"Lieutenant, I heard that Dr. Fletcher approved your return to duty," Carter said as she sat down in one of the leather chairs. Her team (what was left of it) was assembled for another debrief.
"Yes, Ma'am," Freeman answered, looking skeptical "He thinks I need to have activities beyond the infirmary."
"So scuttlebutt is that they're going to let us go home," Maybourne told the officers, "And the enlisted personnel were thinking that a celebration of the LT's recovery is in order."
"O'Malley's should be done with the renovation by now," Pasteur added.
"No crowds," Freeman answered, and everyone at the table looked at him. "Sorry, I'm just not ready for anything that big yet." The lieutenant hesitated, "I have a barbeque in my back yard, though. Maybe we could fire that up if the weather's nice?"
"That's a good idea, Lieutenant, but we probably shouldn't make plans yet," the Major suggested.
"You mean that they're not letting us out yet!" Pasteur protested, standing up and slamming his palms on the table, "Ma'am, this is ridiculous. We were only gone for a week, and it's already been three since we came back! We're getting stir-crazy sitting around so long!"
"Your objection is noted, Airman," Major Carter said tightly, "But the general will keep us as long as the doctors feel it advisable."
The man read her tone and backed off, sitting down and muttering, "Yes Ma'am."
Further discussion ended when Gen. West entered the room. " 'Tention," Jones called, and the six men and major stood to attention.
"As you were," the General answered, and he took the seat at the head of the table. "At the end of this meeting, you will all be cleared to leave the mountain. The doctors don't believe that there is any significant risk of alien illnesses manifesting after this point. You will have the remainder of the day and tomorrow as post-mission, and then it's the weekend, so you'll have almost four days. Don't leave the state, though, and I want boots polished Monday."
"What's next, Sir?" Maybourne asked, "Are we continuing with Project Giza?"
"The After Action Report is still under review," West answered, "President Kinsey is sending a representative on Monday to examine everything involved. There's a strong possibility you will be sent back to Abydos to retrieve Dr. Langford, and we may eventually decide to contact the Tok'athor if the doctors think it will help get that snake out of Dr. Jackson's head fails. Otherwise, there are currently no plans for further off-world operations. This will probably take a couple more weeks to tie up, and then we'll throw a tarp over the stargate and turn off the lights down here. The SF's up in NORAD will take care of security, and you'll all be reassigned to units suited to our specialties. Plan to PCS around mid-August. If there's nothing else . . ." everyone shook their heads, "Then you're dismissed." The General returned to his office, and the team resumed conversation in the hallway.
"Alright, long weekend!" Pasteur whooped, "Party tomorrow at Freeman's place. I'm making some of grandma's gumbo; undefeated by white boys since Nineteen-twenty-seven."
"I'll pick up the steaks," Maybourne offered, "You have anything in mind, Ma'am?"
"I won't be able to join you," Carter shook her head, "Work to finish."
"Major, you shouldn't work during post-mission," Maybourne argued, "That's a bad habit."
"Special case," Carter answered, "The General held off on death notification until they lifted quarantine. I asked him to let me tell the families, and once the president's representative comes on Monday, I don't think there will be a chance."
Carter straightened her dress blues, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door. She felt uncomfortable, but this would probably be the least difficult meeting of the trip.
"Come in," a man's voice said, and she entered the office. A middle-aged man was getting up from behind a standard-issue metal desk.
"Captain--" the Major began, but the man forestalled her with a hand wave.
"Abouna Jonathan," he smiled, "I know that it's not technically correct, but there are certain rules that chaplains can bend. I'll be ready in just a minute." He pulled something from his desk and put it into his breast pocket. Then he grabbed a couple books and walked to the door: "All ready."
"Okay," the Major stepped into the hallway, and they walked toward the elevator. "We're flying to Iowa to visit O'Brian's family, and then we go to New York for the others. Hopefully we'll have time to fly home tonight, but we might need to stay over in New York."
The chaplain nodded, "I knew O'Brian, and I met Kawalsky a few times. None of them were married?"
"No," Samantha hesitated and glanced at the man while they entered the elevator, "Abouna."
Jonathon noticed her pause and said, "Abouna is an Aramaic word. It means--"
"Father," Samantha half-smiled, "I know; I grew up Catholic. It's just weird to see a priest clean-shaven."
Abouna Jonathon laughed and rubbed his chin, "That's one of the regs that we don't get to bend."
It was mid-morning by the time that the airman assigned to drive the notification team to the O'Brian farm turned onto a gravel driveway. "What do you know," the man said, "Corn!"
The passengers chuckled at his sarcasm and waited for him to come to a stop. They got out, put on their hats, and strode up the sidewalk to the door.
"You've never done this before, Major?" Jonathan asked as the approached the door.
"No," Samantha admitted, "I've never needed to."
By then they were at the door, and the Major pressed the bell nervously. A boy opened the door and said, "Hi." The noise of a television was heard from within the house.
"Hello," Jonathan asked, "Is this the O'Brian residence?"
"Yeah," the kid answered with a perplexed expression.
"Sean, who's that at the door?" a man called out from within the house.
"Some people from the Air Force, Grandpa," Sean answered.
The noise from the television ended, and an older man appeared in one of the doorways within the house. "Ask them in, boy," the man ordered. "We're not air-conditioning the whole state!"
"Okay," the kid said, pushing the screen-door out to admit the officers.
"That's a good boy," the man said, "The living room's over here." He led the group into a room with a couple stiff sofas which looked like they saw little use. Samantha noticed that the man's eyes were tight.
"Grandpa, is everything okay?" Sean asked. Apparently he too had noticed the old man's expression.
"Go play outside, I'll come talk to you later," the man said shortly. Once boy was out of ear-shot, he told the officers, "His mother, Rebecca, is running an errand; she'll be home in a few minutes. I suppose she's the one you need to talk to."
"Yes, she's the one listed as," the major caught herself, "Yes, she is."
The man nodded. He seemed to understand that they couldn't tell him anything until they'd told Rebecca, and he started small-talk to fill the time. He pulled a picture down from the wall. It was brown-and-white and showed a young man standing in front of a P-38 and squinting into strong sunlight. "Lieutenant Joseph O'Brian, Junior. I was with the Eleventh in the Pacific Theatre back when we were still the Army Air Corps. Are you a flyer, Major?"
"F-16," she answered, "Never in combat, though."
The man whistled, "I hear fighter slots are hard to get these days."
He stopped talking when car drove up on the gravel driveway, and the door opened. "Joe, who's here?" a woman asked.
"A couple of officers, Becky," Joe answered, "In here."
"War buddies?" she asked as she walked down the hall, but when she looked in the doorway, she was clearly startled. "I guess not."
"No Becky," Joe said, "You should probably be sitting."
Rebecca nodded and sat next to her father-in-law. "Ma'am, I am Major Samantha Carter. There are a couple of formalities we have to take care of," the Major said. "Are you Rebecca O'Brian?"
The woman nodded, and then Samantha asked, "Social Security Number 078-05-1120?"
"That's right," Rebecca answered quietly.
Carter didn't say anything for a minute. She'd rehearsed mentally for this, but she still wasn't sure what to actually say. Jonathan noticed her lapse and broke the silence: "You know why we're here, don't you?"
Rebecca nodded but asked, "Who was it?"
The chaplain was surprised by this and said, "Excuse me?"
"Three of Becky's boys are in the Air Force," Joseph explained, "One of them died, didn't he?"
"Joseph," Jonathan said simply.
"Joey," the grandfather exhaled sharply, and Rebecca started to cry. "How?" she whispered.
Carter picked the conversation back up at this point. "How much do you know about the nature of Airman O'Brian's work?"
"It was something to do with radar," Rebecca answered, "He was at NORAD."
"That's where my team is based," Carter expanded, "But our work deal with observation facilities used by the Air Force outside of US territorial limits. We visit international facilities that deal with deep-space research. Airman O'Brian was assigned to provide security for the team when we went to a pre-industrial nation in June to for visual inspection. While we were there, a group of anti-foreign terrorists attacked us. Your son was fatally wounded. We retreated into the facility, which is where he died. We were pinned down there for a week before another faction sympathetic to the United States was able to extract us."
"Why are we just hearing about this now?" Rebecca asked.
"The State Department was concerned that making the situation public would complicate relations with the local government. That's why I can't tell you all of the details, like the name of the location where it happened," Samantha answered.
"I just," Rebecca shook her head, "He was a good kid."
"Yes Ma'am, and a good man. He performed his duty with excellence, and his loss is mourned. He will be given a purple heart; I regret that need for silence regarding the specific nature of our mission will probably undermine his chances for any of the higher awards."
Rebecca put one of her hands onto Samantha's. "Thank you, Major, but that's not really important right now. It's hard to believe he's really gone."
The group lapsed into silence. Then Joseph said, "We need to tell Sean. Call Michael, Mary, Conner, and Patrick. I suppose we should let the parish know too." The old man stood and slowly left the room.
Rebecca looked up, "When will his body get here?"
Samantha hesitated, "Because . . . because of the time it took to extract the team, and the local weather conditions, the body was in pretty bad shape. We had to cremate him."
"Oh," Rebecca answered, "I understand. I mean, they used to say that you shouldn't get cremated, that you needed to be buried, but I haven't heard anything about that since I was little."
"The Church isn't as strict about that discipline anymore," Abouna Jonathan explained, "As long as the intention of cremation isn't to deny belief in the resurrection of the body, it is permitted."
"You're a priest?" Rebecca hadn't recognized the chaplain's cross lapel pin on his uniform.
"Abouna Jonathan," he answered, "Archdiocese for the Military Services."
A minute later Joseph and Sean returned to the room. Sean had tears in his eyes; his grandfather had already broken the news. Sean sat next to his mother and she put her arm around him. Sitting, they were about the same height. Joseph didn't sit down. "I'll go call the others," he said, again leaving the room.
"It is often comforting to pray the Office for the Dead," Jonathan offered. Sean looked at his mother, who nodded. The priest took the books he'd brought and opened then to a ribbon near the back. They were already set for the hour of Terce from the Office for the Dead; it was a part of his preparations. He handed one book to Rebecca and shared another with Samantha, the four prayed the psalms, and the priest chanted the reading.
"Here we are," the young woman who'd driven the team from the airfield into New York City said, "I'll be here when you come out."
"Thanks," Samantha said as she got out. The two people walked to the doorway of an art-deco apartment building that had probably been fashionable in the Twenties. "Five J, Kawalsky," Carter pressed the bell. Nothing happened for a minute, and she rang the bell again.
A grey-haired woman carrying a bag of groceries came up the steps behind the officers and asked, "Can I help ya?"
Recognizing the woman as a Pole, Carter asked, "Ma'am, are you Monika Kawalsky?"
The woman was surprised and said, "That's right. You're looking for me?"
"Yes Ma'am," the major answered, we--"
"Good," the woman interrupted, "You can carry these up the stairs. She pushed the bag into Jonathan's arms and rummaged through her purse for a moment. Removing a key, she opened the door and led the team through the hall and up a stairwell, finally reaching her apartment and letting them into a small kitchen. The building was not air-conditioned, and the high apartment was rather warm. "Just put them on the counter," she told Jonathan as she went about turning on fans.
"Ma'am, we--" Carter began, but the woman again interrupted her.
"Can I getcha anything? Iced tea? Lemonade?"
"Lemonade, please," Jonathan answered, and Samantha nodded.
The woman handed them the drinks and then said, "Now, sit yourselves down and I'll be with you in a minute." She put away the groceries while the officers waited at a much-used kitchen table. Finally she joined them, bringing a glass of iced tea for herself. "You're here about Charles," she said; the words were somewhere between a question and a declaration.
"Yes, Ma'am," the Major said, "I'm afraid that he's passed away."
"On a mission?"
"Yes, Ma'am," Carter answered, "How much do you know about what he was doing?"
"That he was good at it," the woman said fiercely, "He started enlisted. Worked his way up, earned himself a commission." She stopped, looked down, and added, "He called about a month ago, said he'd be out of touch for a while. Didn't know how long; couldn't share the details. That's the way his assignments always went. 'I'll be out of touch, ma,' he'd say, 'don't know how long. I can't share the details, but don't worry. I'll be fine.' That's what he'd say. But when he called last time, he left that last part out. He didn't say 'Don't worry, I'll be fine.' So I figured that he must'a known he might not be comin' home from that one."
"Ma'am, the team he was on--" Carter tried to explain, but the woman stopped her.
"If you start tellin' me details, I'll just start asking questions, and then things will be classified and I'll get mad. Just tell me that my boy died with honor."
"Yes Ma'am," the Major answered, "He served, and died, with honor."
"There's comfort in that," the woman sighed, "So what's next?"
"As Charles' Next-of-Kin, you'll receive his effects and life insurance," Samantha said.
"Do you have any family or close friends nearby?" Jonathan asked.
"Just the ladies that I have coffee with every morning," she answered, "I suppose I should call and tell them."
Monika called a couple of the ladies, and they apparently called the others, because fifteen minutes later there were half-a-dozen women gathered in the kitchen. Jonathan realized that there was no easy way to share two breviaries among nine people and instead suggested they pray the rosary. Half an hour later, the officers left the apartment, trusting the other women to comfort Monika as well as anyone could.
"Emerson Green is the NOK for WO Green. According to the file, it's his brother," Carter said during the car ride between apartments, "He commented once that his uncle raised him, but he never talked about his brother."
"I'd never met Green," Abouna answered. As they pulled up to the high-rise apartment, he whistled, "Nice place."
The bellman opened the car door, and, as the officers got out, he told them, "Welcome to Winchester Limited: your driver can pull around to the right for underground parking."
"She'll need to remain here, actually," the Major answered, "It's protocol."
"Well, ah," the man stammered, looking around, "Could she pull up so that the entrance isn't blocked?"
Carter nodded and stuck her head back into the car: "Pull up ten feet and wait there."
"Yes Ma'am," the driver answered.
When the Major closed the door and rejoined Abouna and the bellman, the latter asked, "Can I help you find someone?"
"Yes, please," Samantha answered, "Emerson Green."
"Doctor Green? He's in, but he'll be leaving any minute now. He takes the trophy wife out for the afternoon every Friday." The bellman opened the door and concluded, "The elevator is across from the entrance. On the top floor, take a right go three doors until you come to apartment F."
"Thank you," the officers took off their hats as they entered, and they rode the elevator to the eighth floor and followed the bellman's directions.
The door opened an instant after Samantha rang the bell, and a well-dressed couple looked rather surprised to see them.
"Excuse me," Carter asked, "Are you Emerson Green?"
"It's Doctor Emerson Green," the man answered frostily, "What's this about?"
"Doctor, I'm Major Samantha Carter, of the United States Air Force, and I need to talk to you--"
"I gave at the office," he answered and attempted to squeeze out the door between the two officers.
"This isn't a fundraiser," Carter replied quickly, and then Abouna spoke.
"This is about you brother, Warrant Officer Steven Green," the priest said, "Could we speak inside?"
"We're busy," the doctor answered brusquely, "So you can just tell me here: did he get in trouble or get himself killed?"
"He was killed by hostile fire," the Major answered.
Emerson shook his head; "I told him years ago that if he'd leave the service, I'd pay his way through college. He should have listened. This is my lawyer," he handed Samantha a business card; "You can contact him about the burial and whatnot. Come on, Joan." He turned and walked toward the elevator.
His wife, Joan, smiled embarrassedly and whispered, "Excuse me," as she stepped through the officers and joined her husband.
"He'll be here in just a few minutes," the aide said, "He's getting ready to move to a facility in Oregon, so it's taking him a little extra time to get him to pay attention."
"Thanks," Samantha responded, "No hurry." She looked around the visiting room that she and Abouna Jonathan had been brought to upon their arrival. It was painted in pastels, and the padded chairs matched the color scheme. If the chairs weren't bolted down, she would have thought it was a children's room.
The door opened again, and a white-haired old man shambled into the room. The officers stood.
"Dr. Ballard?" Samantha asked.
"Call me Nick," he mumbled. Looking up at Carter, he added, "My hallucinations aren't usually so lovely."
"I'm really here, Nick," the Major answered, "I need to talk to you about your grandson."
"Daniel?" he asked hopefully.
"That's right, Dr. Daniel Jackson," she replied.
"Fool!" he grumbled, "Got mixed up in silly theories about aliens." Nicholas shook his head. "He should have known better!"
"Yes, well, Nick," Carter interrupted the rant, "Daniel started working for my team a few weeks ago."
"Military?" Nick asked, surprised, but he didn't give the major time to answer. "Couldn't get academic employment. Working for the military! What is he, an interpreter?"
"Yes, Nick, he was our interpreter," the Major said.
"Was? Couldn't he even keep that job?" the old man began muttering under his breath.
"He performed his duties brilliantly," Samantha retorted, "But he was killed by a terrorist group."
"Killed?" Nicholas looked like something had hit him. He focused on Carter: "Daniel's dead?"
"I'm sorry, Nick," she said.
"No!" he started sobbing.
"He served with honor--" the Major began, but Abouna Jonathan put a hand on her arm to stop her.
"Nick," the priest said softly, holding out his arms. The old man almost fell into Abouna, hugging him, and the priest gently put his arms around the old man's shoulders. They stayed in that position for several minutes before Nicholas was able to stand without support, and even in the half-hour that they spent sitting with the grieving man, almost nothing was said. They simply sat in the quiet room.
Major Carter and Abouna Jonathan took a Postal Service jet back to Colorado Springs. This wasn't a disguise like the one in which Daniel had been picked up from Florida; it was a real mail plane with a couple jump-seats in the passage between the cockpit and the cargo. In these jump-seats the officers had privacy from outside listeners.
The officers were quiet during takeoff, but once the plane leveled, Samantha spoke. "Abouna," she asked, "I fully support the decision to keep the stargate secret, but didn't it bother you, as a priest, to lie to those people?"
"As far as I've been informed, we didn't lie to them," the priest answered cautiously.
"But the General said you'd been briefed on Project Giza!" she protested.
"I was," he stated.
"We said that it was some foreign inspection gone wrong!" Samantha retorted.
"We told them that you went to a site outside of the United States in for the purpose of researching space objects outside of Earth's vicinity. While there, a group opposed to the principles of the United States attacked your team and killed some of your people. Another group, opposed to the first, enabled you to get home. What part of that was false?" the priest asked.
"I," Samantha paused, unable to find anything to disprove. "But a lie of omission is still a lie, and we didn't tell the whole truth."
"You're right that a lie of omission is of equal gravity to a lie of commission, but there's more to a lie of omission that simply leaving information out." Abouna Jonathan held up a hand with his index finger extended. "In a lie of omission you have to imply that you've shared all relevant truths while withholding something. We did withhold information, but we stated that we were doing so. If we had given a reasonable location on Earth as part of the cover, then we would have been lying. What we said was that we wouldn't tell them where this occurred."
"You really thought this through," Samantha answered the lecture.
"Yeah," Abouna Jonathan answered, "I hashed it out with the General when the cover story was being written. He wanted to say that the whole thing happened in South America."
The officers sat in silence for several minutes, but then Abouna Jonathan spoke, "Sorry, I got a little intense there. Academic argumentation doesn't go over so well in pastoral practice, and I got carried away."
"I understand, Abouna," Samantha answered, "I've gotten carried away in arguments touching my field a few time. I was wondering, though: what about Dr. Ballard?"
"That was more problematic," the priest answered, "As I understand it, we don't know if Daniel is really going to die, or if he's going to still be alive and just dominated by the Goa'uld."
"But they can remove the snake, and then he'd be fine, if he survived the surgery," the major added.
"That's not going to happen, Major," the priest sighed, "I asked General West about it before we left. Considering the likelihood that the surgery would kill Dr. Jackson, the Pentagon has said not to attempt it."
"But a chance at freedom is worth the risk!"
"I'm not going to defend their decision, Major," Abouna said, "I haven't been able to change it either."
"Oh," Samantha answered. To change the subject, she commented, "That was quite a day."
"Yes, it was," Abouna answered, "How are you holding up?"
"It was hard, Abouna. I lost a third of my people on the mission, and that's hard to take. But I know that I did the right thing. I wasn't reckless or negligent."
"And what have you done for them since returning?"
"What do you mean?" she asked defensively, "I filed for them to get medals; we contacted their families. What else would I do?"
The priest sighed sympathetically, "Samantha, as people of faith, when things go poorly, we turn to prayer. As Catholics especially, when someone dies, we pray for their eternal rest."
Samantha shook her head. "Other than with those families today, it's been a long time since I prayed."
"You did fine today," he answered, "You haven't forgotten how. If it would help, I could hear your confession."
Samantha smiled, "That would be nice."
Abouna pulled a tiny violet stole made from a ribbon out of a pocket, kissed it, and placed it over his neck. He began, "In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit . . ."
Project Giza was reviewed at the personal request of President Kinsey by Lieutenant General Jacob Carter. His report to the President included a list of five recommendations:
1) The stargate should be mothballed in the bottom of the Cheyenne Mountain Missile Silo where it was operated. No plans for further gate-travel will be devised.
2) Dr. Daniel Jackson and Dr. Catherine Langford should be declared dead.
3) Lieutenant Charles Kawalsky, Warrant Officer Steven Green, and Airman First Class Joseph O'Brian IV should be posthumously awarded purple hearts.
4) Dr. Daniel Jackson, host to an immature Goa'uld, should be transferred to Area 51.
5) Project Giza should be discontinued and its personnel reassigned.
The President implemented all five recommendations. Major Samantha Carter was promoted to Lieutenant Colonel and assigned to the 52nd Fighter Wing. Airman First Class Harry Maybourne was promoted to Senior Airman and returned to Special Forces work. The remaining members of the team were reassigned according to their specialties.
After finishing the review, General Carter took several days leave to spend time with his daughter.
"It's a great move for your career, Sam," Jacob protested, "You're working with NATO, which brings visibility. Besides which, the 52nd has F-16s. I know you want to be in the cockpit again."
"Dad, my name is Samantha," his daughter argued, "and you should have asked me before pulling your strings. Besides which, there's more excitement in a trip through the gate than a hundred hours of flight." The phone rang, and Samantha said, "I'll get that."
Jacob was closer to the counter and picked up the device before his daughter reached it. "Carter residence," he said. After a moment, he added, "Speaking."
Samantha stood next to him with her arms crossed, waiting to continue the argument, but then she saw the color drain from his face.
"I'll be there right away," Jacob said, and he hung up the phone.
"Dad, what is it?"
"Iraq invaded Kuwait. I need to get to Washington immediately. Call Peterson and tell them I'm on my way."
Author's Notes: I've now edited and re-uploaded all five chapters of this story and declared it complete. There will be a sequel series re-writing the TV show with even bigger changes, but I have another project to work on first, so it will be a while. I thought that this chapter would be a short (2000 word=about half of the other chapters) epilogue, but when I wrote it, it turned into the second-longest chapter of the story.
One of my goals with this story is to improve my writing abilities. Please review and point out strengths/weaknesses of my writing. Everything is open game: characterization, language skills, cadence, et cetera.
There are some factual problems with the story, which I'll point out here. Some of these are errors caused by my ignorance; others are intentional changes.
1: CBs in the Air Force! In chapter 2, Kawalsky, Harris, and Johnson are identified as being from the construction battalion. In real life, the Construction Battalion is part of the Navy. This was an oversight on my part.
2: Warrant Officers in the Air Force! It wasn't until I was working on this chapter that I learned the Air Force doesn't use Warrant Officers. The use of that rank was phased out before 1990 (when the story is set) so Green shouldn't have that rank. Maybe I'll eventually go back and fix it, but not now.
3: The Notification Team! As far as I know, the practice of sending a chaplain as part of the Casualty Assistance Team was discontinued during the Vietnam "police action." Priests couldn't do home visits without frightening the families, who often thought that they were being notified of a casualty. The current practice (as I understand it) is for a team to consist of three individuals. The notifying officer, the driver, and a medic (in case a family member faints). The driver really would remain in the vehicle so that the team could leave quickly if the family responds violently.
4: "Abouna?" Don't Catholics just call priests "Father"? Yes, they do. My presentation of the Catholic Church is intended to accurately reflect Church Dogma, but the practices I describe are a blend of Western (Roman Catholic) observance and Eastern Catholic observance. The word "Abouna" really is Aramaic for "Father," and it is used as the honorific when addressing priests of the Maronite Catholic Church (which exists mainly in Lebanon). The way the Church is presented is an intentional change. My defense is that if I'm writing an Alternate Universe, I should be able to have fun altering things.