AN: I had some trouble with this chapter. One hears 'show don't tell' and similar advice, and I think it all comes back to how the story is being told. That may seem obvious, but its rather more difficult to consider the status of each chapter, what it's telling, and how. What is the essential nature of each chapter? What does it tell you? There is of course room for fluff, and sometimes it's essential for the maintenance of tone and flow, as well as to calm the story down, but in other cases you spent a couple of hours writing and all you have to show for it is some of the characters standing around talking. I began this story with the premise that I'd only write essential scenes. The discovery of the gate isn't shown, nor do I bother having them visit Abydos. That just didn't feel right, although it sped the start of the story up massively.

We'll see. I'll get to the end of the Vulcan arc and reassess then.

Oh also there's a sideways reference to Hegel among others in this one, feel free to ask about it.

Ivanovich seemed to have done well, thought Durov. The young Captain had taken all necessary measures, and had managed to complete his mission without casualties, and more importantly, without losing his head when the situation had become confused.

He gave Basin a nod as he walked up. The former Commissar was leaning against the skirt of a tank, eyeing the backs of the men. No doubt he had a pad ready to note the names of any he found lacking. Perhaps that was unkind of him to think, Basin had always been an honourable man, and their situation now was nothing like that of five years ago when officers who refused to attack head on and lead their men into slaughter were charged with cowardice and treachery. Durov had certainly had his disagreements with Basin, but he wouldn't have recommended the man for the SGC if he didn't have complete confidence in him.

He saw Ivanovich talking with the rest of SG-1, and joined the conversation. "Well?" he asked.

Ivanovich saluted, unnecessarily, but perhaps for the Romans that had followed Durov down from the command tent. "Sir, the prisoners are awaiting your inspection!"

Durov stepped forward, leaning in, "Get Igor to tell you the story of Auriga someday." He said quietly to the Captain, and then stepped away, coming to the prisoners. They were a sorry bunch, but Igor had been right in his predictions. One in particular stood out, with darker skin than the others, though that could have simply been a coincidence.

Durov surveyed them all with eyes that had seen thousands of similar sights. Spending so much time behind the enemy meant he'd often taken prisoners, sometimes large numbers of them, such was the most effective way of making a breakthrough. Once taken, men went through stages of despair, first fear, and an inability to comprehend their situation, that was the stage the smaller creature was experiencing, his eyes wide beneath his thick brow. The next two, larger and uglier than the first, were into the second stage, anger, roaring and spitting. The rage any caged thing understood when captured and in another's power.

The last, the dark one, he (if it was a he) had shown his resolve. Prisoners in a way were always animals, and only became men when they fully realised their situation. Just Minerva's owl flew at dusk, so to could prisoners, like Daedalus, fly their captors, but only if they could control themselves. This creature in front of Durov knew it's situation was hopeless, but still kept a keen eye on its surroundings, looking for any opportunity, whether by the guard's inattention or fortune presenting itself.

During the war they'd liberated two camps of prisoners in the same way, going in below wire and searchlights, and coming out with a roar. Such was the way of the partisan, not to take ground, but to distract, frustrate, to wound without killing.

"What are you going to do with them?" asked Igor, brining Durov out of his own thoughts.

Durov breathed out slowly. "Our allies are with us, and will continue to be only if we hold up our end of the bargain." He explained. "I've told them there are no gods or magic, and that our weapons will see them to victory. We must demonstrate that. Have you finished with them?" he asked, looking at the pad in Igor's hand.

"Hm?" Igor looked down, "Oh yes, to be honest this isn't really my area. You need a proper sociologist."

Durov laughed, "Confidence Comrade! Optimism!"

"Is all very well, but these," the Doctor waved an arm, "Aren't made of stone."

"And you have no moral objection? They're clearly intelligent, especially this fellow." Durov motioned to the darker one.

Igor gave him a look, "I've already shot one, and frankly, I don't care." He shrugged, "It may seem unsocialist of me, but these creatures, people, whatever you want to call them, have been attacking the romans for a thousand years. We're allied with the romans so now we're fighting them." He shrugged again, "Do what you like, if we decide we want more you can send Ivanovich out again to catch some."

Disappointed by unsurprised, Durov turned to the Captain. "Good work." He said simply, "Now your report."

"Sir, we proceeded as ordered following my report on the night of the 8th. During our preparations the Minotaur spotted us, and I was concerned regarding a spoiling attack. I order Sergeant Sergov to fire, and advanced with my team. We encountered little resistance due to the surprise of out attack, and managed to subdue these captives. We hauled them back to the vehicles and set off. During our retreat we were flanked by enemy forces, and pursued by one of their mounts, I don't know it was being controlled or not, but I shot it with the canon of the armour car. We consolidated a few kilometres away and proceeded here." Said Ivanovich.

"Is the Minotaur dead?" asked Durov.

"I don't know sir, he took a magazine to the chest and collapsed, but he was wearing metal armour."

"Well that's what we're here to find out Captain!"

Thurius, who had been following the conversation, spoke up, "Colonel, we have three posts we use for discipline."

Durov nodded, "That will do. Captain, go with our friends and prepare them, I don't want any stray rounds."

"I understand sir!" Ivanovich said, and ordered his men forward.

"Not the black one." Said Durov. "SG-1! You are in charge of him, he's out new Ivan."

Dimitri frowned but Ilya laughed.

"Are you sure Comrade-Colonel?" asked Dimitri.

"Yes, untie him."

Dimitri handed his gun to another soldier, "Here, help me with him Ilya." he said, walking forward drawing his knife. He said something to the last prisoner, but Durov couldn't hear it. The big man cut through the ropes as Ilya held him at rifle-point.

The creature, once free, settled into a low stance, watching with what could only be apathy as its comrades were led away to their deaths. All the soldiers nearby had hands on pistols or rifles, and the Romans were ready with their own weapons. Thurius looked back but left Durov to it, going away with Ivanovich.

"What are you doing?" asked Igor.

"Did you ever read Sun Tzu?" asked Durov, "A Chinese comrade gave me his book a while ago, most of its fairly obvious to any experienced soldier, but one of the most important statements is about knowing your enemy." He walked forward, "Your knife Dimitri."

It came handle first, slapping into his palm. Durov glanced at it and handed it to the creature, who took it hesitantly. Its lips curled, and it exposed its teeth. Then it held the knife out and dropped it.

Durov smiled.

"What was that meant to prove?" asked Igor.

"He knows if he attacked me Dimitri would have shot him." Durov explained. "He decided not to attack therefore because he doesn't want to die, which means he has an understanding of his own mortality."

Durov stooped to pick the knife up. "If he can understand abstract concepts like that it, then we've underestimated them."

"Once again, you need a sociologist. That's all very interesting but I don't see why it matters."

"If he understands all that he has an opinion on his god. Either he believes in him, or he doesn't. When we kill Vulcan, and are seen to have killed him, he'll understand that Vulcan wasn't a god after all, and if he doesn't already believe it means others like him exist."

"So you intend to bring them the light of Marx?" asked Igor sardonically.

"Is there any difference between worshipping an alien who's set himself up as a god and obeying a man because he's got a crown on his head?" Durov looked at 'Ivan', "You saw the ruins as we were coming up here. These people have been fighting for a thousand years, we've got guns and bombs, we can go around and shoot them or blow them up, but even if we win every battle they'll always be more of them. If those mountains we're headed to continue we'll never fully root them out and we'll be fighting just as long as the Romans have."

"Alright." Said Igor, "Is that our policy now? Because I do have a position and should be consulted on such things."

"No, this is just my decision during this mission, as you say we'll need more study on their social structure before making a decision, that will indeed be you job, and this will all need approval from the General and above, this is a matter of policy after all."

"Then I have no objections."

They turned to some minor issues, and soon a soldier came up and announced that Ivanovich had reported himself as ready for the demonstration. They set off through the camp again, 'Ivan' shambling along behind them, still defensive but otherwise passive. Dimitri kept him under guard though still, trusting him far less than the Colonel did.

The Romans' application of discipline was very similar to the Prussian method, reflected Durov, where Prussians ran gauntlets and had soldiers beaten for infractions, the Romans used the whip. In their society of social stratification the whip represented the slave, and the loss of precious liberty. The pain of the strikes, when a solider was secured against the stake, was far less than the dishonour of captivity and the viewing of the punishment by the wrongdoers compatriots. Durov could only speculate on this of course, and was also curious, as he had been under the impression the Roman officers held the power of decimation over their soldiers. Happily, Durov himself had never had to shoot a soldier under his command, though he knew Suslov had once. Discipline was the responsibility of the political officers, and in dark days of the Hitlerite advance discipline had often been harsher than it should have been, even in cases where tactical failure could not have been otherwise.

The three prisoners had been tied to stakes in the middle of the main forum in the Roman part of the camp. There were onlookers from all the cities of Elysium though. The Beastmen were not unknown to them, being only a hundred miles or so from some of the cities, but many had never seen one in the flesh.

Durov walked up to stand next to Thurius. "As you see," he said, "my men have brought back prisoners as I promised."

"I do see that, and it is as you've said. My Legates claim Mars favours your, and that you command the powers of Jupiter's lightning." Replied Thurius, "Yet you've said this is merely a science."

Durov nodded, "It is, and one we'll teach you, just as an aqueduct seems a miraculous thing to a barbarian." He looked to the stakes, "Ilya, the one on the right, fire when ready!"

The sniper began, walking up and firing three shots without hesitation. The prisoners roared, and from a distance blood erupted from the wounds caused by the rifle rounds. Durov frowned, "Doctor Belik!" he called to the medical officer, who went forward to inspect the middle post.

Durov drew his own pistol, removing the magazine and taking out a bullet. He of course had no round in the chamber for safety. He held it out to Thurius, who took it with fortitude.

"This will travel two thousand feet in a second, and is accurate up to four hundred yards away." He said, generalising to an extent, Thurius didn't need to know the specifics of a pistol versus a rifle. He nodded back toward their vehicles, "We have other weapons that fire this." And he took a 76mm round from an artilleryman he'd stationed earlier, who had been hiding it till then. The round was heavy, and almost as long as his forearm. He handed that to Thurius as well. "We can fire that eight miles, though I intend to engage them closer for greater accuracy."

A pitiful moan came from the wounded prisoner. Thurius turned, still holding the round, and looked for a long time toward the stakes.

"Our vehicles can travel faster than any horse, and we command the air as well. Nothing in the enemy army here can oppose us, and I have no doubt we'll rout them easily. But then we have to get through to Vulcan as quickly as possible. We can get through the pass in three or four hours, faster than Vulcan can raise a force to defend himself certainly, but we can hit him before he manages it."

Durov regarded the Roman general. He was obviously convinced by the effectiveness of their weapons, but he also had to be persuaded these weapons belied the superiority of the Soviet system in general, and be convinced therefore to trust the Stargate officers. But that would come later. For now, it was enough to answer a few questions about the rifles, and then to return to their tent. He sent Igor and the others away, but kept Suslov and Basin.

"Ivanovich did well." Suslov remarked as they sat down.

"Yes," Basin agreed, "Give him a couple of months and promote him Major."

Durov huffed. "He completed his mission I'll grant you, in that he did well, but he also failed to account for the situation sufficiently. For all we know the creatures see better in the dark, to say nothing of their sense of smell or hearing, which we must assume is better than ours. They're physically superior to us, that probably extends to their other senses. He also made his attack directly, no bothering with distractions or demonstrations. It was effective, but it was also crude."

Suslov stifled a yawn, holding up his hand, "Sorry sir." He said, and Durov didn't hold it against him, the man had been up most of the night before looking over the ground. "But this is a personnel issue. We go through the gate with half a dozen men each time, and I understand the reasons for that, but it remains true that we should be commanding hundreds of men each. You're a Colonel, but your team is two Sergeants and a civilian." He shrugged, "I agree we can't have Lieutenants going through and meeting aliens, and that we need more senior officers doing that, but we don't have enough of them."

Durov nodded, "I know, I've spoken to the General about it. We need twenty of you Nikolai Sergeievich!"

Suslov laughed, "Thanks Colonel, but I still think he did well, especially under the circumstances." He lent back in his chair and sighed. "I'm just waiting for something to go wrong."

"What do you mean?" asked Basin.

Suslov opened his mouth and drew breath, but Durov interrupted him, "Every man is the architect of his own destiny. We've prepared as best we can, nothing we do will change Vulcan's actions." He pulled his notebook out of his pocket, "I've been trying to understand these people. I've read their philosophy their poetry. Their Emperor Marcus Aurelius said 'the future is to be fought with the same weapons of reason which today arm us against the present'. He was right. There's no point worrying about these things we have no control over. We're well trained, we're well equipped. Take each challenge as it comes and keep moving forward."

"Well said Vladimir." Said Basin.

"Now get to bed both of you. Suslov, I want you with me in the morning, we'll work out our battle plan with the Roman command. Basin," he paused and laughed briefly, "Igor asked me if I was going to introduce anyone to the 'light of socialism', you go start on that." He said with another laugh.