Winter of Hammond's Heart Chapt 5
Hammond shook hands with the newly pinned Captain, smiling as the young man's friends took pictures of the momentous occasion. His own double-bar ceremony was ages ago. A lot of water under the bridge since then, he thought. The flashes stopped and with a last congratulation to the younger officer, Hammond moved away.
The Science Department, mostly comprised of civilians, took interest in its military associates. Hammond was pleased; camaraderie between the two groups went a long way toward cooperation and good morale.
Glancing around the Science Department's meeting room, he found who he was looking for. Dr. Freeman stood at the refreshment table, pouring punch and Hammond suddenly found he was parched. He waited until the half dozen people around the table left, before approaching Dr. Freeman. He had not seen her at all during the past week.
"Good afternoon, Doctor. Might I have some of that?" he asked.
"Promoting people make you thirsty, General?" she asked with a smile, dipping a ladle fullof ginger ale and red fruit juice into the paper cup he held.
"Hard work," he replied, with a grin. Several drops of punch dripped from the ladle's edge, landing on his hand. He set the cup on the table, holding his hand away from his uniform and the table.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Dr. Freeman quickly grabbed a napkin and took his hand in hers, wiping at the sticky drink.
"It's, uh, nothing…don't trouble yourself…uh, thank you, doctor," Hammond stammered, trying to think straight with her hands on his. She wiped once more and he reluctantly pulled his hand away and picked up his cup. He could still feel the touch of her soft, warm fingers.
"I hope it didn't get on your jacket."
"No, not at all," he assured her, feeling like a teenage boy trying to work up the nerve to ask the prettiest girl in school out on a date. That pretty much sums it up, he thought.
Several staff members came by for punch and Hammond drank his while she served them. When once again alone, Hammond cleared his throat and stepped closer.
"Dr. Freeman, I want to apologize for the interruption in my office two weeks ago and the unexpected visitors last week," he said loud enough for her to hear, but soft enough, he hoped, that others did not.
"I understand, sir."
"I'm afraid we didn't get a chance to finish our conversation. I was thinking," he continued slowly, "that perhaps we could-"
"Kathryn! I've been looking for you," Daniel Jackson called out, wandering over to them. He looked around the room, then back to the couple. "Nice crowd. Have you finished with the ECCT file? Think they came for the food?" He picked up a cup of punch and drank it in two long swallows. "Is this spiked?" he asked hopefully.
Wondering what he had to do in order to speak with her uninterrupted, Hammond waited while Dr. Freeman tried to follow Daniel Jackson's train of thought. Jackson wondered aloud about why punch was always red or green at parties, thanked her for telling him where the file was, suggested a bottle of rum added to the punch would liven things up, and then wandered off, his unbuttoned shirt flapping as he waved goodbye.
Hammond glanced to his left, then right. "What is this, Hollywood and Vine…Grand Central Station?"
At her laugh and lingering smile, he shored up his resolved and dove in. "Dr. Freeman, what I've been trying to ask you is would you care to-"
"Sir, we have a problem," Chief Master Sergeant Juarez said in a low voice, appearing at his side. Hammond frowned and NCO continued evenly, "in the Gate Room."
Just as calmly, Hammond set his cup down-"Please excuse me, Dr. Freeman"- and walked away, listening intently to his most senior-ranking non-commissioned officer.
Kathryn Freeman watched him leave, still not sure about what George Hammond had intended to ask, but hoping her guess was correct.
George Hammond first met Hector Juarez in a helicopter, flying not quite high enough over the steamy jungle of Viet Nam to avoid potshots from the local villagers. When Juarez let loose, in Spanish, with a stream of profanity in response to a bullet that shot through the open door of the copter, ripping into the panel of wiring the sergeant had only three hours before finished repairing, Hammond was the only person aboard able to fully appreciate the brilliance of the tirade. Captain Hammond fell back, against his rucksack, laughing at what Sgt Juarez planned for the gunner below, and then added a few suggestions of his own. Throughout the years since, they stayed in contact, off and on, but the respect each had for the other never waned or wavered.
"Who's the troop?" Hammond asked after Juarez finished explaining, as they strode down the hall to the elevators. Juarez used his key to call the elevator, overriding its program. Seconds later, the doors opened smoothly and the occupants quickly stepped out, allowing Major General Hammond and CMSgt Juarez privacy.
"Airman by the name of Peterson…Andrew- Andy. Lost a buddy a few weeks back in that ambush with SG1 and 7," Juarez replied as he inserted the key in the panel and sent the lift hurtling swiftly, down to the lowest level.
Hammond grunted. "Damn. Any past problems?"
"No- good troop, set for a third stripe in a couple of months, sir."
"Medical notified? Anybody in there with him?" The doors opened and they exited, the massive doors leading to the Gate Room/Command Center before them.
"Medical should be here and Colonel O'Neil's in there with him."
Jack was good at talking down most troops under duress, but sometimes it took a different touch, Hammond knew. They rounded a corner and slowed their steps, the Gate Room's doors ahead, open. Dr. Janet Fraser waited to the side with two medical technicians.
Between the guards lined up in the doorway, Hammond could see one very distraught young man cradling the firearm pointed at his chest, eyes blank in shock.
"What brought this on?" he asked softly.
"SG7 came under fire just before returning, sir- no injuries other than one troop with a nick on his arm. Peterson followed orders to fall back, but lost it when he stepped through the gate," Juarez answered quietly.
The general turned to Dr. Fraser. "Is the colonel making any headway with him?"
She shook her head. "No, sir."
Hammond looked back at Juarez and tilted his bald head toward the door. "Come with me." Inside the Gate Room door, he paused. "Empty the room, Chief." Juarez nodded and waved the security team out, then took position just inside the door, his gun at the ready, out of sight.The general could not be leftunprotected.
Hammond approached the young man and O'Neil, unhurriedly. "Thank you, Colonel. I'd like to speak with Airman Peterson alone."
O'Neil quietly moved away, joining Juarez.
Peterson shifted from foot to foot, watching, his eyes widening at the Major General's arrival.
"Heard you had a rough day, son," Hammond said quietly, looking at the gun's safety catch. It was off. The young man swallowed, his hands shaking. "Heard you lost a friend out there, too."
The airman nodded then spoke, barely audible. "Yes, sir."
Hammond shook his head. "I'm sorry. I know what it's like to lose someone that way. You mind if we sit down?" he said, looking to a couple of nearby swivel chairs, the airman's gaze following his. There was no answer and Hammond slowly moved two chairs, pulling them closer to the ramp, setting them facing each other. "Have a seat. Been a long day for both of us."
The young man hesitated then took the empty seat, gun unmoved.
"Where you from, son?" Hammond asked.
It was along moment before Peterson spoke. "Louisiana, sir"
Hammond nodded. "Spent some time there. Why'd you join the Air Force, son?"
"Wanted to serve my country, sir." The hand holding the gun relaxed a bit, the shaking less.
"Me, too. That and to see sights other than Texas dust." The corner of Hammond's mouth lifted as the younger man looked surprised at his joke. "Didn't expect them to be on other planets, though. You?"
"No, sir," Peterson replied with a nervous laugh.
"Son, you have to know that what we're doing is important."
Peterson looked away. "Sometime it seems like…"
"Like we're just chuckin' dirt clods at the side of a barn?" Hammond saw the airman nod and he took a deep breath. "Sometimes we are…but son, sometimes there's a rock inside those dirt clods."
Peterson smiled hesitantly at his commander's words, his grip relaxing a fraction on the gun.
"What you and I are fighting for is important," Hammond reiterated, "and we have to honor those who fought beside us and died, by not giving up. They didn't give up on us."
Peterson met his gaze and Hammond saw a soldier in them. The airman sat up a bit straighter, his eyes clearer. "No, sir."
Hammond leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, hands clasped loosely, and looked at the younger man intently. "Son, I'm gonna ask you to give me your gun."
Startled, Peterson looked down and stared at the gun clutched to his chest. "I didn't…I wasn't…"
"Give me the gun, son," Hammond repeated calmly.
The airman started to hand it over then suddenly pulled it back. "Safety was off," he said, setting the catch. He handed it over, careful to keep it pointed away from the general.
Relieved, Hammond took it and quickly checked the safety. He placed the gun across his lap,his right hand, keeping a tight grip on it.
Peterson suddenly looked worried. "I'm in a lot of trouble, aren't I, sir?"
Hammond shrugged. "Two warriors helping each other through a tough time….that's not wrong, in my book, son. You might consider talking with Dr. Fraser, though. She understands."
"Yes, sir. Thank you sir,"
"Would you like to ask her yourself?" he asked, giving his troop the opportunity to make the request and not have the psychiatric evaluation performed at his command. Peterson nodded. He glanced over his shoulder. "Colonel, ask Dr. Fraser to please join us."
He stood, Peterson following, and laid his hand on the boy's shoulder. Damn, but the kid looked young! He gave it a squeeze. "You're OK, son. Everything's gonna be all right."
