A/N: This chapter was inspired by so many episodes of SG-1 and is in its own way, a tribute to Star Wars and the movie Independence Day. To those who are still reading and reviewing, I'd like to say a very Happy Christmas and a big thank you. We're almost done.
Area 51, Mission Command Centre
South Neveda
23 October 1995
He was back in Nevada again, five days after having infiltrated the officers' quarters to apprehend Vandenburg, a sense of déjà vu running through him as he walked down the corridors of the top-secret facility in dark green BDUs.
Jack turned and entered the main briefing room.
Hammond had received a call last night from Sam and McKay after which he had immediately called the President to relay the news of approaching interstellar space vessels assumed to be hostile.
He'd been there, had seen the pallor of Hammond's face as he spoke with the President, had sat next to him when they took the military transport to Nevada as Hammond began the process of deployment. And he knew that Earth was in all likelihood, defenceless despite their best efforts in international mobilisation.
But it didn't mean that they wouldn't try.
In hindsight, Jack believed that Carter's Stargate project could have offered them in equal measures plagues and diseases yet unknown, but also technology powerful enough to counter alien attacks. But even that would have taken time, and the whole project had ground to a halt before it could even begin.
This had left them with no option but to employ all their troops and hope that the international mobilisation would stand a chance against technology far beyond what their best engineers could even understand, let alone interpret.
In the subsequent mass-mobilisation, Hammond had insisted to the top brass that he and Sam had been working undercover for him all the time, in a move that effectively and officially positioned them as his subordinates.
Jack had to admit that it was a brilliant tactical manoeuvre and one that for now, overlooked the court-martial that he and Sam were most probably facing over their unexplained flight from the Aegis. Their crimes supposedly exonerated, it had also meant that their official ranks were suddenly, very much in place. It was something he'd rather not give too much thought to right now.
But while he was grateful for Hammond's cover, a part of him couldn't help but cynically wonder if Hammond would turn the both of them in when it was all over.
Jack repeated the last phrase in his mind.
When it was all over.
Assuming there was still a habitable Earth at the end of it.
He glanced around the briefing room that had been transformed into a mission command centre, belatedly realising that part of it was filled to the brim with the most important honchos in the USAF. A long table lined with computers and radar-equipment was positioned to left side of the room, already filling up with printouts of deployment schedules. Large screens attached to the walls reported telemetry findings by the second, all of which were copied and analysed immediately by Area 51's scientific team. Countless technicians were already stationed at their consoles, busy setting up networks that linked international security systems and satellite feeds. Rows of chairs had been hastily arranged in front of the table, facing several protective glass cases that took centre stage in the large, cavernous room.
They were objects of cautious scrutiny by those who had never seen them before.
Jack stood inconspicuously at the back and saw Hammond walk in accompanied by his aides.
The General raised a hand in attention, wasting no time on preliminaries.
"Gentlemen, the purpose of this emergency briefing is to inform you that Earth is under threat."
Murmurs of disbelief followed Hammond's opening statement.
Undeterred, Hammond continued, "I assure you that the situation is more dire than you think. But to fully understand this requires intimate knowledge of the Roswell incident, which I'm sure, is a story most of you are familiar with and one that has been much fodder for conspiracy theories. For now however, I would suggest that you rethink all that you have previously believed. In 1947, two alien space vessels crashed in a remote ranch in New Mexico. In response to the crash, a top-secret research and development team was formed under the authority of President Harry Truman to recover and study the remains of mere metal remnants and parts of the alien beings who piloted them. What you now see in these glass cases in front of you, gentlemen, is proof of that crash."
A collective gasp sounded all over the room, the noise steadily increasing to excited murmurs and tones of disbelief. The revelation – first given by Kerry and now by Hammond – still caused Jack's own breath to catch.
Hammond held his hand up for silence again. "For fifty years, USAF civilian scientists who have studied these remains haven't been able to decipher anything other than an undiscovered element used in the make of their crafts. Unbeknownst to them, a distress transmitter signal had been built into one of the ships that crashed, drawing the attention of a probe to the very spot above the surface of Groom Lake's southern shores last month. Further research has shown that the probe was a receiver that had been sent by a fleet of unknown proportions stationed at the edge of our galaxy, presumably transmitting its findings of the downed alien vessel back to them. Reports on the similarities of their EM-pulses have concluded that the alien armada emits an identical energy signature to one of the crafts that crashed. The latest telemetry findings suggest however, that the fleet is now heading for Earth, with an ETA of fifteen hours. We will assume that the reasons for which they're coming are all hostile, unless otherwise proven."
The room broke out in shouts and shocked exclamations, quietening down only when Hammond raised his hand the third time for a time-out.
Jack smirked into his fist that he had pressed against his mouth. He had to hand it to Hammond to reveal only the necessary details while keeping quiet about the presence of the secret organisation that had, for too long, guarded this information. It was hard not to feel more than a stitch of admiration for the man's iron grip of calm and control in this situation.
Hammond gestured to a glass-encased exhibit housing a silvery-gold scrap of metal. "Our scientists have confirmed that the distress signal has been emitted by this vessel since the crash in 1947 but were unable identify the signal up until a few hours ago."
"What about the second craft that crashed in 1947?" A voice shouted out quickly from the mass of Generals. "Does it have the same make as the first? If so, why wasn't a distress beacon built into it?"
Hammond acknowledged the pertinent question. "General Colville, I apologise if I didn't make that clear. The second craft appears to belong to another species, the make of which is also beyond our ability to decipher. It is unfortunate that the intentions of the second race of beings are as obscure to us as they have ever been. However, as interesting as this is, gentlemen, there is no more time at present for speculation or any more discussion, seeing as there is a more immediate threat in the approaching fleet of alien ships," he said, then continued, "The President is mobilising every branch of the military, including the Guard and Reserve. The Air Force efforts will be coordinated through this facility. Area 51 is believed to be ground zero, seeing as the alien probe had chosen the site of the crash as its target. As we speak, our officers are building a secure link to AF SATCOM for encrypted communications to all Air Force bases and to NASA, as well as to all of the military command centres around the world expressly set up for this large-scale operation. There will be several fleet of fighters standing by to launch an offensive if necessary from our aircraft carriers stationed in American waters and in American-protected territories, all of which are armed with nuclear warheads should the need arise. I will stress however, that deploying nuclear weaponry will be our last possible course of action in view of the widespread fallout, and executed only by Presidential order."
A murmur of disquiet rose in the room just as Hammond's aides started distributing personalised dossiers to several people in the room.
He waited until they took their folders.
"What most of you are reading now are the duties expected of you in this time-critical operation. Your transport is already waiting for you by the time you leave this base."
Hammond took a look around at the faces that had turned ashen as the situation sank in. He was no fool; Carter's and McKay's combined reports were damning enough for him to know that Earth stood no chance against a massive alien offensive.
Still, he didn't want to think of the consequences.
"Dismissed and Godspeed, people."
A feminine voice called out to him as he exited the briefing room. Seeing the crowd surrounding Hammond, he turned into a corridor that was the least populated with lingering Generals and other important people to locate the source of the sound.
"Jack!" Was it…?
He whipped around in a haste to face her, drinking in her face like a thirsty man who drank in the desert.
It had only been ten days too long. It had been enough.
In the relative privacy of the corridor, she ran into his arms, her own winding tight around his neck, uncaring of whoever saw them.
It seemed like an eternity since she'd last seen him, releasing him only to speak, but keeping their fingers intertwined. "What are you doing here?"
"Nice to see you too, Sam," he tried to joke in an unsteady voice, pulling back to cast a searching look at her face and her suspiciously bright eyes. "Hammond's asked me to lead the 395th squadron from here in the first aerial offensive."
Her eyes widened in shock. "You've been busy, Colonel. I want to know all about it."
He winked at her, but didn't feel like releasing his hold on her yet. "Later. When did you get here?"
"An hour ago. McKay and I took the military hop from San Jose as soon as Hammond recalled me here. We'll be in the mission command centre relaying the telemetry and radar scans to the squadrons."
"Wow, big job," he quipped, drawing a smile from her.
Not that he'd seen the work she had been doing in Silicon Valley, but if the reports from Hammond were anything to go by, he'd bet his rank that she had pulled more miracles out of her head than anyone else. That McKay guy notwithstanding.
"Wish I was going with you. I hope there's someone out there watching your six," she said, looking ruefully at him.
Jack's answering grin was genuine but unexpected. "Major Charles Kawalsky, USAF. Served with me in '82. Good man. Had Hammond recall him."
Relief swept over her, leaving her lightheaded. She questioned impishly, "Does he watch your six as well as I do?"
His grin didn't fade, but there was a light in his eyes that she hadn't quite seen before. "You betcha'. A close second behind you, at least."
Charmed inexplicably by his answer, she rolled her eyes fondly. While those interminably long ten days had given her the opportunity to immerse herself in the work, an indestructible habit as long as there was science involved, it had also brought several things into perspective.
Apart from their rocky beginning, he'd always been there. Had been that amazing, unmovable pillar of support when reality sank in as she dealt with the loss of Catherine, of the Payners…of everyone else who had unjustly suffered as the collateral damage in the Aegis's bid to get to them. And he'd still managed to be a constant companion as he dealt with his own pain that she hadn't then known about. It was always Jack whom she'd thought about when her mind wasn't occupied by theories and readings. And instinct told her that it would be him for a long time to come.
But there hadn't been any guarantees then when they had fallen into each other. Just like there weren't any now as Earth stood at the brink of destruction. In their time together, they'd both steered clear of any declaration of sorts, choosing to express what they felt through touches and shared looks, yet their easy, wordless communication, while precious, hadn't really pledged anything of permanence to each other.
An alarm sounded through the base, followed by an announcement for all pilots to get to the airfield immediately.
The timing couldn't have been more wrong.
In that selfish instant, Sam wanted to halt the passing of time, to keep this infinitely precious moment between them. A moment that was quite possibly, their last.
But the world needed Jack O'Neill more than she did.
Instead, all she did was pat his cheek and tell him, "Good luck. See you later, Jack."
His eyes held that same promise. "See you later."
"Mission command, this is squadron leader. Pre-flight check complete."
The elevator wouldn't go fast enough.
"Mission command, this is Cat-1. Pre-flight check complete."
Sam was out and running before the elevator doors had fully opened on the level where the command centre was situated, taking a radio and an earpiece that McKay immediately handed out to her. Adjusting the frequency, she caught the middle of the 395th squadron pre-flight checks.
The first of the front-line defence forces.
She watched in breathless anticipation as the visual feed shifted to show the squadron lined up Elephant Walk style, already cruising down one of the longest runways built in Area 51.
Through the bubble canopy of the first plane lined up, she thought she could see Jack.
"All systems operational, Mission command."
Hammond nodded in apparent satisfaction. "Hellion Cats, you are cleared for takeoff."
"Roger that, General. OK, boys, get your asses in the air."
"Hell, yeah."
"Shut up, Fenster."
A whoop sounded from some other hotshot in an F-16 in reply to the smart mouth in Cat-10, followed by a chorus of cheers and a spontaneous song that all too soon degenerated into The Simpsons theme song.
"I'd like less talking, more action."
Jack.
A chorus of chastened voices mumbling "Sorry, Sir" and "Yes, Sir" echoed through the command centre.
Beat.
"But the Simpsons song was great."
From the corner of her eye, she saw Hammond trying to suppress an amused smirk.
A trace of a smile crossed her own lips as muffled sniggers resounded in the room, briefly lifting the edginess that has been in the air ever since Hammond had called the emergency briefing. Sam studied the screens for their flight paths, seeing for the first time – yet completely unsurprised – by just how good a commander Jack, no, Colonel O'Neill really was.
The F-16s broke formation in the atmosphere once they hit Mach 2.2, spreading their defensive cover over a preliminary radius of 100 km over the Mojave.
Jack's voice came over the radio again, gravelly over the increased static.
"This is squadron leader. All birds report."
Cat-12 was talking. "All clear, Sir."
"Cat-8 reporting."
"Cat-10 reporting."
"Just another beautiful day in Oz."
"Smart mouth, Kawalsky."
"Squadron leader," Hammond interrupted the air-borne communication, "this is Hammond. EM-inference in the upper atmosphere is greater due to the impending arrival of the alien fleet."
"Copy, Mission command."
"Colonel, radar tracking indicates fifty unidentified vessels heading for atmosphere. ETA: twenty minutes." Kawalsky's voice rang out over the worsening static.
"Sir, this is Cat-5. Visual confirmation of enemy vessels. Transmitting data now."
Sam hollered, hoping her voice carried to the man who sat in another corner of the command centre. "McKay, you've got to boost the signal of our sensors and radars now!"
"I'm trying, I'm trying!"
Hammond immediately dispatched two other waiting squadrons into the air, his forehead creased with a firm line of worry. "Colonel, we're sending aerial backup now," he said.
"All birds, assume offensive position!"
"Oh, goody."
"Yes, Sir."
"Shut it, Ferretti."
"Copy, squadron leader."
The static cleared on the screens for a second, the radar coverage displaying the appearance of an alarming number of smaller fighters moving off in various directions.
Sam spoke immediately. "Colonel, our screens show a cluster of radar blips separating from the fleet of ships. Incoming alien fighter crafts from point eight-five."
"Copy that, Carter. Hold your positions, Fenster! You too, McLeish! Lorne, cover Kelly."
"Yes, Sir!"
"Coming in, three o'clock!"
"What? Where?"
"I don't see them, but I can hear them!"
A piercing whine came through her speakers soon after, rising in volume quickly enough to send a sharp jolt of pain to her ears. She whipped off the microphone and headphones on instinct, seeing the rest of the technicians do the same.
Through the harsh blare of static and the whines from the enemy ships, Hammond's voice rang out through the failing communication systems. "Squadron leaders, this is Mission command. Our frequencies are going to be jammed completely as the fleet approaches. Assume offensive positions, but do not open fire unless enemy vessels begin an attack. I repeat: do not open fire unless enemy vessels begin an attack."
"Copy that, General."
"Yes, Sir."
Horizontal scrolling lines ran across the radar screens, severing the communications in bursts of static. The best of their pilots were now flying blind and Hammond hoped that none of them had decided it was a good day for blind heroics.
Then he realised that he had been counting on Jack O'Neill to prevail, to beat the odds, to come through when no one could. And that was hope enough to go on.
"Is that -?"
Kawalsky.
"Shit!"
"Holy crap!"
"Hold your positions, Cats. We'll be in targeting range in fifteen seconds."
Jack's coolly given order was interrupted by another low whine that pierced their earpieces.
Swarms of enemy interceptors descended like a locust plague that consumed its way through arable land, their weapon platforms engaged and firing.
"My god, look at those…things!"
"All birds, fire at will. Repeat: fire at will."
"Sir, we are establishing visual feed from deep space SBV."
On the monitors in the command centre, the darkness of space receded to reveal an alien fleet that was beyond magnificent and deadly; each ship, shaped with the dramatic curves of a manta ray, spanned nearly four miles in length and two across. A slew of smaller alien fighters, burnished a silvery-gold, exited the first mothership, preparing for a second wave of assault.
A gasp sounded through the command. Hammond nodded at a technician who patched him through to the F-16s.
"Squadrons, this is Hammond. A second fleet of alien fighters has just been deployed from the mothership."
"I guess that blows Hammond's first order to pieces," Jack muttered to himself, banking a hard right, barely avoiding clipping the left wing of his plane against an alien ship that had shot straight at him.
"Hellion Cats, this is squadron leader. We are being attacked. I repeat, we are being attacked. Your mission priority is to defend the base's location."
"There's one on my tail, I can't shake them!"
"Goddammit, Dunst, you're trained better than this!"
"Colonel, three enemy ships at nine o'clock. Closing in."
"Got it, Kawalsky. I see 'em.
Jack broke left and forced the plane into a defensive spiral, feeling the G-forces press him back hard into the seat. Then he turned sharply into another alien craft's line of attack, accelerating skywards. The second ship flew immediately into the first; the resulting explosion was a blinding orange ball of fire that his F-16 barely scraped through.
The third ship had gotten back on his tail. He pitched back, locating the target after the roll, firing once. The rounds bounced harmlessly off a translucent, blue, reflective buffer surrounding the ship.
"Damn it! Those ships have shields on them!"
"Sir! I won't reach you in time. The angle's too steep-"
"I can't shake him, Kawalsky! I'm going in!"
The F-16 soared, then barrelled and rolled, twisting and descending low into the sharp and narrow edges of the surrounding Mojave canyon, barely missing an outcropping of rock. Its pursuer followed, mimicking Jack's manoeuvres with relative ease.
"We've lost Kingsley and McLeish."
Jack ignored the tight knot forming in his stomach when he heard Cat-4's sombre report, willing his own concentration not to falter.
Then he banked left and shot out of the canyon on a flight path that the enemy ship failed to copy precisely. It clipped its sides against the vertical rock formation, the damage to its wing causing the entire ship's blue shield to flicker, then fade out completely.
Yes!
Pitching back, Jack fired again. His second shot tore a hole through its hull, forcing the vessel from its flight path into an uncontrollable hurtle towards the ground, wrapped in a ball of flaming metal and smoke.
"Take that, son-of-a-bitch." Switching frequencies, he shouted his orders to the rest of the squadrons. "This is squadron leader. Time to get creative, boys. Destroy their shields first by using a distraction."
"Copy, squadron leader."
"Copy, Sir."
In the distance, he saw several plumes of explosions, hoping to god that they hadn't lost more of their own.
The reports that came in a few seconds later made his heart sink.
"Command, we've lost Miller!"
Shit.
"Sir, Clark is unreachable."
"Roger that, Lorne."
Dimly, he heard the frantic shouts of the other pilots who shared the same frequency on his communications unit reporting the slow decimation of their squadrons by the relentless attacks.
Grayson.
Morgan.
Stewart.
Collins.
Jack took a deep breath. "Mission command centre, this is Hellion Cats Squadron leader, do you read?"
The sound of his voice resonated through the speakers, cutting through the whine of the attacking ships and the static.
In the command centre, Sam sat upright and toggled the transmitter switch for better reception of his broadcast, tensing at the weariness in his manner that was unmistakably bleeding through.
"We copy, Squadron leader."
Hammond had moved to the nearest screen, listening intently to the report through the crackling distortion.
"Colonel O'Neill, what's happening?"
"We are outnumbered, I repeat, we are outnumbered. Our missiles and rounds cannot penetrate their shields."
The sharp pang of regret dug into her chest when she heard his words. She stared at the screen sightlessly, unable to speak, wondering if they'd spent weeks escaping the clutches of the Aegis only for him to die in an alien ship attack.
Hammond didn't hesitate. "Give the order for retreat. Our ground troops on stand-by will provide some aerial cover for you."
"Copy, Sir."
"Squadrons 603 and 599, you have been given the order to retreat."
It was Jack again. "All birds, assume defensive configuration. Come around and reform. We are outnumbered, I repeat, outnumbered. Return to base. I repeat, return to base."
"Aye, Sir."
"Copy, Squadron leader."
"Sir?"
"That's an order, Kawalsky."
As the rest of the cats broke and swung around in response to his order, Jack had that sinking feeling that it wasn't going to end well.
In the command centre, the wail of a new set of alarms sent the technicians frantically consulting their terminals.
"General," one of them stood and sombrely informed Hammond, "Sensors detect the enemy fleet deploying a vessel heading for Area 51, ETA forty-two minutes. It's a ground offensive, Sir."
Hammond nodded grimly. Then he reached for the red telephone.
Amidst the firestorm, Jack held the line of retreat, sweeping smaller and smaller arcs around the rest of the Cats. His radar detected the other squadrons doing the same in the distance, their commanders sweeping the same arcs as he did.
His radio cackled to life again.
"Squadrons, this is Mission command. Another fleet of fighters have broken atmosphere. Coming your way in point three one."
"Yeah, see 'em."
A third wave of enemy fighters, smaller than the first, emerged from the atmosphere, their flight paths intersecting the retreating squadrons' scramble to safety.
"This is squadron leader. Watch your tails. Incoming fire. Twelve o'clock. Hold the retreat."
A beep alerted Jack to two alien crafts that were beyond his radius of cover, but were closing in too quickly from the flanks. From that distance, their combined firepower would do considerable damage to the base and the rest of the retreating planes. Hastily keying in several numbers into the navigational computer, he sought to calculate the last-ditch options available to him for retreat and evasion.
There were none.
Jack briefly checked that the rest of the planes were back to safety, then took another look at the screen in front of him.
The collision course was already determined, leaving him only the option of pilot-ejection.
He patched communications back into the command centre, relaying the distress signal from his plane.
"Mission command, this is Hellion Cats squadron leader. I'm surrounded by enemy ships. Retreat is impossible. I repeat, retreat is impossible. I'll be holding off the last two ships from here." His tone became hesitant, quieter. "Tell Carter that-"
Static overpowered the lines of communication between the squadrons and the base, cutting off Jack's last few words.
Hammond spoke through the din. "Understood, son."
At the sound of his voice, Sam stood up abruptly in shock and incredulity, oblivious to the surprised looks and speculative glances turned her way.
There wasn't any other…he just couldn't…
No way.
There was no fucking way in hell this was going to happen. Not on her watch.
"Colonel, I'm going to plot a by-pass for you. Stay on course. I just need a few seconds," she told him with heated determination, her fingers flying over the keyboard, already in the process of creating a script that was near halfway complete. "And whatever it is you wanted to say, Sir, you can tell me in private yourself, when you return."
The cackle of their radio communications told her that he was still listening.
"Not this time, Carter," he said and paused. "I'm sorry, Sam."
Another burst of static signalled the severance of the communications unit in Jack's F-16.
The retort she was about to make died halfway in her throat when, in the next second, the green dot displaying Jack's F-16 disappeared from the screens.