CHAPTER EIGHT
Planet
PJ3-176,
Milky
Way Galaxy.
Mitchell led the way up over the lipse of the trench and into the forest, after Teal'c and the remaining Jaffa that were pursuing him. His assault rifle raised and ready to fire, the Lieutenant Colonel made haste after the dark, shadowy figures up ahead, trying his best to get a good line on the nearest enemy so he could take him down from a distance. This wasn't going to be a fair fight, so long as Cam could help it.
In warfare, surprise and brutal action were the mainstays of victory, and the American Air Force officer sure as hell didn't want to die on some godforsaken planet hundreds of thousands of lightyears from Earth because he hesitated to act, for whatever reason.
Daniel Jackson was right behind him, and Artan was on the heels of the good Doctor. The two men broke off after a while, and sped up so they were in a three-pointed triangular advance.
Then, Teal'c turned to fight his enemies. The sound of energy bolts crackling through the air and exploding all around the place ripped through the air, as well as the unmistakable discharge of Teal'c's own weapon as he blasted away at the Jaffa chasing him.
Cam sighted one of the enemy Jaffa falling back towards his own position, firing away into the distance with his activated staff weapon. The warrior's full concentration was on trying to hit Teal'c – he did not see the Colonel waiting in the high bushes further back, raising his P-90 up to a firing position up against his shoulder, taking aim down the length of his sights...
A short squeeze of the trigger, and the Jaffa went careening back off his feet, hit full in the chest by the burst of bullets fired from Mitchell's weapon. The man was most likely dead – few if any Jaffa would have survived such punishment, as the warrior's larval symbiote was in all likelihood ripped apart by the rounds that had torn through his stomach and upper chest. If he had not been killed outright, then the death of his symbiote would mean the Jaffa was not long from his own demise – without regular doses of the drug tretonin, no Jaffa could survive the death or removal of his symbiote for very long.
Rising up from his crouched position, Mitchell raced forward past the dead foe's body, moving on through the trees and shrubs all around him to make his way towards Teal'c, where the sounds of fighting were now the heaviest. The other two men, to his left and right, kept pace with the soldier, and were ready and able to lend support to him when Cam needed their help.
Suddenly, a larger, grassy clearing opened out before him. Cam came bounding out into the open, and saw immediately where Teal'c and his three remaining opponents were positioned.
Teal'c, his broad, straining frame bent over the edge of a large rock-boulder as he sprayed the enemy position with a long burst of concentrated weapons-fire from his MP-5, was over on the other end of the clearing, near a number of large jagged rocks that would be perfect to seek cover behind. He was in an excellent position for defense, and Cam knew immediately that was no accident.
The three remaining Jaffa warriors, dressed in the loose, dark blue tunics they had seen all the other followers of Origin dressed in, were taking shelter behind one large granite slab near Cam's own position. Two of the figures were armed with zat-guns – the third, this one larger than his two companions, clutched a staff weapon tightly to his chest.
Colonel Mitchell looked across at Daniel, and made a few curt, concise military signals with his left hand, which he raised for a brief moment away from his weapon. Dr Jackson took in the signals with the sharp, professional eye of a natural fighter, and nodded once. He understood Cam's message. Being with Stargate Command on their flagship team, SG-1, had given Daniel more than enough experience of combat to know what Mitchell was saying.
They both moved forward cautiously, Daniel slowly moving across to the right of the granite slab, Cam keeping straight and steady, heading right towards the three armed enemies. He wondered if they would see him before he acted, or if the element of surprise would stay with Cam's team right to the very end. Sweat was pouring down the sides of his face, and his palms were wet with perspiration. This was it, the last tense moment before action. Steady, stay calm, and get ready to do your job...
He was confident that they were both right about where they had to be. Teal'c could not see what was happening behind the granite boulder, but he had stopped firing his weapon at the solid slab anyway. The three Jaffa taking shelter behind it were huddled together and talking softly amongst themselves. They didn't know that more of their enemies were so close by, about to slaughter them where they were.
Ready... now! Cam squeezed the trigger down on his weapon, letting off a protracted burst of gunfire into the three Jaffa as they sat crouched behind their cover. Daniel Jackson immediately joined in from his position, holding down on the trigger of his own automatic weapon as he swept over the Jaffa, pounding them with high-velocity rounds from his own vantage point off to the side.
One of the warriors, the the big Jaffa in the middle with the staff weapon, had seen Mitchell approaching out of the corner of his eye and had turned to face him, but that hopeless act had come far too late. He had barely managed to bring his staff weapon around halfway before Cam shot him through with more than a dozen bullets.
The bullets tore through the men's bodies and drove them all back against the hard granite slab behind them. Blood splattered out of their mortal wounds and poured out across the ground all around the place. Their torn, ragged bodies slumped lifelessly to the ground, in a tangled, bloody heap.
"Clear!" Mitchell shouted out. "Teal'c, are you alright?"
There was a long moment's silence, and then the large, imposing Jaffa fighter walked around the side of the granite slab and approached his companions, a slight smile of appreciation creasing his lips. "Indeed," Teal'c replied, bowing his head slightly to the Lt Colonel in thanks. "I am in your debt."
"Come on, it was nothing," Cam said with a smile of satisfaction. Artan moved up to join the others, a look of begrudging respect plastered across his face. Mitchell turned too look at the Jaffa. Daniel Jackson looked down on the bodies of the three Jaffa the two of them had just killed, and cringed slightly. Although he had taken lives many times in the past, Dr Jackson had absolutely no love for it. Killing was a last resort for him. There had been no choice here, but still that didn't make the sinking feeling of disgust that gripped him any less intense.
"We should keep moving," Teal'c said quickly. "When this patrol does not check in, it will no doubt raise suspicion and the alert will go out here, as well. We cannot afford to keep running into Ori followers along our journey. Hopefully the rest of the mission will be uneventful."
Not one of them thought this would be the case, though, however they all remained silent, holding their own personal fears inside as the team gathered together and then started moving out again into the deeper recesses of the forest. Daniel took up the lead, his head slouched down against the strong wind that had suddenly picked up, blowing through the trees all around them with unusual intensity.
They had to keep moving – there was still a target to reach, and Ori leaders to kill. Somewhere along the line, as well, there was the Prior of the Ori to contend with. Cam Mitchell could feel the heavy weight of the 'anti-Prior gun' in his backpack, and grunted with exertion with having to carry such a heavy kit for such long distances. However, he wouldn't have anybody else take his burden – it took a capable, competent leader to bear that heavy weight and go the extra mile necessary...
But he did hope privately that they encountered the Prior soon. Walking into the unknown was difficult enough, but it was expecially tense when they knew that there was such a powerful, imposing enemy somewhere up ahead of them.
# SG1 #
In
hyperspace near PJ3-176, onboard the USS Odyssey,
the
Milky Way Galaxy.
The Odyssey's primary security teams were gathered near the main Asgard teleport positions, right in the centre of the battle-cruiser, and the men and women of the Special Forces units were making last-minute checks of their weaponry and equipment. Colonel Emerson stood off to the side of the group of thirty-four, watching as they each quietly and confidently went about their business. Like the rest of the crew of the intersteller space-craft, the Spec Ops troops under Paul Emerson's command were the very best of the best.
He did not know exactly what to expect once their vessel emerged from hyperspace over the planet, but Emerson did know that an extraction, possibly under enemy fire, was a possible scenario. It was good to be prepared for that eventuality – which was why the commandos were all on standy-by here in the transport room.
The ranking officer in the strike force that was preparing to disembark, Major Frank Conner, came striding over to Colonel Emerson, sliding a magazine of bullets into his P-90 assault rifle and checking that a bullet had slid into the breech as he went. He gave Paul a slight, crooked smile, and nodded his head to his superior.
"We're about ready here, sir," Conner said with assured self-confidence. "Whatever's going on down on the planet's surface, we can handle it, and we'll get SG-1 out of there safely."
Emerson admired the soldier's confidence, and did not doubt the capablity or professionalism of the troops gathered together in this large room, but he would prefer not to have to put boots on the ground if he could avoid it. There were just too many unknowns to deal with on the world they were heading to – he didn't want the rescue team to get bogged down in whatever mess SG-1 was in trying to save them, but that could very well happen if they weren't too careful.
"That's good, Major. I'll radio through the 'go' order, if the situation warrants," Paul stated, then turned on his feet and strode off towards the bridge. "Be ready to move out on my order."
The weight of command in the tough situations such as this was what Emerson sometimes dreaded – but he knew he could handle it, because that was why he was given such a vital post in the first place. Paul had to calm himself, assess things as they came in with instant clarity and decisiveness, and then make a choice.
In the end it was down to him, and him alone, to make the judgement call. He had to try his very best to get SG-1 out of harm's way, but the Colonel's first duty was to the men and women under his command.
Colonel Emerson stepped onto the bridge and strode purposefully over to his command chair, in the centre of the control room. Sitting down in it, he looked across at Major Marks. The young-looking Air Force officer glanced up at his CO, and said curtly, "One minute until reentry into realspace."
"Very well then," the Colonel replied in a levelled, passive tone. "Ready all forward railgun positions. Ensure that all primary Mark-8 missile silos are prepped to launch on my command."
The orders were carried out with smooth, professional calmness; everybody on the bridge knew their own individual jobs, and went about making sure their own areas of responsibility were properly organized and ready to go. Emerson didn't quite know what kind of reception they could expect coming out of hyperspace over this planet, so he wanted the Odyssey to be ready for a fight if need be.
# SG1 #
Stargate
Command, Earth,
Milky
Way Galaxy.
By Colonel Emerson's own reckoning, the Odyssey should be over the planet, or near enough to it, at that moment. General Hank Landry, sitting in his office behind his desk, alone with his own thoughts, swore for the millionth time in anger and frustration. It made him almost ache physically, not knowing what was going on in situations such as this.
He was a commander, but more often than not Hank had to reply on the men and women under him carrying out his orders as best they could. In dangerous circumstances, this was heart-wrenching for Landry. He couldn't do anything more than sit back and hope all his people came back alive...
It was an even more poniant feeling for him since taking over Jack O'Neill's position as the commanding officer at Stargate Command.
Hank knew how Jack O'Neill was – he was a hands-on kind of man, who would rather shoulder all the risks and burdens he could, whenever he could, just to lessen the danger to those around him – and found it pretty hard to see the guy stuck behind a desk all the time, filling out paperwork and keeping the bean-counters satisfied. He knew, however, that even O'Neill was like that by the end of his own tenure, reduced by the job to a figurehead and an automaton to the bureaucracy.
Although he couldn't have a direct influence on off-world activities and missions, Hank Landry did know that he had taken over one of the most professional, elite military institutions in the US military, and that every single person under his command would do their very best to bring their comrades home.
The General had to trust in others... still, he couldn't stop the torrent of worst-case scenarios that kept rushing through his head, all of their own accord. Trying to force them out of his mind only brought them to the forefront with all the more clarity. Hank felt as though he was going to scream out loud in frustration. He had to bite down on his lower lip to fight the urge to do so.
Soon enough, SG-1 would be safely aboard the Odyssey and the SGC would get the good news transmitted to them over long-range communications. Then this crisis would be resolved, and they could move along, until the next one came along.
Landry kept telling himself that, over and over again. The tension didn't leave his body, though. And his vivid, fertile imagination kept on churning out doomsday scenarios for Hank to stew over in his own private hell.
Damnit, SG-1! Why is there always some crisis or emergency situation with you people? It hardly ever ends!
