed 'Bambi in the headlights of an oncoming speeding Mach Truck' smile on his face. "I tried to tell you, Sir. I truly did so. Ryan's number four on the speed dial."
"Four?" O'Neill quipped. "Pray tell, who is number three? Joe's Pizza?"
"His other daughter," the sergeant explained. "May I speak to you, sir, before you call General Ryan to advise him of the current situation? It's rather important."
"More important then telling me who's who on his speed dial?" Jack questioned.
The sergeant's fixed smile flickered slightly, and in fact, he looked rather queasy.
"That bad?" O'Neill questioned. "Let's get into his office."
It was only after Davis was securely in the office, and the heavy door closed behind him, did the sergeant drop the latest bomb into the lap of one Jonathan J. O'Neill.
"Sir, before you call General Ryan, you should know that General Hammond may not have permission to be off world. In fact, Sir, General Ryan specifically forbade General Hammond from going off world without his express permission. That order came down yesterday, Sir."
"Major General George S. Hammond is AWOL?" O'Neill questioned, his voice conveying his disbelief.
Jack couldn't help it; the very idea that Hammond had gone offworld without having permission!
Why it was something he would have done.
Straight laced Hammond?
By the book Hammond?
The MAN?
He had to tell General Mike Ryan that General Hammond had disobeyed his orders and had gotten lost on another world? Ryan was gonna love that.
O'Neill plopped into the no-longer quite as inviting Seat o' Power with a mighty thud and clicked his heels three times, mentally screaming, "There's no place like home! There's no place like home! THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME!"
"Damn it, I'm still here," he thought, as he rubbed his aching head, before realizing that his fervent wish to be elsewhere had been given voice as the sergeant was giving him a very concerned look.
"Possibly, Sir," Davis explained. "I'm not sure…He might have gotten permission to go offworld. I just thought I should mention the possibility."
"Thank you, Sergeant, any more news that I should know?"
"No, Sir, I think that's it," Sgt. Davis answered.
Jiggling his knife just so in the keyhole of the lock, George was able to pop the lock on the small stone building. Cautiously, he swung the door open, and he was greeted by the musty odor of stale air. He sniffed the air carefully, noting that he didn't smell anything that might be spoiled, overripe slaughter akin to what he had viewed down in the village and that the air lacked the dank smell of mold, which meant that the building was probably sound and leak proof.
He waited just a little longer, and nothing skittered out the door at him.
Even better.
Some sparse webbing from some sort of arachnoids hung from the ceiling but not that so much as to hinder his progress. Flicking his flashlight on, he peered into the dark building.
Yes, from what he could tell from the dim glow of his flashlight, it once had been a guardhouse.
Two small rooms, one being the entrance where he was, and the other was a common living area. It was small and cluttered with one small bed, a couple chairs and a table made of a hardwood that would probably burn quite hot, the windows and roof appeared to be intact, and most importantly, there was a fireplace. All in all, not too high tech, as Ra had apparently kept his people at a barely subsistent level of technology.
Carefully, he opened the cabinets. A few blankets, heavy weight, thank God, and Eureka! A metal pot of some sort… and nothing else. He had water proof matches in his vest; all they needed now was some kindling, and fuel for the fire. But it wouldn't be necessary if Captain Carter got that gate working.
"It's my fault, you're here," he whispered to himself. "I've got to you home, damn it. I promised your father that I'd take care of you. I promised Maggie that I'd keep an eye on you."
He was standing next to a distraught Jacob Carter who was staring up at a tree.
"I buried my wife today, I have guests in the house and my DAUGHTER has decided to climb a tree," he snapped. "She won't come down, George. She is in a goddamn tree, Hammond. A goddamn oak tree!"
"Jacob," Maggie took Jake's hand and pulled it toward her, so Jake stopped staring at the tree, and instead just looked at Maggie.
Damn it, Jake looked like hell. His dark eyes were bloodshot and he didn't look like he had slept in weeks. His grief was physically painful to George, and he felt a sharp stab in his heart when he thought how easily their roles could be reversed, and how he'd be the one mourning Maggie.
"Go talk to your parents and Viviane's parents," Maggie suggested. "George will get her out of the tree."
"George, she's really angry with me right now," Jake explained. "Don't be too hard on her."
George nodded his head, "I'll do what I can, Jake."
"No," Jake protested. "She's really upset right now, and she's blaming me. You're strict with your kids, George."
"Have to be," George rumbled. "It was the way I was raised. I don't beat them, but I don't let them get away with murder either."
"Maggie?" Jake questioned, obvious in looking for support in his instructions to George from her.
"I'll handle George; you go speak to your family." Maggie assured Jake.
"Promise me, George, you'll take good care of my daughter," Jake insisted intently. "She's really upset."
"I promise," George assured the grieving man. "I'll take care of your daughter like she was my own."
Jake had barely left the scene of the crime when Maggie was glaring at George. He was already removing his jacket, and so he stopped.
"What?"
He spat in a futile protest, as he knew that look all too well and that as sure as God made buckin' mustangs, he'd be doing whatever the hell Maggie wanted him to do.
"Get your ass up there, Georgie, and use some TACT with the poor child," Maggie insisted.
"Her Mamma died, Mags. What the hell is she doing up in a goddamn tree?" George hissed quietly, not wanting to start an argument that everyone else could hear.
"Hiding," Maggie explained. "What were you doing when my father caught you in that tree when we were sixteen years old?"
"Trying to prevent him from shooting me," George protested. "Your daddy was born with a gat in both hands."
"He didn't shoot you, he just wanted to scare the hell out of you," Maggie reminded him. "Then he came home and made sure my ass was redder than a beefsteak tomato because I had you in my bedroom, George. I couldn't sit down for a week."
"Well, Josh whipped me when he found out, so the two of us certainly paid the piper, though my mother thanked me for being gentlemanly enough to insist that our first time together was in your bed, rather the back of my daddy's Ford," George retorted. "I have to admit, that night was certainly worth the cost."
He gave her his best good ole boy smirk, and Maggie blushed.
"What I'm telling you, dear, don't go up there guns ablazin', but don't be afraid to smack her on the ass if she deserves it," his wife laughed. "Now get up there, cowboy! I can't do it as I'm wearing heels."
Climbing a tree in his dress blues wasn't his idea of fun, especially with the damn dress shoes. His lack of enthusiasm made his wife smile.
"Get up there, cowboy, and I'll remind you tonight of what you and I were doing in my bedroom that night my daddy nearly shot you."
He managed to get into the tree before Maggie finished her promise to relive one of the more… educational… nights of his life… and the night her parents can home early from a trip to Houston, and had caught him in her bed. Scrambling up the tree was a little harder as he was a little thicker than he had been all those years ago and he didn't have a rather irate Johnny Perez racing after with a gat clenched tightly in each hand giving him an added incentive to run like hell, but before long he found the problem child. Samantha was sitting on a tree branch and she was weeping for all she was worth. Her blue polka-dotted dress was torn from where she had ripped it in her mad dash to her arboricultural sanctuary.
Gingerly, he positioned himself on a branch that was sturdy enough to hold him, yet close enough so he could grab Samantha if she decided to do something stupid and leap off the tree limb. Yeah, he'd kill himself if he tried to grab her, but he owed Jake Carter that much… and he owed Viviane far more.
His long legs were dangling, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt, Jake's CO was calmly sipping a cold drink and wondering about the red headed idiot who was climbing trees in his dress blues.
"Go away!" she wept.
"Girl, your father and your grandparents are having kittens right now, thanks to you. Get your ass back on the ground," he ordered.
Well so much for tact and understanding, he thought. But sometimes, you just had to lay the cards on the table and hope for the best.
"No," she retorted. "NO. I'm not going back down there."
"You're gonna make me get your ass back on the ground, girl?"
"I'd like to see you try," Samantha Carter retorted, her voice shaking. "You're ONE of THEM. You're MILITARY. The Military is why my mother's dead, so I'm not doing anything you tell me to do. I ain't an airman, just because you're a Lite Colonel doesn't mean you can order me about!"
"So Samantha, looks like you're not making the military your career," George drawled, while mentally wondering if the world as he knew it would unexpectedly come to a complete stop because the time line had gotten messed up.
"NO," she spat.
"Fine. But if you don't get your ass back on terra firma immediately, young lady, you will regret it," he told her in no uncertain terms.
"I'd like to see you try," the girl hissed. "You barely got up this tree. If I go higher up, you won't be able to follow me."
"You make one move to go further up this tree, Samantha Carter, I will push you off the tree limb," he assured her. "And I'll tell your father that you slipped, trying to escape from me."
She gifted him with a glare that would have done a basiliskproud. After he failed to turn into stone and fall to earth, shattering in a million pieces, Samantha Carter decided to ignore him. Instead, she heartbreakingly sobbed away her frustrations and her grief.
Reaching inside his pocket, he removed a neatly pressed handkerchief.
"Here," he said quietly, hoping that she'd accept it as a peace offering, "You look like you need this."
She shook her head, and he continued holding it out to her.
"Take it," he insisted.
Finally, he had calmed her down, and the two of them were back on the terra firma. Naturally that's when the General O'Hara stopped in front of them. George tried not to notice that his dress shoes were a might scuffed, and he wasn't quite as sharp as he had been when he helped carry Viviane Carter to her final resting spot.
"Colonel…" The General's voice slowed, and his dark, calculating eyes glanced briefly at Samantha then at George, noting Samantha's blood shot eyes, torn dress and George's scuffed shoes, tallied the sums, carried the one and realized exactly what had happened. "You're climbing a tree in your dress blues?"
Samantha Carter almost flinched, as the realization that she had just broke cardinal rule # 1 of the Military Brat Handbook Thou shall NEVER bring thyself to the Attention of your Parental Units' Commanding Officer came crashing down on her weary, grieving shoulders.
"I was rescuing her cat, Sir," he explained.
The Carters had a mangy old tom cat that proudly carried all the weight that his many years on Earth had allowed him to earn, and then some. If the old tom needed to get in a tree, he'd need a crane or a hoist, so George mentally sent a prayer heavenwards that Viviane could help him out. Viviane was … had been smart and sassy and a firecracker to boot. George never had a glib tongue, instead pondering each word carefully before he spoke, and now he needed to tap dance for all he was worth.
Last thing Jake needed was his CO getting involved with Jake's family and their dysfunctional dynamics.
"Cat?" The General questioned.
"He got scared by the crowd," George continued.
That earned a quirk of the General's tightly regimented eyebrow.
"I believe that the cat could have made his own way down," the General reprimanded. "You're in uniform, Colonel, and you need to remember you represent the United State Air Force…"
"She was worried," George explained. "Only natural, after everything she's been through."
The General gave him another long look, counted George's teeth, determined how few auburn hairs remained on his scalp and took a long look at the "salad" on George's chest, counting each award and duly noting them. The impression that George was a horse for sale, being examined by a buyer who firmly believed that he was getting a spavined mule for his hard earned money, was not spoiled at all by the fact George was almost a head taller than the General.
"Where are you stationed?" O'Hara questioned.
"Shaw Air Force Base, sir," George answered.
"Deuce is in charge there, isn't he?" O'Hara asked. "Does he condone officers climbing trees in dress blues?"
Fuck. He knew the old man, and pretty damn well, if he knew "Deuce" was his CO's old call sign. Rumor had it that Johnson got the call sign Deuce because his flight instructor had almost given up on him. "You're never gonna be an Ace, boy. You're always gonna be a goddamn Deuce!"
"Sir? Brigader General William Johnson is in charge of the facility, but I don't know if that is who you believe Deuce is," George answered.
O'Hara then turned to face Samantha and before the General could even unleash his tongue to give the visibly unnerved little girl the rough side of it, Viviane Carter arranged a divine intervention.
"Samantha," Maggie barged into the conversation, giving a faux smile of apology for interrupting the General's imminent tongue lashing, her voice dripping in honeyed concern. "Your grandmother Carter's looking for you, honey. Excuse me, Sir."
That entrance derailed the General's chain of thought and Samantha fled for the house.
"George," her wife cooed, before squeezing his hand. "Thank you for going after that damn cat. I know that the cat would have gotten his down in his own time, but that poor girl…"
Maggie turned to the General and gave him a tremulous, teary smile, "After losing her mamma like that… she was so fearful for Mr. Kitty. She begged my husband to go up there and help her get the cat out of the tree."
Then the General's wife entered the conversation and George slipped away to a quieter section of the yard. Maggie followed him and she put her hand on his.
"George," she whispered in a very sultry voice, before fluttering her eyelashes at him in a very suggestive manner. "Tonight… I'll do anything you want, darling and for the rest of the week."
"Damn it," he whispered to himself. "Stop traipsing down Memory Lane, you've got to get Jake's daughter home."
Savagely, he repressed the memories, wondering why his mind was so full of the past.
He left the room at a fast clip, not wanting to leave his junior officer alone and unprotected for too long. Maybe he could figure out what else was bothering him about the little he'd seen about the planet so far.
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 them, 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 ascent, an auburn haired lite colonel by the name of George Hammond had joined her and suggested that she get her ass back down 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. Plus there was that near incident with General O'Hara…
Cracking the case was surprisingly easy, and she found her problem with no trouble. It appeared that several of the key components had been jarred out of position, causing a lack of consistent contact between the power sources and various components. Using the General's Leatherman, she pried the DHD apart… but carefully, then cleaned the components' bases and then repositioned them.
That done, she placed her hand on the DHD. The first symbol, Lynx, lit up brightly, and she couldn't help but smile. Andromeda, Corona Australis, Hydra and then Norma soon were all glowing and then she placed her hand firmly onto the final symbol, the one she hoped was point of origin… Sextans.
The wormhole failed to initialize, and she nodded her head.
"Ok, twenty four more to try," she stated out loud.
"Colonel O'Neill," General Ryan's voice did not sound pleased to be hearing from him. "You said this was a matter of some urgency?"
Jack figured the best thing to do was just give Ryan the story cold but naturally, it would be a uniquely O'Neill report.
"General Hammond went off world," Jack informed Ryan. "There was an unexpected ambush by enemy Jaffa. General Hammond and Captain Samantha Carter were the last ones into the wormhole and… they failed to show up… It's rather long-winded and technical… but…"
"Cut the STUPID act, Colonel. I've know about you and your escapades for far too long to swallow the stupid routine," barked Ryan.
That tone of voice from Ryan made Jack's backbone straighten.
"Sir! From what we can determine, there was an energy surge while they were in the buffer, and it appears that the buffer was lost."
Jack stopped speaking when he heard the General's sharp intake of breath. Ryan knew exactly what a buffer was, what it did with regards to the gate and what it meant when it came up empty.
"Colonel, I hear words like, "Can determine," and "Appears", I do not like reports with generalities, I desire precise, detailed information. Have you attempted a rescue, Colonel?"
"Sir, the energy surge knocked the gate as well as half of Cheyenne Mountain offline. We've been unable to dial out since the gate went back online."
Silence and Jack tried not to squirm. He was sitting in the Seat o' Power, leather upholstery, nicely cushioned, yet why did he feel like he was back in first grade, sitting in a rickety, wooden chair with Mrs. O'Keefe waving a ruler at him?
"Who else was on the team when George went off word? George assured me that he'd be perfectly safe as he was being… babysat… by his number one team. Were you on the team that just lost their commanding officer and another officer off world, Colonel?"
"Yes, sir," Jack admitted.
"Was the alien… Tilk?" The General stumbled over the unfamiliar name. "Was he there?"
"Teal'c, Sir," Jack offered helpfully. "Yes, he was there."
"You're to place Teal'c in custody immediately, Colonel, if you've not already done so," the General ordered.
"Sir?" Jack questioned.
"Colonel, Teal'c has already switched sides once in this battle. Can you be one hundred percent sure that he hasn't decided to switch again? Allowing the capture of one of our senior most officers by enemy troops is a good way for Teal'c to get back into his so called God's good graces. How did Hammond get trapped off world? Why the highest ranking officer? If there was an ambush, or a fire fight, George should have gotten through the gate first. The amount of Intel about our planetary defenses Apophis could gain from George is almost frightening to consider."
"Sir, Captain Carter was point. We were on the base of the Gate when a blast from a staff weapon destroyed the step on which she was standing, causing her to fall. General Hammond saw her fall, and he ran back to where she was to assist her back on her feet and through the gate. I was providing cover for them. While the two of them were in the process of leaving the planet, they were fired on by an enemy ship. It appears that the energy blast hit the gate while they were in transit."
Ryan gave him the third degree, and the cushy Seat O' Power became nothing more than a seat for an inquisition. All Jack needed was one lone, bright bulb overhead, and he'd start having flashbacks of his vacation in the Iraqi prison.
By the time Ryan had finished pulling the last of the information from him; Jack knew that boon was still to fall.
"Colonel, I'll be arriving there shortly to oversee the rescue. You're to place the alien in protective custody. I will contact Captain Carter's father and advise him that his daughter and General Hammond were on a plane that developed trouble and is believed down. General Hammond's oldest daughter…"
Fuck! FUCK! He had to tell Hammond's family that the old man was missing!
Ryan paused as though searching for a name, "Jocelyn is to be advised of the situation using the cover story that I've given you. Do not deviate from the script, Colonel. I'll see you in a few hours. You are to have someone tell Hammond's family and you will do it immediately. Colonel, you will inform your designee of the cover story, as you're in temporary command of the base until I get there. You are not to leave the base. Ryan out."
Jack put the phone back into the receiver and cursed a prayer. There was a knock on the door, and Jack told them to enter.
It was Davis, the short, slight, spectacled sergeant who proved that his nickname of Radar was well earned.
"Sir, I know the General's family. Do you want me to be the one to inform his family?"
Jack nodded his head, and motioned for the sergeant to take a seat. "I want you and Ferretti to tell his daughter…."
Davis nodded his head as Jack explained the cover story.
Samantha tried the last combination, pressing the last glyph hard. The lights on the Stargate went out immediately, and she tried the combination that she had written down. It had been the twelfth or so combination of assorted glyphs, and the lights on the gate had stayed on for a little longer… as though trying to connect.
The last glyph was placed, and yes… the gate glowed as though it was trying to connect. Then it shut down.
Samantha wiped her hair out of her eyes, and she tried to ignore the big, fat snowflake that drifted lazily down from the sky. Another one soon joined it. The General was standing next to her and she made sure that she handed back his Leatherman before she got too comfortable with it. She didn't inform that they couldn't get home, as well... it was pretty apparent.
"Captain, we need to get firewood," Hammond ordered. "Do you have any idea if the problem with the gate is on this end? Or the SGC?"
"I don't know, Sir," Samantha admitted.
Michael Ryan picked up the phone and requested his secretary connect him to Andrews Air Force Base. He counted the rings, mentally preparing himself for the part of the job that he hated most. No matter how many times he had this conversation, it never got any easier.
The phone was answered, and Ryan spoke, "Jacob? It's Mike. We need to talk. Can we?"
Mike paused, then sighed, "You need to clear your office, Jake. It's important."
Jacob Carter did so, and then Mike Ryan began regretfully informing Samantha Carter's father that Captain Samantha Carter had been on a mission and her plane was overdue.
