Xover Changing of the Guard 3: Be All That You Can Be 17/22
Ecolea (ecolea@WT.NET)
Fri, 28 Sep 2001 08:09:36 GMT
If you are recieving a second copy of this, please forgive me,
but I have had reports that it has not gone through for many
people on the list. Apologies, Ecolea.
Chapter 21
"Atten-SHUN!"
The order rang out, silencing the arguing Immortals as Sergeant
Bear strode into the room followed by Major Carter and their high
ranking visitor.
"At ease," General Hammond said quietly, staring hard at the
assembled Immortals. He looked them over one by one carefully
noting the barely leashed tension in their bodies. They wanted to
fight, were ready to leap into the fray and defend the world's
best interests. Unfortunately, they were also completely out of
control.
Of course, that was not entirely their fault, he thought sourly
as he came face to face with Daniel. "It's nice to see you again,
Dr. Jackson. We missed you back at Stargate Command."
His sarcasm was not completely lost on the younger man.
"General?"
"First, let me thank you for doing my job for me, Dr. Jackson.
But may I remind you, son, that it is not the job of a civilian
to muster military resources."
The archaeologist flushed, but defended himself reasonably. "I
was only following Jack's orders, General Hammond. He said to get
help. They can help."
"I know Colonel O'Neill will be pleased to learn just how much to
heart you take his commands. But I'll be sure to remind him to be
a little bit more specific in giving directions next time."
Without waiting for Daniel to respond he turned to the group,
frowning. "And you people should know better by now," he accused.
"Begging the General's pardon," MacLeod said evenly. "But this is
Immortal business, sir."
"Not," Hammond replied dangerously, stepping close to MacLeod.
"When it is going through my Stargate and utilizing my resources,
Airman." He moved back, glaring at the others. "Captain Pierson
is under my command. Just as his and Cassandra's safety and well
being are my concern, so is yours. I cannot and will not tolerate
rogue missions for any reason. By you or anyone else under my
command. Is that clear?!"
They responded affirmatively, looking a bit more subdued.
"That said," he went on, toning down his anger. "Dr. Jackson was
absolutely correct in his assumption that you are the best team
to handle this particular problem. But there is more at stake
here than the lives of two of our own. There's the mission they
were sent on that must be completed or we all might be facing a
more serious issue than the capture of two Immortals. Now," he
went on calmly. "I am willing to admit that I don't know much
about what you are all truly capable of. But that's also why I'm
here. To get the benefit of your combined experience."
"Well, it's about time," Alexander said approvingly. "I was
wondering when someone would show up to knock some sense into
their heads."
The general overlooked his inadvertent insubordination, nodding
to the Macedonian in appreciation. "Thank you, Airman Philipson.
And I'm going to take a moment of our time here to inform you
that Sergeant Bear has recommended you for the position of Squad
Leader and I've approved. Which means, ladies and gentlemen, that
the next time you decide to take matters into your own hands
Squad Leader Philipson is entitled to take you folks to task with
my and Sergeant Bear's blessings."
"Thank you, sir," Alexander acknowledged, smiling widely at the
shocked Immortals. "And as to your earlier request, I'd just love
to talk strategy."
***
"Interesting strategy, sir," Major Carter commented as she
watched the Immortal squad assemble. Not at the SGC back on
Earth, but here on P3W184 where there was more room for their
equipment.
"It certainly has the benefit of being unique," Hammond admitted,
straight faced.
"Most unique," Martouf commented, his tone offering a hint of the
mild amazement he clearly felt. Like the rest of the mortals he
would not be accompanying the team for the first assault on the
Goa'uld stronghold, but would be part of the next group sent in
to secure the gate in his capacity as a Tok'ra observer.
A few moments later engines revved, safeties went off and
Sergeant Bear signaled the general that they were ready. With a
nod, Hammond gave the order and the gate was engaged. Then they
waited as the first unmanned element of the assault proceeded
through the gate.
***
"Heads up," O'Neill called softly to Teal'c as he centered his
field glasses on the Stargate which had opened again -- the third
time in as many hours. "This could be it," he said as another
pair of low flying reconnaissance drones suddenly exited the
wormhole.
The response from the Jaffa below the ridge was desultory at
best. The sun was just coming up and they had spent most of their
excitement over the small intrusions earlier on. Laughing at the
seemingly weak opposition, they took a few pot shots at the
drones, knocking them out of the sky and taking little interest
as a second pair then a third and fourth came buzzing through.
But this time the drones were larger. More to the point, O'Neill
smiled as he put away his glasses -- they were carrying a
payload.
Percussive grenades boomed and smoke bombs exploded obscuring the
gate. And in their wake came a sound O'Neill knew well as a
familiar golden head suddenly burst through the wormhole,
Alexander's motorcycle leaping past the first guards as he let
out an unearthly howl, firing at everything. O'Neill almost
shouted with glee as two more bikes shot from the gate, barreling
down on the stunned Jaffa, while behind them came the rest of the
Immortals on foot, pounding away with M80s, P90s and Laws
rockets.
O'Neill and Teal'c started shooting, not giving the Jaffa a
chance to regroup, though they certainly put up a fierce
resistance. But it wouldn't do them a bit of good O'Neill
realized as he watched with pride and a touch of wonder.
The Immortals ignored almost every opportunity to take cover.
When one went down the others kept the pressure up and then the
downed Immortal would rise and keep on fighting. It was glorious
to see the confused Jaffa unable to cope as the Immortals became
their own second, third and fourth wave invasionary force.
Three death gliders appeared and the rockets took them out --
then a handful of Jaffa broke ranks and the route was on. Their
own troops turned and fired on the deserters giving the Immortals
an even greater opportunity as Alexander offered quarter to any
who surrendered. Few did, but it was demoralizing nonetheless and
distracted the others who sought to kill their former comrades.
When the fighting became hand to hand combat the Immortals wasted
no time in drawing their swords and cutting down the opposition
in the way they knew best. It was surreal and horrifying all at
once. But that was war, Jack knew and at the end he and Teal'c
scrambled down to join the strike force once the fighting was
over.
"Very, very impressive!" O'Neill exclaimed as he reached
Alexander first.
Teal'c on the other hand, strode over to the tiny Macedonian,
picked him up, looked him in the eye and stated emphatically,
"Yee. Ha."
"Yee. Ha?" Jack repeated, looking askance as Teal'c put Alexander
down. "O-kay. Yeehah!"
Back on his feet the stunned Immortal came to attention and
saluted. "Squad Leader Philipson reporting as ordered, sir!"
Bemused, O'Neill returned the salute and looked to Sergeant Bear,
who was smiling with delight. And nearby, MacLeod was grinning as
he and Robert moved to retrieve their bikes.
"That was fun," the Highlander commented, pausing to salute
O'Neill and nod to the sergeant.
"Most fun I've years!" Robert agreed, saluting casually. "I think
I'm going to like this job."
"A delightfully bloodthirsty romp," Ramirez' remarked
enthusiastically as he and the others joined the group.
"Truly exhilarating," Ptahsennes sighed with pleasure. "I can't
remember the last time I enjoyed myself so much. Perhaps when I
joined the pharaoh's army and we chased those pesky Hebrew slaves
into the sea that one time. Of course we lost them, but it was
still great fun."
O'Neill smiled weakly and nodded. "Yeah, well, I've only saved
the world a couple of times. Nothing of biblical proportions
though."
Still, he thought as he watched them congratulating each other,
they were entitled to enjoy their battle high -- along with their
justifiable pride. For the first time in any of their histories
Immortals had fought a pitched battle in the face of overwhelming
odds without having to hide what they were. And if you were going
to have Immortals in your armed forces, what else did you do with
them but let them be the Immortals they were?
Chapter 22
The hours passed in silence, punctuated only occasionally by the
passing of a guard and hushed conversation. They talked about the
Goa'uld and the Tok'ra. About the Nox, the Asgard and the Tollan,
advanced races of beings Methos had never met, but whom he'd read
about and found fascinating. They talked about anything and
everything that didn't touch on either one of them by silent, but
mutual consent. Until at last Cassandra asked about something
closer to home.
"What do you know about the Game, Methos? Ramirez claims it is a
fabrication. That a very old, very dangerous Immortal invented
it."
"Ku'ahktar," Methos nodded and smiled indulgently when Cassandra
looked up. "It's okay, you can say his name. I don't mind. But
no," he sighed. "I don't believe he did. The man I knew was a
monster all right, but not that clever. His brightest idea in six
thousand years was to take a holiday from training vicious
brutes, find some scholarly type and turn him into one hoping to
get a more interesting chase out of the hunt."
Cassandra shuddered and Methos absently patted her arm.
"If that's the case," she finally asked. "Then how did the Game
come about?"
"Well, I do have this theory," Methos responded slowly. "Some
Immortal with a cushy job as a local god meets another Immortal
for the first time and doesn't want to lose his post. Immortal A
draws his sword and shouts to Immortal B, 'There can be only
one!' In self defense Immortal B kills Immortal A, who was older
and presumably wiser, then wanders off only to run into Immortal
C. This time Immortal B draws his sword and shouts, 'There can be
only one!' Somewhat bewildered, Immortal C asks, 'What do you
mean there can be only one? There are twenty of us gathered over
the next hillside.' Immortal B says, 'Really? A gathering? But
there can be only one!' And that's when the fighting starts. A
few gullible idiots get away and warn everyone they meet about
the dangers of gathering in large numbers. So now we all get to
shout, 'There can be only one!' and have at each other. Moronic,
but likely."
Beside him, Methos could see that Cassandra didn't know whether
to laugh or be shocked. She settled for amused disapproval which
only served to make him smile. "It's just a theory," he shrugged.
"Anyway, who knows how these things begin? Up until a few
centuries ago we all laughed at people like Columbus. We thought
the world was flat and rode on the back of a giant sea turtle
endlessly walking in circles. Or balanced precariously on the
shoulders of a god. I know I was as eager as anyone to hear
stories of the New World, taste potatoes for the first time, and
believed at least some of the tales I heard. Enough to take ship
and visit the Americas to see for myself."
"Are you saying the reality is never as interesting as the
fantasy?" she asked, surprised.
"On the contrary," he corrected. "I'm saying it's more
interesting, but a lot less filled with supposed machinations and
convoluted reasoning. Did you know that the entire American
Revolution and subsequent demise of the British Empire were
plotted by a spiteful little man in the backroom of a Boston
tavern?"
"You're not serious," Cassandra scoffed.
"But I am," Methos insisted. "Samuel Adams. I even met him once.
A bitter man if ever there was one and all because his father
lost his fortune when Parliament declared that land grant deeds
gained through speculation in the Colonies were null and void.
Being reduced to abject poverty overnight had a chilling effect
on the lad. Blamed the Crown for it all and spent the rest of his
life agitating against anything British. It was his early
writings that brought anti-British sentiment in the Colonies to a
fever pitch. Not that the people weren't pissed off over their
taxes, but you know and I know that no one's ever fomented an
entire rebellion over them. You just suck it up and pay the damn
things. It's annoying, but nothing to declare war over. Unless of
course there's a deeper schism being created for other reasons.
Like one man's grudge against an entire government. Samuel Adams
didn't do it alone, but he sure as hell got a lot of people to
start thinking like him."
"All right," Cassandra sighed. "I'll concede the point. But
really, Methos, a man dead for nearly two hundred years did not
manage to bring about the downfall of the British Empire. For one
thing, it still exists."
"But it's a Commonwealth now."
"So?"
"Question. After the Second World War which economic and military
superpower made it a condition of joining the United Nations that
the British Empire would divest itself of all its imperial
holdings, ipso facto giving almost complete control of the air
and seas to that particular country?"
"The United States, but-- Oh, my!" Cassandra sat up and stared at
him. "He won."
"I rest my case," Methos grinned. "Reality is far more
interesting in its simplicity than the supposed machinations and
convoluted reasoning of fantasy."
A sudden thought crossed Cassandra's mind and she narrowed her
eyes. "Just how many degrees do you have, Methos?"
"In modern terms?" he shrugged. "Eighty-three Bachelor of Arts,
one hundred sixteen Masters, forty-seven Doctorates and
twenty-two Post Doctoral degrees. Why? Need a recommendation to a
good college?"
Whatever comment Cassandra might have made was forestalled by the
sound of heavy boots coming up the hall. Not the lone guard they
were familiar with, but at least three or four.
"Party time," Methos muttered as they both hurriedly rose off the
floor.
***
O'Neill and Teal'c swiftly led the way through the jungle toward
the rear entrance of the temple they'd used before. Pierson was
right, the colonel thought, in their arrogance the Goa'uld felt
completely secure and that attitude filtered down the pipe to
their security forces. He didn't doubt that Jaffa troops going up
against their similarly trained counterparts in a standup fight
performed extremely well. But they had no experience with the
tactics of deception and misdirection. Something at which the
Earth forces excelled. Their decision to use the same back door,
and without the advantage of having Kabra'kan under their
control, would be an unimaginable choice to the mind of a Goa'uld
or Jaffa. Like Alexander's advice to hit hard and fast at the
most heavily defended point. It was the kind of strategy that
implied to the enemy that the invader knew something they didn't.
Had found a weakness to exploit and was using it, regardless of
whether it was true or not. It had shaken the defensive line at
the Stargate and now that same cocksure attitude could be
exploited again.
"This is the place," O'Neill informed Sergeant Bear, who quietly
ordered his troops into position. He broke down the squad into
two teams, ordering MacLeod, Cierdwyn and Robert ahead with
Alexander taking point.
O'Neill watched with gratification as the Immortals made their
way so carefully through the undergrowth that barely a leaf
stirred to mark their passing. So much experience, so little need
to explain the necessities... It was a heady feeling being in
command of such forces again. He could count on them, like he
could count on Pierson or Teal'c. Warriors to the core who
understood the exigencies and obstacles of combat. More
importantly, it was gratifying to know that even if they went
down, they'd be getting up again and that was one less burden on
his soul.
They reached the cave entrance and Bear ordered the second squad
up. A few minutes later Alexander called in that the way was
clear and the colonel signaled for Teal'c and the sergeant to
move up while he took the rear.
It was pathetically easy to reach the security field, but that
didn't necessarily mean their troubles were over. Someone would
have to go through it and that meant they'd be defenseless for as
long as it took them to revive.
"Darieux . Philipson." Bear pointed to the shield. "Watch her
back."
Alexander nodded sharing a look with Amanda.
"I hate this part," she muttered then joined him at the shield
and together they stepped into its embrace.
O'Neill ground his teeth almost glad he couldn't see their faces.
Their bodies twitched and convulsed making garbled noises as
their brains were scrambled. A moment later they fell, landing
safely on the other side of the shield. The colonel reflexively
swallowed his fear when they finally stopped breathing, along
with the urge to rush forward and help. Long minutes passed,
giving him enough time to wonder again what had happened to
Pierson after SG-1 had been driven from the tunnel.
"Don't worry, Colonel," MacLeod told him quietly. "Injuries to
the brain take a little longer to heal."
"Does it hurt?" he asked curiously, never having thought to
question Pierson. "I mean after."
"A bit," MacLeod nodded. "Sometimes the healing continues after
you're awake, or you feel a phantom pain from the injury, but
that passes."
"And the other? The dead thing." O'Neill repressed a shudder.
"What's that like?"
"It's not like anything. One minute you feel yourself fading and
then you're awake. No light, no tunnel, no visions of heaven,
just nothing. That's why most Immortals hate it. If you don't
know what you are it can be terrifying. Believe me, I know."
O'Neill said nothing, heaving an internal sigh of relief as first
Alexander then Amanda suddenly started breathing. The Macedonian
brought up his weapon even before he rolled to his feet while
Amanda staggered slightly, righting herself almost instantly.
Hiding a smile, O'Neill watched approvingly as they immediately
focused on the mission. Alexander guarding Amanda's back while
she worked at the panel that controlled the security screen.
She'd been a good call, O'Neill admitted silently. Amanda's
skills at high tech thieving had made her a quick study. She'd
spent real quality time with Martouf and Teal'c learning as much
as she could absorb about Goa'uld security systems. How they
functioned and why. Which meant she had little trouble
deactivating this piece of technology.
"Voila!" she grinned as the shield came down, stepping back to
let the others move past her as Sergeant Bear brought them
forward to secure the corridor.
"Good," O'Neill said. "Now put it back. I don't want a stray
guard sounding the alarm."
She grimaced distastefully. "Goes against the grain, sir, but
give me a second."
"You've already had it," O'Neill growled. "Next time, cut the
back talk."
"Grumpy, grumpy," he heard her mumbling and, "No appreciation for
artistry," under her breath as she hurriedly went to work.
Incredibly skilled they might be, O'Neill thought disgustedly,
but temperamental and insubordinate. He wondered if that were a
side effect of having lived such a long life then thought better
of it. Alexander and Cierdwyn seemed all right. But maybe that
was because they'd both grown up inside large, well organized
armies. Which meant Tok'ra's son had no excuse. Methos was
annoying because he liked it.
Again O'Neill followed at the rear, admiring Sergeant Bear's
skills in getting the Immortals to quickly do what he wanted.
Then again, he'd had more practice with this testy bunch. A few
moments after the first team disappeared with Teal'c via the
rings they sent back a candy bar to signal that the area above
was secured and clear.
O'Neill rolled his eyes wondering who the irreverent joker in the
group was, but didn't take issue with it. They were after all,
still in training. And the idea wasn't to pound the individuality
out of them, but to mold them into a team.
Once within the ship, O'Neill watched as Teal'c led the way to
where they believed the stolen weapons had been stored. That of
course, was the main thrust of the mission. The rescue of the two
Immortals was to follow once they'd planted the timed charges.
The colonel slipped away, feeling no compunction about leaving
Teal'c and Bear in charge. They were good men and would see the
mission through, making sure it was done to his specifications. A
few minutes later his radio crackled and O'Neill slipped into a
shadowy niche to answer Teal'c.
"You are seeking Cassandra and Methos." The words were a
statement and O'Neill grinned.
"You know it, big guy. Pierson still owes me six thousand
pushups. He's not getting out of 'em that easy."