54: City Ship Down
The XF-306 was, on the outside, not all that different to the F-302. Its profile was a little lower, sleeker even, and the canopy was somewhat lower as well, but otherwise the fighter was about the same size and shape as the older F-302. However, the internal systems were a little more advanced, refined in some aspects. The engines were improved, allowing for higher speed and manoeuvrability, and the hyperspace generator allowed for longer, more accurate jumps with shorter calculation times required. The armaments were a step above the usual rail guns and missiles; rather the XF-306 carried a set of forward firing energy weapons not too dissimilar to what could be found upon a Goa'uld death glider, albeit enhanced to fire faster and more accurately. There was a sizeable rail gun as well, fitted into the nose of the craft, along with a pair of missile pods under the wings. This was still a prototype model, and Cameron knew that the finished version was to have a small-scale beam weapon embedded in the nose, in place of the rail gun. For now, though, he would have to content himself with something more conventional.
The flight-suit he wore was a little tight around the waist. He had not gained weight, it was more the fact that they had fished the suit out of storage, figuring it closest to his size. The helmet fit snugly, and he set it over his head as he climbed into the fighter. Other fighters about the Odyssey's hangar were being geared up and moved into launch positions. There had to be about six of them in this hangar, with another six in the hangar at the other side of the ship. All of them were being launched in response to the incoming fighters, of which there were several and all of which were seconds away from entering weapons range.
The hangar personnel were racing about, dressed in tight-fitting environment suits as a precaution against sudden decompression. Otherwise, the energy fields at the hangar entrance kept the atmosphere inside, whilst allowing the movement of ships through it. One of the hangar personnel was signalling Cameron, directing him to the centre of the main track. Pre-flight checks were being rushed through, although Cameron had no problem recalling the necessary ones, universal as they were across such fighter craft. He did them all quickly, barely glancing at the printed checklist itself that was helpfully pasted on the left-hand half of the dashboard.
"Enemy fighters closing." Ramsay's voice crackled through his helmet radio. "Alpha wing, you are a go."
"This is Eagle One, copy loud and clear." Cameron hit the engines, feeling and hearing them come to life. Before him was the runway, and after that the vacuum of space. The signaller before him gave him one final wave before he darted out of the way, allowing Cameron to hit the throttle and send the sleek fighter racing forwards with a roar of its engines. The other fighters followed quickly, one after the other, shooting out of the hangar like missiles. Before any of them could properly form up, they were met head-on by the pincer-like, sleek-black attack craft of the enemy.
The agility of these alien ships was substantial, and Cameron found himself struggling to even keep track of them as they darted and ducked and banked in ways that the 302s and 306s would have struggled to do on a good day. Cameron swung round to the nearest of the attack craft, ordering the wing to engage and defend the Odyssey. Numerically, the odds were fairly even; a dozen of their fighters against ten of the hostile bogeys. And yet, Cameron did not have to wait long for one of his wingmen to go up in flames, a purple beam of energy cutting his fighter down the middle and practically vaporising it, reducing the F-302 into little more than jagged metal shards no larger than one's fist. The pilot hardly had a chance to announce he was in trouble before he was up in smoke, now dust within the vacuum.
Cameron rolled his fighter hard, following the alien ship whilst his targeting computers struggled to get a lock. They were struggling even more so than he would have expected, even with the improvements made to the XF-306's overall systems. There was something about these alien ships that made them difficult for the computers to track, and when one was flying at the kinds of speeds common in a space dogfight, then targeting by eye was a tall order. The alien ship turned sharply around the rear of the Odyssey and Cameron raced after it, keeping it within view of his canopy. The rest of the battle had erupted around him, rail gun tracers and missiles and energy beams cutting across the vacuum in a veritable swarm. Another of the 302s were picked off, blasted from behind by another brilliant violet beam of energy that one of the enemy fighters had unleashed.
Cameron took a breath, hand firm upon the stick, only dimly aware of the constant beeping of the targeting computer as it worked to find a lock for the missiles. Instead, he let fly with the forward energy cannons, bolts of yellow-hued plasma zipping forth at a rapid rate not too dissimilar to the speed of the rail guns. Some of them pounded against the alien fighter's rear, for the size of the craft at least offered a bigger target than any F-302 or Goa'uld death glider. And yet, he saw that familiar pulsing he had seen on the capital ship when it had been struck with energy weapons, the way in which it had seemingly absorbed the energy and thereby greatly reduced its damage. There were no shields here, just an exotic armoured shell, and Cameron realised he was going about this the wrong way. He switched to the nose-mounted rail gun and opened fire, the two fighters swooping in low over the topside of the Odyssey as he did so. Some of the rounds struck, but then the alien attack craft was darting to the left, rolling aside whilst the hull of the cruiser came rocketing forth. Cameron pulled up sharply, practically skirting the hull and narrowly missing a rail gun emplacement that moved to track the retreating alien attack fighter.
Cameron spun round after it. Far off to his portside, he watched as one of the hostile fighters was sent spiralling out of control, a missile having taking out its method of propulsion. Blistering purple sparks trailed out of its rear before it suddenly erupted into yellow and violet-hued light. Cameron could have sworn he had heard a screeching sound upon its death, yet that was impossible. At least, he had not 'heard' it through his ears, and instead it had felt as if, for one fleeting second, that the damn thing had been screaming in his mind. Were these ships alive, in some weird way?
A disconcerting thought, and not one he wanted to focus on. He caught one of the fighters in his firing line then, pursuing it far past the Odyssey and towards the wreck of Anchorpoint station. The station he had been in charge of, annihilated under his watch. The place might not have been all that good, the work itself frustrating and boring, but someone needed to get paid back for the loss of all those cruisers and personnel. These alien attackers seemed like a good set of candidates, and so he blazed on after this solitary attacker, all while his helmet radio was filled with the rapid-fire chatter of battle, almost as rapid as the rail guns that fired all round. And amongst it he heard Ramsay's voice, breaking in over it all:
"We're taking damage, Alpha wing. Their weapons are cutting through our shields."
Cameron fired a pair of missiles as soon as the computer finally managed a lock. He watched the alien attack craft roll aside in an effort to avoid them, but the pair of smoking missiles followed it with ease, connecting with its rear, one after the other. The ship disappeared into an explosion of flame and smoke that dissipated rapidly in the vacuum, with another blazing eruption of light following as whatever powered the strange alien attack fighter gave out. Smouldering pieces of it went flying all around, and Cameron swerved away from one especially large chunk before he spun the fighter back towards the Odyssey.
They had taken losses, but so had the enemy. The Odyssey had also taken some visible damage to its hull, but even Cameron could see that it was nothing too serious. The cruiser's shields were holding it, absorbing the brunt of the energy weapons, yet there was still some 'bleed-through' that saw some of the energy pass through the protective bubble and attack the hull. Another shot finally did away with the shields, leaving the cruiser vulnerable. However, with fewer enemy fighters left in the engagement, the odds had swung somewhat in the favour of the humans.
Cameron saw one of his fellow pilots hit an attacker with a missile, although this did not destroy the ship outright. It began trailing purple fire, with the pilot (or whatever other force controlled the ship) making use of its last vestiges of manoeuvrability to direct itself onto a path for the front-end of the Odyssey. A kamikaze run, Cameron realised, and it was directed for the bridge. The rail guns at the fore-end of the ship turned about to engage the oncoming ship. The other 302s and the few 306s on the field were preoccupied for the moment, and Cameron was too far to effectively intercept the failing alien hostile. Nonetheless, he hit the engines hard, pushing them to their limits in an effort to get within targeting range and put a stop to the suicide run.
He did not make it in time. The rail guns scored a few hits, but they did little to deter the now out-of-control ship from its course. The attacker slammed hard into the Odyssey, throwing forth a spout of yellow flame and purple energy that tore across the hull, leaving a blackened gash that ran for a good twenty metres across the fore of the cruiser. Cameron saw the familiar gush of rapidly freezing air that suggested sudden decompression, as the damage had pierced more than one deck. Another loss to add to their tally, he figured, his mood souring accordingly.
"Captain Ramsay, damage report." He spoke clearly into his helmet's comms, hoping for a response. The Odyssey was otherwise intact, its remaining guns still firing, rail gun shots streaking off into all directions. After a long pause, Cameron repeated his request. He flew on close over the topside of the ship, looking down upon the gash opened across its hull. Suddenly, someone did reply, just not whom he was expecting:
"General Mitchell, this is Captain Sean Michaelson. We're still here, but we've taken some heavy damage." The voice was that of a man, and he sounded terse if a little relieved. However, his voice took on a more disheartened tone then: "Major Ramsay is dead and most of the bridge is lost. We're going to be taking charge from the secondary command centre."
Cruisers such as the Odyssey came with a smaller, more heavily protected secondary command centre towards the heart of the ship. In the event of an emergency, such as loss of access to the bridge, all command operations could be rerouted and organized from the secondary command centre.
"You've still got three bogeys out there, sir," Michaelson added. "And we're getting reports that several more of these fighters are attacking cities below. They want us pulling back as soon as we're in the clear to help with intercepting those on Earth."
This enemy, whoever they were, had sent their remaining fighters groundside. It was a suicide attack, really, for their capital ship was gone. Either they were determined to wreak as much havoc as possible, or they simply did not mind getting killed. Perhaps they had a means to get away, a hyperspace engine on every one of their attack craft, but if so why launch a strike against the Earth's surface?
"What kind of damage are they doing?" Did these fighters have weapons of mass destruction on board? Were millions dying below while they fought for their lives up here?
"Unclear, sir. But it sounds serious."
"All right, Captain, we'll clean up out here and land once it's clear." At least the enemy was not invincible, and that was what counted. They were strong, but they could still be killed. Even if it took Atlantis to take out one of their ships, it still meant that the odds were not totally stacked against the good guys. As for all of the ships they had lost, that was another matter. Such things could not be so easily replaced, and the crews could never be truly replaced. For the losses taken in a matter of minutes, it could very well take years for them to recover. And it had all happened under his watch, and although it was not his fault, Cameron could not help but feel that in some small way, it was.
It was this newfound, rising anger that fuelled him for the rest of the engagement, wherein a further two more of the unusual alien attack craft fell to his combat flying skills. As soon as the last one was down, he and the four surviving other fighters landed in the cruiser's starboard hangar, their moods dour, even after the small 'win'. Cameron emerged onto the hangar deck, helmet tucked under one arm, with a small crowd of appreciative hangar personnel to greet him. Looking into their frightened and uncertain faces, Cameron knew they needed something, anything to lift their spirits. Victory would do that, and it was what he intended to achieve, no matter how long it took and what it required.
Atlantis was coming apart at the seams. The race to the jumper bay was chaotic, with the entire building shaking around them, smoke venting from ruptured wall conduits and sparks erupting from overloaded circuits within those walls. John stumbled a few times, as did the others, and partway to the operations centre a wall strut came crashing down, followed by a shower of sparks as a power conduit practically exploded within its housing. And still the group pressed on, moving as fast as their feet would allow them. John was at the front of the group, leading the way as he so often did, with Elsie, Daniel, Teal'c, Hudson and Gunnery Sergeant Cortman following.
Red lights were flashing about the operations centre when they arrived. Lights flickered and then failed, casting the room in darkness. John found his way to the stairs, one hand firmly around the guardrail, sparks and malfunctioning computer terminals casting some light about the place. So many times he had been here, within this very room, working and talking and laughing with friends, some of whom were long gone. The place practically sang with the memories of his time here, some good and some bad, yet all of them carrying that sense of familiarity that the entire city held for him. A home away from home for many. Atlantis, for John Sheppard, had been 'home' for many years, if only because he had never truly had any particular 'home' on Earth.
This was the last time he would see this place. It had changed, certainly: there was no stargate, for one. The floor below was taken up with crates and the odd table, not to mention a growing amount of debris as the place fell apart. Nonetheless, John paused on the walkway overlooking the room, whilst he motioned the rest of the team onwards for the door that led the way to the upper jumper bay. He remained here for a moment, looking across it all, picturing how the place had been when it had been used for good and not for the twisted schemes of the conspirators who had operated from here most recently.
"Colonel?" Elsie was suddenly behind him. "Come on, we can't stay here." She was right, of course. John turned around, stowing the nostalgia for now, looking to the worried Lieutenant before he gave her a curt nod. Again, the building was shaken by another explosion somewhere. Deep in the bowels of the city, the zero-point module that provided it power edged ever closer to a critical state. Time was running out quickly, and John could almost sense the build-up in the ZPM, as if in some tangential way he was still connected to the city. It was like watching a loved one die, torn apart from within.
John followed Elsie through a door and up a flight of steps that took them to the main jumper bay. There was only one puddle jumper inside, and they were welcomed there by Natalia, who waved the group over. The others were already on board, and John was relieved to see Aithris was alive, if a little beaten and noticeably bloodied. The Nomad was seated in the passenger section, his expression somewhat strained, his violet-hued eyes narrowed. He offered the Colonel a nod as he entered, but otherwise said nothing, lost within his own thoughts.
As soon as they were all on board, the rear doors closed. John moved for the cockpit, recognizing the man seated at the pilot's seat right away. Sure, Rodney McKay had aged, just as they all had, but there was no mistaking that face, or his general, overall demeanour as he anxiously worked at the puddle jumper's controls.
"Rodney?" John paused in the doorway, and McKay turned to him. Recognition flashed upon his face, followed by a smile.
"John." He looked to be about to say more, but Stanton, seated in the neighbouring seat, was quick to interrupt.
"Save the reunion for later, maybe?" He glared at McKay. "Get us the hell out of here, doctor."
McKay nodded, the puddle jumper's engines already active and idling. All he had to do was set the craft on a steady ascent, even as one corner of the hangar lit up with a small explosion. A section of panelling on the wall there had flown off of its housing, sparks blasting out of the conduits behind it, followed by flames that grew rapidly as the overload intensified.
McKay had a button on the controls, causing the overhead doors to open. The starry blackness of space awaited them, and it was through this opening that McKay sent the ship on a sharp, accelerating climb, shooting them out of the central tower as so much of the city beneath them started to come apart. John kept a grip on the doorway as to steady himself, allowing McKay the honours of flying them clear of the crippled city.
"How long do we have until the overload?" It was Daniel who asked this, seated with the others in the passenger section. McKay glanced at the controls and the display between them, keyed into the city's systems for the time being.
"Seconds," McKay said, his voice a little strained as he pushed the puddle jumper hard. They had to get to a safe distance, and so he started them for Earth, the blue of which was now filling the viewport window.
"Could I take a look?" John was not sure why he wanted to see it happen, but part of him was simply compelled to do so. McKay glanced at him, eyes narrowing, and although he appeared to be on the verge of protesting, something in his expression changed and he relented. As they put distance between them and the city, he slowly eased them around to the left, placing them almost perpendicular to the city itself. John stepped into the cockpit, leaning over the dashboard as to peer through the viewport in the direction of Atlantis.
The city was many kilometres away now, although it was near enough for John to see the extent of the damage taken. Much of the eastern pier was gone, having been almost sheared off of the main body of the city. Some parts of the city managed to burn, even in the vacuum; presumably some chemical compounds were at work in the mix to keep those fires burning, although John was simply guessing here. He was no physicist or chemical engineer.
It was not only the eastern pier that had taken the damage, but just about every other part of the city bore the marks of battle. Buildings had been levelled in some areas, others with jagged holes torn through their metal frames. And deep within the city's heart, there came a yellow brilliance, a ball of light that grew tremendously and swallowed up much of the city itself. It happened in a matter of seconds, vaporising the entire central section, tower along with it, before the remaining pieces were flung every which way at alarming speeds. Like jagged, artificial asteroids the pieces went spiralling off into space, although soon enough the Earth's gravitational pull would catch hold and take them into its embrace. Most would burn up in the atmosphere, showing down on the surface as a hail of falling stars. Some pieces, however small, would push their way through and rain down across the Earth, making for some surprise finds in years to come. And with all these fragments went the remains of Anchorpoint station and the many ships that had been destroyed with it, an announcement to the world below that Earth's advanced fleet of starships had been almost completely annihilated.
The shockwave that followed the overload of the zero-point module within Atlantis' heart shook the puddle jumper suddenly. McKay struggled to right the ship as it went spinning wildly, caught up in a wave of pieces of the city, just another chunk of rubble amongst many. The inertial dampeners on board absorbed most of the momentum, yet the sight of the space and the Earth outside the window spinning about them wildly did provide a mild sense of nausea. McKay managed to level off the ship, once again setting them on path for Earth, all while fragments of the city flung on by. Some clunked against the hull, leaving little more than scuff marks upon the metal. The engines of the puddle jumper suddenly sputtered and died then, leaving them adrift.
John once again felt that sense of loss, not only because of his familiarity with the Ancient city, but also for what it meant. They had destroyed one of the enemy's capital ships, a ship that no doubt belonged to the so-called 'Void Demons'. It was a small victory, compared to the losses they had taken. All he had to do was look towards the wreck of Anchorpoint station to be reminded of what had been lost, for now Earth was more vulnerable than it had been in years. And Atlantis could have been that crucial part of its defences needed to fight off this new enemy. With it gone, what did they have now? How would they fight off another attack like this one?
"You all right?" Elsie's voice broke into his thoughts. John turned around, seeing her standing in the doorway of the cockpit. Behind her, the others appeared either morose or relieved, with a mix of both visible on some. Aithris was having his injuries tended to by Natalia, whilst Daniel had a hand to his chin with an expression of deep contemplation upon his face. Teal'c appeared stoic, as he so often did. Underneath that firm face were feelings of grave concern and minor relief, for he had survived another battle, they all had. Yet so many others had died. Atlantis was gone, so many of their ships were gone, so many peopleā¦
"We're being hailed," McKay announced, and John turned around to look his way, forgetting how he had been about to reply to Elsie's question. "It's the Odyssey."
One of the first ships in Earth's fleet and one of the most heavily modified, the Odyssey's survival was a good sign. It lay far ahead, in a stable orbit over Earth. When McKay answered the call, they were greeted by a familiar voice:
"This is Brigadier General Cameron Mitchell to the crew of the puddle jumper. Identify yourselves and slow down for pickup."
"General, sir," John said, and he could almost see the way in which Cameron's eyes widened slightly upon hearing his voice. "This is Colonel John Sheppard of SG-1. I've got eleven people on board all eager to get some rest and something to eat."
"Colonel Sheppard, it's good to hear your voice." Cameron did sound a little relieved. "You wouldn't have had anything to do with Atlantis saving our asses back there?"
"We might have, sir."
"Well, thanks. It's just a damn shame the whole city had to blow."
"That it is, General. That it is." John remembered then, with one sudden rush of imagery, something he had been shown many months ago. He turned around, sighting Aithris in the passenger section, recalling meeting the Nomad's mother, Livona. He had farewelled her at the gate room back at the SGC, as had the rest of the team, sending off the surviving Nomads to a new settlement on a fae away world. And there, Livona had allowed John a glance of a vision she had received, just one of many glimpses into the future brought on by her apparent foresight abilities. Little more than a genetic abnormality that was otherwise one in a billion, Livona was gifted (and cursed) to catch visions of the future every so often, futures that she had stated always came to pass one way or another. She had the ability to show others such things, through simple physical touch, and she had allowed John to look on to one in particular that had held some relevance to him. He had seen Atlantis destroyed against a backdrop of space and stars, the image in all ways identical to the destruction he had just witnessed. Livona had showed him a future that had happened, as she said it would. And John had been unable to stop it from occurring.
"We're on our way to you, Colonel. We can see your engines are down," Cameron added, interrupting John's train of thought. "I'm sure your General will want to debrief you after all of this."
"There's going to be a lot of that for everyone, I bet, sir."
"We've got some enemy bogeys bombing the surface," Cameron explained. The Odyssey was racing towards the puddle jumper now, essentially overshadowing the comparatively puny craft with its sheer size. "Looks like we'll be on mop-up detail for a little while."
"They're attacking the surface?" It was Elsie who asked this, perking up with renewed worry. From high above the Earth, they could see no sign of any attacks on the surface. The damage had to be localised, small in scale, but even that could mean millions dead.
"We don't know exact details yet," Cameron replied. "Just that things are getting a little heated down there." Whoever was at the helm of the cruiser had some skills, as they moved in on the small puddle jumper such that McKay did not even have to move in turn. Instead, the ship met them such that the hangar entrance came upon them at a steady, controlled pace, practically swallowing the puddle jumper into it. Suddenly, they were surrounded by familiar grey and blue walls, contained within a hangar suspiciously absent of fighters. No doubt they had lost most of them during the battle, John surmised.
McKay brought the puddle jumper down in a slow landing. As soon as it had touched down, they were set upon by about a dozen uniformed personnel, including some medics carrying first aid bags and stretchers. The rear doors opened up and the team slowly filed out of the back. Aithris was set upon one of the waiting stretchers, Natalia by his side. John was one of the last to emerge from the puddle jumper, his gaze going to the pair and to the very obvious closeness they seemed to be sharing. He would keep his eye on that, he figured. Not much more he could do, nor did he see any need for any measure of intervention right now. They had all been through a lot, from one battlefield to another, and if Aithris and Natalia wanted to hold hands and whatever else, then by all means John would let them.
"This is bad, John." Daniel stepped into place alongside him then, following his gaze as the hangar personnel milled about, with the medics tending to whatever minor wounds the others had received. "Atlantis, the fleet, what are we going to do?"
"We'll work it out, Daniel." John glanced at him, noticing then just how tired Daniel looked. In fact, he appeared about ten years older than he actually was. John realised he probably looked much the same. Dirty, sweaty and just generally worn out, they had seen more action in the past few days than most soldiers would see in a lifetime of service.
"I hope we do," Daniel said. "And I hope we work it out fast, because I feel like our problems are only just getting started."
As was often the case, John knew Daniel was right. It was as if he had some kind of intuition as to just how bad things were about to get. And with more trouble on the way, John feared that none of them would be getting a proper rest anytime soon.
