Chapter 3
There was no sign on, above or alongside the open door to confirm it, but the presence of large boxes full of books and angry muttering from within the room strongly suggested she was in the right place.
"Settling in okay?" Moffatt said cheerfully, smiling to reinforce the point. She winced as she quickly realised it was precisely the wrong thing to say in the worst tone possible.
Halverson was standing in the middle of a chaotic scene with a distinctly unimpressed and somewhat harried expression on her face. Piles of documents, textbooks, notebooks and rolled up charts filled the desk, shelves and floor around her, while the supplied metal shelving was still mostly bare.
"What do you think?" she snapped, shuffling through the books in her arms and irritably dropping two of them on the desk and swearing at a third.
"Okay, what's up?"
Halverson's head whipped around, fixing a glare at the medic.
"I can't find anything, Kelly. I mean, when I got the message we were being recalled to the SGC, I packed all my research material in record time – and now I can't find a damn thing, and I swear half of it's still back on Earth. In Oxford, no less! Seconds to travel sixty-three thousand light years and eight hours for the transatlantic flight."
Slowly, Moffatt moved into the room, picking her way carefully through the mess. She got the impression there was a subtle, highly complex system behind what otherwise seemed to be random piles of books and papers, and dare not provoke Halverson's wrath by spilling a crucial stack of notes onto the floor.
"Well, look on the bright side. This room is one hell of an improvement on your broom cupboard at the SGC." Moffatt said, forcing a smile.
"Yes, but I've just spent the last four months sharing my time between Oxford University and NTNU, and compared to them..."
Moffatt sighed, and tried to shuffle a small box further onto the desk so she could perch on the edge, careful not to disrupt the bizarre arrangement.
"Elise...why do I get the feeling there's more to this than office space and missing books?"
Halverson sighed, slumped slightly, and looked around for a chair. Seeing one buried beneath a box filled with files and papers, she casually pushed the boxes off until they crashed onto the floor and spilling their contents, the wave of documents and notes tipping two more piles over in the process. The chair freed, she sat down heavily, propping an elbow on the corner of the desk and resting her head in her hand.
"Fine. You win. I think I was happier back there. I mean, I got so sick of being messed around when it came to the SGC and the SWRS, I found I actually liked returning to my old research. Kelly, they treated us like crap, like human yo-yos to be bounced between active duty and suspension. Don't get me wrong, I'm proud to be part of something as big and meaningful as the Stargate program, and I recognise the enormity of the threat, the amazing opportunities we get to discover and explore and meet long lost human cultures and just experience something so huge and...I don't know."
She paused, one hand on her hip, the other massaging her forehead as if she was getting a headache, and after a few deep breaths with her eyes closed, she began speaking again, her voice calmer and slower.
"I get how incredibly important our work is Kelly, but still...there's a lot to be said for quietly and leisurely working on smaller, less life threatening projects. No combat, no threat of death by alien werewolves, no more being suspended for months at a sodding time while the MoD and IOA screw with our lives and careers...you know?"
Gazing at the floor, Moffatt nodded slowly.
"I do, Elise. I really do. And that's still not it."
"Damn it, Kelly, could you just take one day off from being Miss Observation 2009?" Halverson snapped, slapping the desk in irritation before snatching up a lone textbook near her hand. She stood up in exasperation, eventually throwing the final book down so hard it bounced off the desk and landed on the floor, it's pages open. She rubbed her forehead more vigorously, her jaw muscles pulsing as she glared at Moffatt.
Moffatt's expression didn't change in the slightest as she stared impassively at Halverson. As the stand-off began to turn into a full stalemate, Halverson relented.
"Okay! Christ, you should have been a detective. I just...I feel incredibly cut off here. Back at the SGC, I had access to the most incredible database of anthropological, historical and archaeological information known to man, not to mention the Internet. I had a dozen or so colleagues I could discuss things with - even Jackson, if I was really, really desperate - and to be honest, most importantly of all...I could phone my brother any time I wanted. God, I've only been here a few days, and you wouldn't believe how much I already miss being able to talk to him nearly every day, even with transatlantic time differences. I need family around me, Kelly, and I can't have that here."
"I think I understand. But, look - you know that once the Stargate's installed we get weekly contact with the SGC to send and receive emails, right?"
"Yes, I know, but it's really not the same. I can't just pick up the phone and talk to him. I don't have much family left, and everything we've seen out there, the dangers and the horrors we know are coming...family suddenly becomes incredibly important."
Moffatt nodded, and began to say something, until the base PA went off and she heard a familiar Mancunian voice.
"Medical team to the gate...cave."
"Damn it!" she exclaimed as she rushed out of the room, scattering papers and books as she went.
Lyngvi's surface was significantly more inhospitable than usual. Thick sheets of ice cold rain were being blown in sideways by the wind, and the sky was a turbulent and threatening ceiling of dark grey cloud – near the horizon a silent stuttering flash of lightning briefly illuminated the distant hills. Seconds later, there was a loud crack and a deep rumbling noise rolled over the landscape. The heather swayed and rippled violently as the gale tore at the planet's surface.
"You sure you want to be up here?" Halverson called over the roar of the tempest, pulling the thick military issue winter jacket tighter around herself as she walked closer to the storm.
"I just needed a breath of fresh air, and you can't get fresher than storm air. Besides, it's paradise compared to what faces me down there – trust me." Taylor said. He was quiet for a moment, staring at the rain-soaked land stretching away in front of him and listening to the peals of thunder before speaking in a lighter tone. "I'm wishing I'd had some idea of what to expect when my orders arrived – if I'd known they were posting me to this planet, I'd have seen about shipping my Land Rover up here."
Halverson smiled and shook her head.
"Dave, they wouldn't even let Martin bring his cat. Besides, somehow I think even if they allowed it, the fees for bringing the best part of three tonnes of personal property to an alien world on the other side of the galaxy by Daedalus-class would be kind of prohibitive. And I don't even want to consider the price of diesel out here." Halverson said lightly. Taylor smiled.
"I could always get it shipped piece by piece through the SGC and get Llewellyn to rebuild it here. Pass it off as 'care packages'."
"Not a chance. You honestly think you could get it past Harriman and Siler? No, you just don't earn enough to bribe them Dave."
"Shame. It'd be great to tool around this kind of landscape. Maybe not in this sort of weather...but, then again, maybe this is ideal weather. Still, at least I've got a Monty Python boxset to keep me entertained."
"Meh. I'm more of a Black Books person myself." Halverson said.
"Also good."
For a while, they simply looked out on Lyngvi's weather-beaten surface. The small, sheltered cave entrance they were gazing out of sat almost directly above the gaping maw of the cavern that had swallowed a Chinook with ease. The crate serving as a table and canvas seats showed that it was already serving as an impromptu observation post when the personnel could be spared to man it, a reasonably well protected and surprisingly well hidden place from which to defend the Garrison from external attack. Taylor vaguely recalled Nesbitt mentioning that potential future plans called for manned rail gun turrets to be placed around the Garrison's surface entrance – given that the base contained the only known means of accessing the Prison, there was a worryingly good chance of the planet being attacked from orbit by the Fenrir. But for now, in the absence of funds, sufficient personnel or adequate weaponry, the smaller caves riddling the Tor and the surface above the Garrison were being left undeveloped.
"You actually love this, don't you?" Halverson said with a sly grin, nodding towards the storm raging a few metres away from them. "Other people dream of Mediterranean holidays or Caribbean beaches...but you prefer furious elements and hostile landscapes. I bet that's why you climb mountains, isn't it? You just like to beat nature."
Taylor shook his head and smiled gently.
"No, not to beat it. To experience it. To be honest Elise, I find this relaxing...focusing, even."
"I think I'm starting to understand you now. A bit, anyway. It's only taken me about a year." Halverson said, gazing as more lightning flashed in the distance.
"Hey, 'Inscrutable' is my middle name."
"Huh. I thought it was James. Dave, what's wrong?" Halverson asked.
"How's everybody doing? I haven't had much of a chance to check on them myself, except in a professional capacity."
Grudgingly accepting the abrupt change in the direction of the conversation, Halverson nodded and began ticking things off on her fingers.
"Well let's see, Colin's moaning about the lack of decent defences, the state of the base and the appalling lack of FHM magazines and football coverage. Kelly's being her usual relentlessly upbeat self but says the state of the infirmary is a bad joke and it's scary being the CMO, even if it's only temporary. As for the others...last I heard, Martin's trying to get hold of night vision goggles so he can actually work in his lab even though there isn't anything to work on or with, and to be completely honest I haven't seen Gareth since the engineering team swallowed him up a few days ago."
"And you?" Taylor asked.
"Holding up. Mainly by hoarding the base's chocolate supply and biting people's heads off at the slightest provocation."
"So, business as normal, basically."
"Pretty much. Now, enough evasion and deflection Dave, tell me what's wrong."
Taylor exhaled deeply.
"Apparently...everything. We may actually be in a worse condition for fighting the Fenrir than when we were at the SGC. This is supposed to be a battalion strength outfit, and since the Hammond left with the US and UK defence contingents, we've barely got seventy people on site. Right now, we can't use our Stargate and we've already got a man in the infirmary because we're so understaffed there was nobody to see the gate wasn't aligned properly with it's cradle. Damn chunk of metal just sheared off and smacked him in the chest."
"Ouch." Halverson winced.
"Moffatt's report says he'll pull through. Could have been a lot worse – and a lot, lot messier – if it had hit him edge on."
"Thanks for the image. So, basically, you're saying our base is a construction site slash death trap, and as yet, we don't have a hell of a lot of people."
"Or weapons. Or facilities. Or, well, anything. Webber's got me helping him out with the insane weight of paperwork he's got to deal with. I mean, seriously, you wouldn't believe how much there is. Oh, and I'm supposed to plan our first offworld recce, which has to happen in the next few days."
Halverson nodded understanding, but remained silent.
"Long story short, there's too much to do and too little time to do it. Since you, Nesbitt and Moffatt have become department heads with big workloads - even if it's temporary for Moffatt - I've decided...I'm going to bump Ham's team up the roster, give him the first mission – assuming the gate's installed in time for him to scout P7S-267. At this rate we'll be shoving him through the wormhole about ten seconds before the VIPs arrive."
Halverson snorted, chuckling at the image.
"On top of that...I found out from Webber why they dropped us like a hot potato after the 355 mission. We were a political liability...or more accurately, I was, and they couldn't replace me. More to the point, I think I know who ordered SG-27 disbanded."
"And?" Halverson asked, not sure if she wanted to know.
Taylor turned to face her directly.
"Bullock." he said gravely.
Halverson scowled.
"That miserable old goat. I can't say I'm remotely surprised, Dave."
"You know he's the reason you're out here?"
"Oh no." Halverson said, smiling humourlessly while she shook her head and wagged her finger. "Don't for one second tell me to be grateful to him for allowing me to be part of the Stargate program. We're all just means to an end for him and you know it. He's got some sort of an agenda, something that makes me uncomfortable, and you know damn well he'd drop any and all of us in a flash if it suited him."
Taylor turned back to the storm.
"You've noticed that too, huh?" he said, concerned and puzzled. "I can't work it out. After we went into the Prison and first met the Fenrir, he fought like a demon to keep us operating, made out we were heroes. The moment we stop serving his agenda we get dropped, forgotten and trampled underfoot. I just can't work out why he's trying so hard – first he's making sure we're one of the top three nations supporting Atlantis ops with supplies, funding and IOA backup, then it's ensuring the UK has SGC field teams. He blew his top over Glastonbury – "
"Ah, well, there I'm with him."
"Why? There was sod all we could have done with the stuff and it would have gone to the US eventually."
Halverson looked uncertain.
"It's more on principle. There should have been a few Brits there at least."
Taylor shook his head. It was an argument he'd had before, and was keen to avoid again.
"Point is, now we've got nothing short of a major offworld base, not to mention jurisdiction over a whole sector of the galaxy and a pretty damn serious threat. There's something he wants really badly, some reason he's going out of his way to ensure we have a tangible and permanent presence in the Stargate program."
"I dunno. Maybe he's trying to make sure that when the Stargate goes public people see the UK as one of the major players. Or maybe he's a Goa'uld trying a new approach to becoming a System Lord." Halverson said, smiling. They both chuckled, but stopped very quickly.
Between the Earth operations of both the Trust and later Ba'al, the idea seemed unsettlingly plausible. IOA investigations into Goa'uld infiltration had focused almost exclusively on the big three players in offworld activities - the United States, Russia and China. Britain was at once both insignificant enough to effectively hide and powerful and influential enough to be of some use to a megalomaniacal alien parasite. It wasn't impossible.
For a while, they were both quiet, staring at the rain and wind-lashed landscape.
"Hey, anyway, you think you've got problems? Two days before they told me I'd be spending the next year offworld I bought a new mobile phone on a twelve month contract. That's thirty quid a month down the drain! And I forgot to cancel Sky HD. Come on, I need a cup of tea."
Taylor couldn't help but laugh as Halverson lead the way back to the relative warmth of the Garrison's tunnels.
"Right now, we've got every available engineer working round the clock to repair the mounting rig and work out how to install the Stargate without putting another sapper in what passes for our infirmary. I'm told the rig can be repaired fully with what we have on base, but it will take time. At this moment, the gate itself is propped up on one side of the grotto-"
As they walked through the tunnel, dodging a cluster of arguing electricians and stacks of construction supplies, Webber turned to Taylor.
"Grotto?" the Brigadier asked.
"It's what some of the men are calling the gatehouse, sir. Right now the Stargate is just leaning against a wall waiting to be installed."
"What about defence?" Webber asked, concerned.
"Well the good news is it's Iris is closed, which, fortunately is how it'll stay until the gate is hooked up to the power lines...which might be another issue. Both Doctor Nesbitt and Lieutenant Llewellyn have some concerns about hooking the gate up to the grid in its current state, something about it drawing too much power for the generators we've got at the moment to handle – especially if the Void Prison's involved. Also, Nesbitt's gone as far as he can with the dialling computer - he needs the Stargate installed to complete the task."
Webber grunted unhappily, ducking to avoid a bunch of low-hanging electrical cables.
"And the injured man?" he asked. The tone indicated he really didn't want to know.
Hurriedly, Taylor checked the crumpled, dog-eared paperwork in the folder he was carrying. He had a new found respect for Maddock's job – administration and paperwork just wasn't in his blood.
"Uh, Sapper Lee McAlister has severe bruising on the left side of his torso, but so far there have been no complications so we probably won't need to evacuate him to the SGC. Lieutenant Llewellyn says they should be ready to try the install again in two days, maybe a little sooner if we get lucky."
Webber sighed.
"It's not good enough. Listen to me Major, I don't care if it stays propped up and you end up ordering Private Benson to stand at the top of the Tor holding a lightning rod while Sergeant Jarvis dials manually, I want that bloody gate operational ASAP. We have less than a day before the IOA party is due."
"Incoming travellers. IDC recognised – it's Stargate Command, on schedule. I'm retracting the Iris, sir." Sergeant Gibson announced.
"If you must." Webber muttered to himself, reluctantly turning from the map table in the centre of the control room to look down at the floor of the gate cave. The blades of the Iris retracted, revealing the glowing blue puddle. He was surprised to find that Taylor hadn't been exaggerating when he said the engineers had been working around the clock. They had worked for nearly thirty-three hours straight to rebuild the heavy steel rig, move the ancient alien ring into position - with extra assistance to ensure there wasn't a repeat performance of the last minor disaster - and attach the three heavy duty power cables that filled the trench behind it.
Webber had been quietly impressed, even more so with some of the civilians. He knew Dr Nesbitt had worked professionally, efficiently and furiously alongside Sergeant Gibson to finalise the dialling computer's integration with the Stargate even as the engineers were still welding the gate clamps in place. He had paused for all of thirty seconds before heading to the cave floor to oversee the difficult and delicate task of attaching the power cables to the remains of the Vanir reactor's attachment point.
Looking at the perfectly functional and neatly installed Stargate, it was hard to believe that only four hours ago it had been leaning against the cave wall while sappers and contractors argued and sprinted about the place.
"Stargate Command, this is Lyngvi Gate Control. Iris retracted, you are clear to proceed." Gibson said into her headset as she checked readouts and pressed controls.
"Roger that, Lyngvi." Harriman's distinctive voice answered from the other side of the Milky Way. Webber opened the door to the walkway and stairs outside the control room and made his way to the cave floor, smoothing his dress uniform.
With half a dozen neatly turned out SA80-armed guards standing in formation behind him and Captain Maddock next to him, Webber stood with his hands clasped behind his back in front of the Stargate as the dignitaries walked through the gate with varying degrees of confidence and across the broad concrete floor. Only a handful of them had previously travelled via Stargate before today – one of them quite obviously.
The silver haired head of Homeworld Command and living legend of the Stargate Program stepped casually through the gate looking somewhat uncomfortable in full dress uniform, closely followed by Major Davis carrying a briefcase.
"General O'Neill, a pleasure to finally meet you sir." Webber said, standing to attention.
"Likewise, Brigadier…likewise." O'Neill said uncertainly, casting a frowning glance at the rest of the dignitaries coming through the gate before gazing at the craggy, dark grey rock of the cavern walls and ceiling, taking in the overhead walkways, floodlights and power lines.
"Nice place you've got here."
"We like to think so. Believe me, it took a lot of work."
"Hey, at least you got your gate working. We were starting to get worried there. Almost had Carter turn the Hammond around for a fly-by to make sure you were okay."
"Working, yes. Working well...is another story." Webber said dryly. O'Neill smirked.
The next person through the gate was someone Webber knew only too well, and frequently wished he didn't.
"Sir." He said, saluting smartly at the sight of the familiar green uniform and the typical sour expression on the weathered face.
Major-General Sir Richard Bullock was the ambitious, determined and very persuasive man ultimately responsible for the existence of a British Stargate program, and directly responsible for the creation of an offworld base under British command, but that didn't do anything for his unpleasant personality and unpopularity on both sides of the Atlantic. Webber could see that O'Neill clearly felt the same way.
The rest of the dignitaries made their way slowly through the gate, congregating around the Brigadier and two Generals. O'Neill and Bullock introduced the US and UK delegations respectively.
"Brigadier James Webber, I'd like to introduce you to James Coolidge, IOA representative for the United States, Ellen Swain, Department of Defence, and I believe you already know Major Davis." O'Neill said happily, gesturing to each one in turn.
"This is Douglas Moore, Ministry of Defence, Sir Dennis Melford, also MoD, Karen Bastable, Treasury, Russel Chapman, UK IOA representative, and Group Captain Ian Trevithick. I want to get started as soon as possible." Bullock said tersely, striding towards the open hatch in the rock face. Webber simply stared past him and gritted his teeth as the general headed out of the grotto, snapping mercilessly at a helpful soldier that he already knew the bloody way to the briefing room.
"Let the fun begin…" O'Neill murmured with a sly grin.
"Shoot me now. I'll even sign a pistol out for you." Webber muttered in response as he turned to the remaining group of bureaucrats and politicians, all impeccably dressed in expensive, tailored suits and staring at him expectantly.
"Well…I was going to say we've laid on a small reception for you to meet some of the base personnel, followed by a brief tour of the facility. If you'll follow me."
The briefing room was the only furnished room large enough to hold the party of officials without feeling cramped or walking them through dangerous construction zones to the other side of the facility. The base's chefs had laid out a decent spread, while at the far end of the room stood four flagpoles, between them bearing a Union Flag, the Stars and Stripes, the symbol of the United States Air Force and the Sword-and-Stargate badge of the Special Warfare and Reconnaissance Service. Standing in a line in front of the flags were six smartly dressed people. The four in military dress uniforms came to attention sharply as Bullock, Webber and O'Neill entered the room.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to introduce you to the members of this command's premier unit. Major David Taylor, Second Lieutenant Gareth Llewellyn, Sergeant Colin Jarvis, Corporal Kelly Moffatt, Doctor Martin Nesbitt and Doctor Elise Halverson." Webber said, gesturing to each in turn.
"So, you're the ones to blame for costing us three and a half billion pounds." Bastable said loudly, her voice professional but carrying a trace of acid. Taylor knew straight away how uncomfortable this meeting was going to get, squirming in his dress uniform.
"With good reason, I'd say."
"That, Major, is at best debatable, at worst insultingly ridiculous." Sir Melford said tersely as he walked past. Taylor squirmed again, resisting the urge to open his suddenly too-tight collar.
"You've begun Stargate operations?" Chapman asked Webber under his breath as the other dignitaries moved forward to meet Taylor and his team.
"They commenced this morning. We have a team offworld right now."
"Good. That'll score you some points, and I'm afraid you're going to need every single one you can get. I'll do what I can, but the next few days are going to be difficult, to say the least." Chapman whispered before walking up to shake hands and swap small talk with the team.
"What do you call yourselves? As a unit, I mean." Moore asked lightly in a valiant attempt to improve the mood of the room.
"1 Lyngvi Reconnaissance, sir." Moffatt responded, smiling.
"Isn't that a bit of a mouthful? Besides, what the hell kind of a name for a team is that?" O'Neill said. Despite his dry delivery, it was enough to start defusing the tense atmosphere that had already developed in the room.
"Well, if you prefer, you could just call us 1LR." Taylor said, trying not to smile.
"Oh, yes, that's much better. Hey, cake!" the USAF General responded sarcastically as he moved past them and towards the array of food on the far table.
Smoothing her trouser suit and smiling as pleasantly as she could manage, Halverson politely excused herself from the tedious conversation and wandered over to the spread on the table, screwing her eyes up in relief. As she selected a few items of food for her plate, Taylor sidled up alongside her and began doing the same. He leaned over surreptitiously.
"Get me out of here. I don't care how. I may just snap and shoot some of these people, unless Jarvis beats me to it. Actually he may just beat them." he whispered. Halverson struggled to suppress a giggle.
"What, you're not enjoying yourself? I just had the most riveting discussion with Mr Coolidge and Miss Bastable about the inner workings of IOA economic policy. Wait here, I'll go and ask them to tell you all about it." she said innocently. At the sight of the dour, sorely unimpressed expression on Taylor's face she stifled another giggle by quickly stuffing food into her mouth as Lieutenant Llewellyn arrived.
"Sir, please – how much longer do we have to put up with this?" the combat engineer said pleadingly under his breath.
"Lieutenant!" Taylor scolded sternly. "We are directly responsible for precipitating a major interplanetary crisis with potentially grave consequences for all life in the Milky Way that has forced the international community to divert considerable funding and resources from other projects specifically to deal with the problem." He glanced around the room. "Half an hour, at least."
"I don't think Sergeant Jarvis can take much more...it looks like Sir Dennis doesn't have any concept of personal space." Llewellyn murmured.
Taylor and Llewellyn walked away, talking about trying to rescue Jarvis from Sir Melford's attention before the Royal Marine's mind caved in and he snapped the civil servants neck. Halverson glanced around the room, spotting Chapman and Moore talking to a young, blonde combat medic. As the British IOA delegate turned away to talk to his US counterpart, Moffatt quickly broke away from Moore with an apologetic smile and made a beeline for Halverson.
"Elise – if you talk to Mr Chapman, for the love of God do not mention insects...or anything that scuttles, swarms or tunnels. And if he asks, there is no animal life on this planet."
"What about those little furry worm things? Or the - "
"Just trust me."
The room began to shake, and Halverson could only watch as the plates of food began to rattle and judder towards the edge of the table.
"What the hell's going on?" Melford cried as the light fittings began to rattle, flickering and dimming intermittently. With only a few exceptions, the dignitaries were involuntarily ducking and glancing around the room, unsure if they were about to meet some grisly demise. Chapman seemed to be praying silently.
"That," Webber called over the rumbling din as he walked hurriedly towards the intercom mounted on the wall, "is the Stargate dialling."
As if to confirm this assessment, Sergeant Gibson's voice came over the base's public address system.
"Unscheduled offworld activation. Defence teams to the gatehouse."
"Why doesn't the SGC's gate do this?" Coolidge asked incredulously, pushing a rattling cup and saucer back towards the middle of the conference table as Halverson and Moffatt struggled to keep the plates of food from shaking their way off the table with only partial success. Outside the briefing room, orange lights were flashing and an alarm had begun sounding.
"To meet the MoD's deadline we had to forego installing a full dialling computer, frequency dampers or a decent capacitor system for the gate. Budget cuts being what they are, we may never get them installed."
As Webber's none-too-subtle dig sank in, the shaking ceased abruptly and the lights instantly reverted to their usual illumination. Seconds later, the intercom buzzed.
"Brigadier, 2LR just dialled in ahead of schedule. They need urgent backup, a heavy Fenrir presence has them pinned down some distance from the gate. The locals are trying to fight, but they're being cut to pieces." Sergeant Gibson's voice reported solemnly.
As Webber turned, Taylor and his team were already running for the exit.
"Permission to-" Taylor began as he ran out of the room, already loosening his tie.
"Granted. Control room, now." Webber shouted after them as he and 1LR disappeared out of sight, heading in the direction of the Garrison's nerve centre.
O'Neill stared after them, then turned to see the rest of the dignitaries staring blankly at him for some kind of an explanation.
"Well, when you've gotta go..." he offered, shrugging.
"Understood Major. Hold your position, we are assessing the situation." Webber said, releasing the microphone switch. He turned to Taylor.
"At this moment, we only have two offworld units, and one of them is pinned down too far from the gate to risk even sprinting back, assuming none of them were injured and they were willing to abandon the locals to their fate. I want to hear options."
"Gate defence teams, sir. It'd be a purely combat mission, after all. We're not asking them to undertake exploration or first contact."
"We have three teams of eight, at least one of which must stay here. Even with your team leading, that still only gives us a fighting force of, what, twenty-two people? Three of which won't even be combatants – and it still leaves the Garrison dangerously vulnerable to a Fenrir attack. For all we know, that's exactly what this is about. In terms of personnel, we'd be committing almost everything we have, with no possibility of backup. It'd be an all or nothing venture. Now, I'm not willing to abandon Major Hamilton, but you have to prove to me you stand a decent chance of succeeding for me to sign off on that – and fast."
Taylor chewed his lip as he thought.
"Elise, what kind of military strength have the 267 locals got?"
Halverson stammered slightly, briefly caught off guard.
"Uh, well, going by Major Hamilton's last report, the Lhoakans are at about a fifteenth or sixteenth century Europe level of development, give or take. They're a walled city-state, they have a kind of militia, basically for peacekeeping, defence against wild animals and the very occasional raiding party coming through the Stargate. Maybe a couple of thousand fighters, perhaps. As for weapons...they have something like the matchlock arquebus, and a flintlock musket is absolutely cutting edge for them, but mostly they're still using crossbows, longbows and probably swords."
"So at least some of them can operate firearms. Sir, what if we loaned the Lhoakans some assault rifles? Might be enough to tip the balance." Taylor said. Webber nodded reluctantly and turned to the console. He pressed the microphone switch.
"Major Hamilton, this is Lyngvi Garrison. We are preparing a counter-assault. Reinforcements will arrive in fifteen minutes, that is one-five minutes. Lyngvi Garrison out."
"I can't believe it. Our first day of Stargate operations and we're already mounting a major combat rescue op." Llewellyn said.
"Actually, sounds about right." Taylor said.
He glanced around. Aside from the rest of his own team, there were sixteen soldiers getting ready. Webber had agreed to temporarily assign two defence teams to Taylor.
"Right, listen up." Taylor said, zipping up the combat jacket and shrugging on his tactical vest. "I want you wearing assault order only. This is going to be a heavy fire fight, so grab as much ammo as you can. I don't need to tell you that the Fenrir are quite probably the toughest opponents the SGC ever faced in ground combat after Kull warriors. They can run incredibly fast, jump high and far, take a dozen shots to the chest before dropping and they absolutely will not hesitate to rip your throat out with their trinium-laced claws. Am I getting through to you?"
Their response was a chorus of concerned murmurs.
"Halverson, what kind of terrain are we looking at?" he said as he secured the holster around his thigh and began checking his radio. Since the armoury and the changing rooms hadn't been outfitted yet, the base's arsenal had been temporarily loaded into a large storeroom near to the gatehouse.
"Everything 2LR sent back says the city is dense urban, all the buildings are three or four stories high, stone architecture, cobbled streets, that sort of thing. They walled their city off long ago, so they've somewhat expanded upwards. It's a wet planet, too." she said as she loaded her P226 sidearm.
"Right. This is our first major engagement with the Fenrir, so lets not screw it up. Stuff as much ammo as you can into your webbing – that goes double for you three." Taylor said, gesturing towards Moffatt, Halverson and Nesbitt. "You'll be armed with P90s for defence, but your main role will be as non-combatant support. Everybody else, I don't want to see you carrying anything with less punch than a carbine." he said, indicating his own HK416.
"So why are we carrying these then?" Halverson asked, indicating her P226 sidearm.
"Full metal jacket nine millimetre ammo will break Fenrir skin and cause a surface wound, but it doesn't have enough penetration for any kind of fatal hit because of the organometallic trinium protein that holds their bodies together." Moffatt said automatically, before glancing around sheepishly. Taylor simply nodded in support.
"And given how freakishly tough they are, it appears that shallow flesh wounds don't do much more to a Fenrir than piss it off...which admittedly can be useful, but we're looking to eliminate the threat they pose entirely. That means armour piercing 5.56 is order of the day, and even then it takes a lot of them." Taylor added.
As he filled the pouches on his tactical vest with extra grenade cartridges and rifle magazines, he studied the rest of the people under his command. As ever, Jarvis was ready, waiting patiently while he carried his Minimi with an AT-4 slung over his shoulder. Llewellyn was loading the pack he carried with C-4, detonators and spare 40mm grenades for his M32 launcher. The defence teams that Taylor had appropriated wielded a similarly deadly variety of firepower, supplemented with currently the only two GPMGs in the Garrison. He just hoped it would be enough to take down the Fenrir.
"Nesbitt, Halverson, Wyatt, Dobson – grab those crates. Doherty, the ammo box next to them. All right people, we're moving out." He adjusted his throat microphone and earpiece before clicking his radio as he left the storeroom, hearing the sound of twenty-one pairs of combat boots following him. "Sergeant Gibson, we're on our way. Dial the gate."
Sirens sounded throughout the base and the ground began to tremble as the team made their way towards the gatehouse. The strip lights began to flicker as the Stargate drew power from the base's limited supply.
"I can tell you from personal experience that Fenrir are tough, their flesh is basically like kevlar and they wear armour on top of that, so be prepared to put half a mag into one to kill it." Taylor called over his shoulder as they moved.
"Stealth isn't much use against their senses, but try anyway. Their weapons use trinium-coated flechettes that can punch through our best armour. So don't do anything stupid." Taylor said as he started down the ramp towards the cave that held the Stargate, slotting a 40mm grenade into the underslung launcher on his carbine as he went.
He pushed the heavy metal hatch open and stepped into the gatehouse just as the Stargate's inner track spun for the final time. As the seventh chevron locked, the gate whined and the vortex rushed out from within the ring. As it receded, leaving a calm vertical pool of extra-dimensional forces and energies, blue-white light rippled and danced across every surface in the cave. Taylor walked across the expansive concrete floor until he was within ten metres of the Stargate and it's luminous, burbling event horizon. He turned and looked up at the control room nestled high into the wall of the cave. Webber had left the control room itself and was leaning on the railing in front of it, staring down at them. Several of the VIPs had joined him.
"Lieutenant, what's the MALP telling us about the gate's immediate vicinity?" Taylor said. Letting the multiple shot grenade launcher dangle on it's sling, Llewellyn produced and consulted his tablet, tapping the touch screen to move the probe's camera.
"Looks like...three hostiles facing the gate, five – no, six metres in at ten, twelve, and three o'clock – looks like they're ready for a fight. There may be more, but the MALP isn't picking anything up sir."
"Right. I'll go over it one more time. Three teams, Alpha, Bravo and Charlie." Taylor said, indicating the members of each team. "Alpha will be a close combat assault unit under my command – carbines only, we go in, eliminate the immediate opposition. Llewellyn, you have Bravo. Bravo follows on my order only, secures the gate and sets up heavier weapons and defensive positions. All the non-combatants and support personnel comprise Charlie, you follow once the area is locked down, again, only on my order. Understood?"
The responses indicated they did.
"Major Taylor – I'm in the process of organising some heavy support. Radio back once the Stargate is secure." Webber called out, nodding towards the large hangar door on the other side of the cave. Taylor understood immediately what the Brigadier had in mind.
"With your permission sir." Taylor said, looking up at the control room on the right hand side of the cave.
Webber nodded. Taylor stepped up to the event horizon, followed by five other soldiers. Along with two others, he withdrew a flashbang grenade from his vest, pulled the pin and waited two seconds before rolling it through the gate.