A Bird in Flight
By Soles
E-Mail : soles@gamewood.net
Category : A/A, H/C
Spoilers - Point Of No Return, Ascension, and Desperate Measures.
Season : Season 5, anytime after Desperate Measures, but
before
CONTENT LEVEL: 18+for language and implied sexual activity
Pairing : implied Sam/Jack, Jack/Other
Summary : Jack doesn't have to go off world for trouble to
find him.
Author's note : This story first appeared in Ad Astra
Per
Aspira, but after it was published I felt it needed
a lot of work. I
have reworked, rewritten, and revamped it, and I want to thank my
beta, Victor, for his unstinting assistance. He has helped me make
this a much better story. But, all mistakes are mine.
Feedback would be appreciated : good or ill, Thanks, Soles.
Disclaimer : I own nothing in the Stargate universe. The
original characters portrayed in this work of fiction are the
property of the author.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of.
John Gillespie Magee, Jr.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A small cheerful fire crackled with good will, shooting sparks and
smoke up into the crisp cold air. The weak sunlight was fading from a
densely clouded, sunless sky. The fragrance of freshly cut pine
boughs mixed with the sharp tang of spruce, both a counterpoint to
the smell of snow in the air.
He sat in his homemade accommodations, alternately mesmerized by the
cheerful flames and the lightly falling, first flakes of snow. Fresh
mountain air and his daylong exertions combined to compound his need
for rest, which in turn, banished his need for sustenance. Pulling
the light blanket ever closer around his shoulders, he reclined among
the tangy branches, and let the pull of exhaustion close his eyes.
Sights and sounds from his last twenty-four hours hovered behind
closed eyelids, and the sound of quiet surrounded the fire lit oasis.
Out of the quiet, the single loud snap of a generous sized tree limb
erased his need for sleep, as his eyes popped open. Was someone out
there? Had they caught up to him? Had he let his guard down? Or was
his imagination in hyper drive? The 9mm slipped into his hand with
ease, as he prepared to take on anyone and everyone.
Part 2
The late-night shift of the Stargate Command had settled in, the
shift change over procedures were completed and logged. The late crew
was getting comfortable with the monitor read-outs, diagnostics and
technical information continuously tracking on the monitor screens.
The night had been quiet so far, and the new shift - after putting on
a pot of coffee, was hoping it would stay that way. The control
room’s relaxed and subdued atmosphere was interrupted only by the
quiet discussions and conversations scattered randomly around the
computer terminals.
General Hammond was still in his office, still at his desk,
ostensibly to finish work on a special project. The older staffers
knew he was waiting around to welcome SG-1 home
- they had been off
world for the past twenty-four hours, and were due back soon. Every
so often, he came out of his office to stretch his legs and greet the
new shift. General Hammond would be flying to D.C. in the morning, to
meet with the Joint Chiefs. He and Colonel O’Neill had finally
completed a project, one on which they’d been working overtime for
months, and the General would present to the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
looked out over the Stargate, the lateness of the hour was getting to
him. Staring at the gate, he was silently rehearsing his...their...speech
presentation, when suddenly the vast room erupted with the klaxon
call warning of an incoming wormhole. The SF’s ran to take up
defensive positions at the base of the Stargate and the staff shifted
into high gear - there just went the quiet night.
“Off world activation, Sir. Incoming travelers,” echoed through the
SGC, and after pausing to confirm the signal's source, Sgt. Davis
continued. “Identification verified, Sir...it’s SG-1,” he stated, over
the address system.
“Bring them home, Sergeant,” General Hammond spoke softly, as he
swiftly arrived in the control room
.
The SF’s busily moved into position to welcome home another team.
They watched the energy flux spew out and settle back into the blue
puddle of the open anomaly. Waiting impatiently
- the next few
seconds would tell whether or not there was trouble and the homebound
team should appear.
Before too long Dr. Daniel Jackson was tossed out of the ring of
light, rolling down the ramp. Major Samantha Carter followed him
closely. The tall, blonde Major completed a body roll by coming up on
one knee with her P-90 pointed back at the gate, ready to fire. The
SF’s cocked their weapons in unison, tensely waiting for the last
members of the team to step through.
“Close the iris,” Colonel O’Neill shouted as he ran through, holding
and supporting Teal’c.
Several projectiles, in the form of large rocks came through the gate
along with the last two travelers. Just barely missing the
stragglers, the projectiles headed straight toward the line of SF
Infantry; who quickly moved out of the line of fire. One infantryman
wasn’t quick enough and a large stone smashed into his foot - he went
down with a scream of agony.
“Medic...medical team to the gate room,” General Hammond was the first
to respond.
With Teal’c still clutched to his chest, O’Neill dropped both of them
down to the metal ramp, hoping to dodge the heavy missiles. The
closed iris rumbled as more projectiles were thrown through. But mere
seconds later, the wormhole dissolved and the iris re-opened.
The tension in the vast room was palpable. The klaxon continued
blaring and the red emergency lighting continued revolving and
flashing.
“Shut that damned noise off,” the General shouted. The technician
responded quickly, but the resounding silence was almost as deafening.
The just arriving team sat on the ramp as if too tired to move. The
medical team surged into the embarkation room, checking everyone for
injuries. The SF Marine was carried away on a stretcher, his own
medic in attendance. Out of SG-1, Teal’c's injury was the most
serious. He'd suffered a fractured ankle earlier on the mission, and
was released from Colonel O’Neill’s care, into the tender mercies of
Dr. Fraiser. Dr. Jackson received a sprained wrist - the result of
his expeditious toss from the wormhole. And although she was pumped
up from their hasty retreat, Major Carter was unharmed.
Colonel O’Neill looked up from his position on the ramp to the large
windows of the control room. Gen. Hammond stood calmly waiting,
looking down at his 2IC.
“It’s a write-off, general," O'Neill reported tiredly, "...Snakeheads
got there first.”
The CO nodded, then, “ Welcome back SG-1, get cleaned up, see Dr.
Fraiser, and then we’ll have a short debrief in one hour.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The long corridor was dimly lit, approximating the circadian rhythm
of the vast complex topside. The OD walked quickly and quietly down
the darkened hall, some small mental trepidation apparent on his
young face. This was his first rotation as duty officer for the SGC,
and to say he was nervous was a vast understatement. To say he wanted
to succeed here, and have a chance at off-world exploration was
another understatement. Reaching the specific door that was his
destination, Capt. Piscatelli quietly and timidly
knocked. He should
have sent an NCO instead of coming himself, or at least someone with
whom the Colonel was familiar.
Everyone in the complex knew it was never a good idea to awaken or
startle Colonel O’Neill out of much-needed rest. After an extremely
hectic twenty-four hours, his rest had been well earned. The Captain
knocked again, preparing to unlock the door with a key from among the
many on his key ring.
A slight noise from inside the room prompted the young officer to
unlock the door and peer inside.
“Colonel O’Neill...Colonel O’Neill?” Piscatelli
whispered
apprehensively.
“Captain, what can I do for you this early..." The sleeping man
roused slightly at hearing
his name, but didn’t move, "What time is it, anyway?”
“It’s 0300hrs. Sir.”
“...At this time of the morning? I think I just got to sleep...” he
yawned, long and loud, yet remained unmoving from his position
in the bed. The warm covers were up around his ears, the pillow
clutched to his chest and his long legs were flung over the edge
of the mattress.
“Yes, Sir, I’m sorry, Sir and General Hammond sent his respects,
Sir." The Captain stepped inside the dark room, but still clutched at
the door, "...He needs to see you in his office, Sir... and I’m to escort
you there, Sir.”
“Captain, see if you can lose a few of those ‘Sirs’ while I get my
pants,” O’Neill said, as he quickly rose from the bed, reaching
for his clothing.
“Yes, Sir!” The Captain responded, backing out of the darkened room,
and into the hallway to await O'Neill.
Without killing himself in the dark, O’Neill dressed as fast as he
could, and then joined the young officer for the trip back down
to the
through the empty hallways, each as silent as the corridors they
traveled. But each man was silent for a different reason. The older
man was trying to fathom the reason for his summons. It had to be
something big, and bad, for
the night. Especially after SG-1 had gotten
back so late. And had been kept up even later with medical check ups
and debriefing - although the General had kept it short.
The younger officers’ silence was akin to hero worship and awe. His
nervousness was due, in part, to being in the company of a legend - a
legend who could make or break a career with only his sarcastic wit.
This story would bear repeating and a tiny bit
of embellishment, for his fellow officers at the O club.
As the elevator traveled further back down inside the mountain,
Piscatelli kept his eyes on the control panel. But
surreptitiously
watched the older officer for the greater part of the trip. O’Neill
leaned tiredly against the back elevator wall, his eyes closed and
puffy from lack of sleep.
The slight tug of gravity that signaled the end of the ride, brought
O’Neill straight to his feet. Striding out of the opening doors,
with hands jammed in the pockets of his fatigue pants, the Colonel
looked like a man on a mission.
The younger officer bounded after him; like a puppy galloping after
its parent, trying to overtake him, to lead the way to
office. The SF at
walked double time down the corridor. Colonel O’Neill knocked on the
closed door and was granted entrance by a quiet voice from inside.
General Hammond sat at his desk, his back to the desk. A framed
portrait was in his hands - of his daughter and her family, the one
kept in his private drawer. Other than give permission to enter his
office, the General said nothing. He gave no indication that he was
aware of Colonel O’Neill’s presence.
The silence lengthened and was getting to him. O’Neill cleared his
throat, keeping his eyes on his CO and the photograph. His squirrelly
feeling returned...in swarms.
“Hey, General...Sir? What’s up?” There was no response from the other
man.
“General? O’Neill reporting...as ordered, Sir.” His instincts were on
alert, and the bad feeling was growing with every passing second.
Again he cleared his suddenly dry throat.
“General...what’s happened?” From the way
framed picture, had something happened to his daughter? Or Tessa and
Kayla?
O’Neill moved around to the other side of the large mahogany desk,
putting his hand on the older man’s constantly moving hand, and
gripped it hard.
“General...George, tell me.”
glancing around the office in despair. His eyes were red
with emotion, and he suddenly looked much older than his years. A
complete change, thought O'Neill, from only a few hours
ago.
“What’s happened, sir?”
A despairing George S. Hammond carefully set the photograph down on
his desk, stood up and moved away from the desk. He began pacing the
room, picking up randomly displayed items, only to set them down
again. They were reminders of a long and, he’d like to think,
illustrious career.
“Along with Tessa and Kayla, my daughter has been in an automobile
accident. I’ve just come from the hospital. They.... Katherine is in
surgery now...a ruptured spleen. We’re...I’m still waiting for a report
on the girls...” If ever there was a time that Jack O’Neill imagined
General Hammond would, or could, be brought to tears, this he thought
was that moment. And he let
out a breath he’d been unaware of holding.
“General...you need to be with your family - I’ll hold the...”
"...They were on their way back from
little girl is dead.” Finally, making eye contact with
Jack, his pain and uncertainty, and the dread that filled his heart
clearly showed.
Jack didn’t know what to say...what parent would? Just because he’d
been in a situation, very similar to this one, he had gained no
extraordinary wisdom to pass on, no quick-fix pain remover, and no
easy cliché’s to spout.
“Oh, General...Sir” - and as one father to another, Jack O’Neill
gathered the distraught man in his arms. The two men shared the
misery for only a short moment, but it was long enough to gather
shredded composure, communicate understanding and brace for the next
step.
“Thanks Jack, I knew I could count on you, son.” He cleared his
emotion-choked throat.
“What I really need now, is for you to go to
hours, instead of me. I hate to be selfish, but I’ve got to be here,
for my girls...and someone has to be in
Chiefs.” General George S. Hammond was not above begging, and had
done so many times in his long career. He'd begged quite often for
reinforcements, and supplies, for information, or funding; the list
was infinite. But just this one time, he was begging for a personal
reason. His family needed him and he needed to be with his family.
The Government could go screw itself, but Jack O’Neill didn’t deserve
such crude reasoning.
Initially, O’Neill’s face reflected a look of complete acquiescence
as General Hammond and the SGC’s 2IC. An acceptance
of
his duty, to be deployed wherever it was determined he would best
serve, was his lot as a soldier. But, the look on Jack’s face that
followed was priceless. His expression was a cross between a deer
caught in the headlights of an oncoming car and an apoplectic
seizure. In any other situation, George Hammond might have thought
the fleeting changes of emotion, flitting across O’Neill’s face
amusing. Except, for a short moment,
another casualty here. O’Neill, ever the professional, quickly reined
in his own surprised irritation and pessimistic emotions.
Colonel Jack O’Neill hated
He hated the town - least of all, most of all he hated the politics,
the politico’s; he hated the protocol and the stiffness. He hated
the artificial atmosphere, and he even hated the smell of
He'd hated the city for a long, long time, but the Armand Selig
affair seemed to have permanently soured his outlook. And, when in
Jack O’Neill the bum's rush. Yes, to say Jack O’Neill hated the place
was a gross understatement.
But the General was asking a favor of him.
Who was he to say no?
He wouldn’t even think of saying no. The General had been there for
him, so many times since they’d first met. And, he never complained...
but
“Yes, Sir...you need to be here. I’ll...it’ll...” he cleared his throat, “I
would be honored to go in your place, Sir. Although, I
won’t be held responsible, if I run into Senator Kinsey.”
The weak comeback made the General smile, just as it was meant to.
The older man looked again at the portrait of his smiling family, the
smile slowly fading from his face.
“I appreciate this Jack. I know just how you feel about going, but...
well, Thanks, son. Now, since you have a plane to catch,”
he looked at his watch, “...In three and a half hours, let’s quickly go
over a few points, so you can get a couple hours of sleep.”
The General moved back over to his desk, and pulled a For Your Eyes
Only folder from a locked desk drawer. O’Neill was familiar with the
folder and its contents, but he wasn’t thinking about the folder, or
its contents. He wasn't even thinking of the speech and presentation
he’d have to give in a few hours. His thoughts centered on those
words spoken by the General.
Thanks, son, I know just how you feel about going....
Both the General and the Colonel were heading into unknown territory,
it was reassuring that each understood the misgivings and
uncertainties of the other.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The otherworldly quiet, of the Pentagon’s corridors, muffled the
footsteps of the uniformed staff members traversing those same
hallways, carrying out their respective duties. An air of history -
already made, and in the making, pervaded the ivory tower atmosphere
of the famous building. It seemed only natural, that whispering
should be the accepted mode of speech.
And although it was not, a few not unimportant visitors would catch
themselves doing just that.
Elegantly wood-paneled doors, of a Senior Command Staff conference
room, swung open on very well oiled hinges, decanting
the members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff - more brass than should be
in one location, at any one time. Some of the exiting faces were
somber and thoughtful. Others were laughing and joking with their
assistants. As soon as the crowd thinned out and dispersed, Colonel
Jack O’Neill made his get-away. He casually walked out of the empty
conference room, battered briefcase
in hand, very pleased to have completed his presentation, and the
favor to his General.
It had gone well, Project Excalibur had been well received. As Earth
Defensive plans go, this one was relatively simple and inexpensive -
relatively speaking.
In a place, where military colonels were a-dime-a-dozen, O’Neill’s
commanding presence stood out. Helped in no small part by his
professional demeanor, height, and reputation. The graying light
brown hair lent an air of wisdom and experience to his younger than
his years face. He had been well received, not just his presentation,
but he himself. He felt ridiculously pleased. Several invitations for
dinner, had been sent his way, but graciously declined. He was beat...
with only two hours of real sleep,
out of the last twenty-four; he was dead tired and cruising on fumes.
O'Neill, you must be feeling your years, he mused, you used to do
twenty-four out of twenty-four, with no thought whatsoever - but not
any more.
O’Neill made his way out of the huge building; getting lost only
once, and climbed into the waiting cab. Sometimes, he pondered, it
could be very nice, having an assistant to make life work for you,
but he wouldn’t want one on any regular basis. They came
with too much regulation for his taste. He thanked his helper, and
then gave the cab driver the address of an upscale bar near his hotel.
Someone’s assistant had recommended it. He felt like having a beer
before calling it quits and claiming his bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The cab dropped him off in front of the Bistro. The driver asked if
he'd need anything else tonight - his cab was available until
Walking into the tastefully decorated, elegantly quiet supper club,
O’Neill's eyebrows raised skyward. This place alone would
put him to sleep. At least he wouldn’t run the risk of getting into a
drunken brawl. The hostess inquired whether he wanted
dinner, or just drinks, and found him a place at the massive bar,
when he stated drinks only.
Jack nursed his second beer. He’d been sitting here for over an hour
now - contemplating life in general and his life in particular. And
was giving serious thought again to leaving. He was lost in thought
when a hand clamped hard and strong on his left
shoulder. Out of the mists of time, a voice spoke.
“Got a seat for a lady, Soldier?”
Using slow precise movements, O’Neill gently set his drink on the bar
and then turned to face the newcomer. He recognized the voice from
that time just before
Her hand remained on his shoulder, and then, as he swiveled around to
face her, she enveloped him in a fierce hug. Caught off guard, Jack
responded.
“Haven’t seen any ladies yet, Fly girl,” and then returned her
embrace just as fiercely.
“Jack O’Neill, as I live and breathe, when did you blow into town,
and from under which rock?” She asked in that very
irreverent style as only comrades-in-arms manage. Releasing him from
her bear hug and holding him at arms length, she looked
him over, long and leisurely. She was attempting to see the brash
young airman, with whom she’d shared so much.
“Carolyn, the Mushroom, Musgrove - if you’re here, can Calvin
Musgrove be far behind? And what are you doing in
O’Neill asked. He looked around the bar area, expecting
his friends beloved husband and co-pilot to appear. He saw the frown
appear on her still pretty face, and sadness cloud her eyes.
“
went out on...I never even received his remains....”
Jack nodded, he understood. So many good people had been lost, so
many to unknown circumstances.
“I’m sorry, Mushroom...I guess I should’ve kept in touch . So many
other things fell apart in my life after that. I just took it for
granted that you two were untouchable.”
“Me too, O’Neill...guess we were wrong, huh?” The two friends
commiserated in silence for long minutes, until Carolyn remembered
his only half-joking inquiry.
“As for being in
I’m supposed to be flying a General Somebody out of here in
the morning, but he was a no-show. I’m the head pilot for a company
out in
“No..." Jack shook his head, "I’m on assignment with
deep space radar telemetry. We haven’t gotten to play with any real
ordinance...yet. It’s a lot calmer than the Gulf War, but...I like it.
Hey, speaking of getting out of here, I’d better get out of here and
get to bed - I’m flying out in the morning myself.”
O’Neill paid for both their drinks and then Carolyn, getting up to
leave, asked, “Where’re you staying, Jack? ...Maybe...I
could walk you home?"
Jack looked up from counting his change, surprise evident in his
handsome face, a questioning look in his eyes. Who was she
trying to kid; good private Corporation pilots were usually put up in
four-star...if not five-star hotels.
“Hey, Jack, we’re just two friends who want to spend some time
together. You put me up for the night, and I...well, I can be
very appreciative,” her voice softly suggestive.
O’Neill smiled at her candor, wrapped an arm around her slim
shoulders, drawing her closer, nuzzled her neck with a
brotherly kiss, and replied, “Don’t push, Carolyn. I’m a lonely man,
in a lonely town, and I’m not trying’ to be good. But
would haunt me for the rest of my life, if I so much as touched you
inappropriately...so, be nice. And let’s get out of here.”
The duo left the Bistro, laughing and talking as only close friends
who haven’t seen each other in ages can. They headed up the busy
thoroughfare, lively with after mid-night traffic, to Jack’s hotel.
Carolyn inquired into his military career, especially about his rise
in rank and not being in a combat unit anymore. She also, touched on
his marriage to Sara, expressing her sadness at its demise. She
didn’t ask about Charlie; she’d heard through the military grapevine
about that incident, and knew with certainty that this man had been,
and still was, devastated by the event. Just before arriving at the
hotel entrance, she inquired of his present assignment; just what
exactly was deep space radar telemetry?
O’Neill’s well rehearsed, and oft repeated cover-up slid seamlessly
from his golden tongue; weaving a picture of rock solid, Stand-up-for-
America and all-that-she-stands-for, fight-the-good-fight, apple-pie,
Mom and Dad patriotic eyewash. Never
once did he tell her what, exactly, his work was. As a former pilot
for Uncle Sam, Carolyn got the message.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Sam!”
Total orgasmic release wrung the name from O’Neill’s lips - although
he didn’t comprehend, just whose name he’d hoarsely murmured. His
sweat-covered body heaved, attempting to drag oxygen into deprived
lungs. His strong muscles trembled with exertion after maintaining
an all-night sex marathon. Warm soft arms pulled him back down into
the jumble of bedclothes. One sweat slicked body slid against the
other, snuggling together to rest, if only for a short while.
“I should be pissed with you, forgetting exactly whom you’re with...”
Carolyn breathed into his ear, causing shivers to dance on his still
moist skin.
“Don’t be pissed. I can’t be with her, anymore than I should be here
with you.” O’Neill replied, while smoothing his hand down her flat
abdomen, again searching for her hot, wet center.
His fingers tangled through her pubic curls, softly stroking,
seeking, causing her breathing to once again cease automatic
function. “Oh?" she inquired, glad he had someone in his life again,
the grapevine was very thorough; his divorce was old news,”How
come?”
“Regulations,” he softly replied, covering her neck with wet kisses,
tasting the salty sweat collecting between her bony
structures, “Regulations."
“Oh,” was all she could manage, as he began his assault - an assault
that would take them back to a world of their own.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The early dawn crept through the slightly parted hotel curtains,
illuminating two tangled bodies, exhausted from a night of
fulfillment. Weak early morning sunlight, slowly oozed across the
bright, gaudy carpet, brightening the room with artificial colors.
Ingrained from thirty years of early morning risings, Jack O’Neill
was awake long before the sun began it journey up into the eastern
sky. He was awake, watching the sleeping woman lying beside him. He
remembered their good times as young Air Force Officers, eager to
take on the world. He also remembered their dedication to an ideal,
and tried not to remember their fall back to earth - from regrets,
disappointments, and the inhumanity of their fellow man.
He shouldn’t be here with this woman, this friend from another time
long past. He shouldn’t have succumbed to her enticements, but he
wasn’t blaming her, God no! He couldn’t blame her for this - anymore
than he could blame himself for breathing. He just wished it hadn’t
happened. Somehow he felt unfaithful...to Carter, and what they could
have had. What he wished, with every fiber of his soul, that they did
have.
It was too late for any regrets...what was done was done...and they’d had
an incredible night together. They were two lonely souls who'd come
together for a short reprieve. Not bad...for an old guy. But now, real
life intervened and the day was passing with incredible speed. He
needed to call the Mountain, check in with
that plane to catch.
Gently, disentangling himself from Carolyn’s warm embrace, O'Neill
slowly and carefully eased his body out of the warm, rumpled bed.
Heading for the john, O’Neill jumped when a soft, hoarse voice, loud
in the quiet room asked, “Where are you going?”
“Shit, Carolyn. Don’t scare me like that. I thought you were asleep...
why aren’t you asleep?” O’Neill stood, gloriously naked in the
morning light - not an extra ounce of fat to be seen on his entire
body. His bulky muscles of youth, had settled down into well-defined,
mature proportions. Carolyn enjoyed looking - she enjoyed touching
even more. Calvin Musgrove had been gone for a long time - a girl had
to watch out for herself.
“I have to get up and get going too, Colonel O’Neill. Say, you know,
I’ve been thinking...”
O’Neill cocked his eyebrow at her, as if to say - Oh yeah, when have
you had time to think?
“Yes...I’ve been thinking! Since my General was a no-show, and I have
to deliver the new Gulfstream anyway, why don’t I fly you back to
Please, please say you will...please?”
Her sexy, sixteen year-old pout, on a sexy forty-something year-old
face completely undid the hard-as-nails officer, who laughed at her
antics.
“Well, I guess it would save the
pocket change. Okay, but let me call in first...has your flight plan
been filed yet?” She nodded affirmative.
“Well, first off I have got to empty my bladder...see a man about a
horse. And then, while you get your shower, I’ll check in with my
boss, make sure they know what I’m up to.”
O’Neill kissed the top of Carolyn’s head and wandered into the
bathroom, closing the door behind him.
Musgrove slipped out of the bed, looking toward the bathroom - as if
O’Neill would burst out at any moment, and then pulled a cell-phone
from her handbag. When she heard the sound of running water, she
tapped in a series of numbers and waited for a response. Unmindful of
her own nudity, the mere seconds of waiting had her foot tapping a
staccato beat on the carpet, and a supremely nervous look plastered
on her lovely face.
“Come on, come on...answer the damned phone...”
“Hello...” finally, someone picked up.
“Yeah, it’s me...number one didn’t show...number two is with me now.
We’re flying out this morning...saving the taxpayers a few dollars,”
she laughed, a humorless laugh, and continued, “...Yes, I know...just
like we planned... yeah, keep in touch.”
Carolyn Musgrove’s face was a study of indecision, as she punched off
the power to her pocket phone, Gees, this was Jack...not some unknown
General... you'll just have to figure something else out, go to plan B -
when you figure out exactly what plan B is. Hearing the shower water
turn off, she moved quickly to her open overnighter, removed clean
clothing and then moved quickly back over to the bed, in search of
last night’s discarded bits.
She was on her hands and knees; grappling under the bed, when Jack
jerked the bathroom door open. Dressed only in a towel around his
waist, and furiously towel drying his hair, he saw her firm, naked
butt sticking up and out from under the bed as she attempted the
search and retrieval. Moving closer to the bed, O’Neill sat down.
“Hey!! I’m under here...” she shouted, her voice muffled.
“I know...I can see a very delectable part of you, right now. Can I
help?” His Good Samaritan act of charity was only getting him into
trouble - deeper and deeper. “Carolyn, I really think you need to get
up, go take your shower, and most of all, get dressed. I’m only a
mere mortal. I can’t handle stuff like this,” he intoned seriously,
his hands itching to caress the smooth muscular buttocks.
“What the hell are you blabbering about?” she asked indignantly,
pushing herself out from under the bed.
“GO, PUT SOME CLOTHES ON...before we spend another afternoon doing what
we did last night! I’m already going be haunted for the rest of my
life...”
She laughed when she saw his dilemma, choosing to ignore it. But
instead, straightened herself up and then walked slowly and
seductively into the bathroom, closing the door and locking it behind
her.
Smiling broadly, but rubbing himself to ease a burgeoning erection,
O’Neill moved over to his belongings on the dresser. As soon as he
heard the water turn on, out came his own cell phone. Punching in a
string of numbers he waited - what felt like much longer than
necessary, until a voice came over the line. O'Neill identified
himself and requested to speak to General Hammond. He was passed off
to
unavailable to the phone, as was the OIC - Lt. Col. Dalton.
“Okay then, let me talk to Major Carter, or Dr. Jackson, or...or
Teal’c, for crying out loud....”
“Is this a secure line, Sir?”
“No, it is not.”
"Then I’ll have to decline answering you questions, Sir. SG-1 is in
conference with the OIC, and a Colonel Simmons, and unavailable to
the phone. Could I take a message, Colonel O’Neill?"
“What the hell is he doing there? No offense, Captain Smith, but I
guess I’ll have to leave one with you...”
“None taken, sir.”
“Let the General know that I’m dead-heading back to
with a friend...her flight plan has been filed, and we should be
getting out of here in another hour. Tell Major Carter; I’m riding in
style, in a NEW Gulfstream. I’ll call her later, before we take-off.”
“Yes, sir. Anything else, sir?”
“No, I think that’s it for now, Captain. Keep the porch light on...”
“Yes, Sir. Will do...and Good-day, Sir.”
O’Neill had just finished dressing when the bathroom door opened, and
a completely, and carefully put together Carolyn Musgrove stepped
out. The uniform she wore was dark gray in color, and accented with
dark red accoutrements, which accented her curves in just the right
places. O’Neill’s eyebrows reached for his hairline. He hadn’t paid
close enough attention last night - at least to her clothing. But he
could see her professional demeanor had taken over; the seductive
coquette was safely returned to the box.
Carolyn looked her friend over, with a not completely professional
interest. O’Neill was smartly dressed, but casual. He’d chosen khaki-
colored chino slacks and a long sleeved black golf shirt, along with
his black leather jacket. Both dark items
complimented his silver streaked hair. Carolyn looked him over from
head to toe with womanly appreciation, but stopped looking and stared
instead at his choice of footwear. Carolyn, looking down at his
insulated combat boots, raised her eyebrow in question.
“They’re old and they’re comfortable, and my feet get cold when I
fly - so sue me....”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Breakfast, and the ride to the airport, was uneventful. Both Jack and
Carolyn were anxious to get going...although Carolyn seemed overly
nervous, and had been since they’d left the hotel. O’Neill wanted to
call the base again, make sure Carter or Daniel, could get his truck
to the airport in
necessary, but he preferred the freedom of his own vehicle.
The cab driver dropped them off at the main terminal - "What with
security being so stringent." After the security check-in, they would
take ground support transportation to the Gen-Tec hanger, where a new
General Dynamics Gulfstream IV-SP aircraft awaited their arrival.
Jack was excited, just like a kid, over co-piloting the expensive,
sleek piece of machinery. He could just hear Carter now, expounding
on the pertinent facts about this particular aircraft - maximum
speed, range, altitude, gross weight even, and flight time...yeah,
Carter loved her airplanes!
O’Neill began to think they’d have to walk the distance to the
hanger, after all the steps, ramps, twists and turns Carolyn made,
just to get to the ground taxi that would carry them out. He hadn’t
really paid close attention and when Carolyn stopped at a counter to
check in, one more time, Jack almost ran her down.
Apologizing profusely for his inattention, and moving out of her way,
he swung his bags up, into one of the available seats in the waiting
area, and moved over to the large ground level windows, which looked
out onto the seeming confusion.
Outside the window was a shuttle bus with the Gen-Tec logo emblazoned
on the side panels. O’Neill watched the activity. The Gen-Tec logo
caught his eye, it seemed familiar although he couldn’t place exactly
why. If they were weapons manufacturers, why had he never heard of
them? Even in the military, especially in the military, a working
familiarity was maintained with weapons designers. He’d have to ask
the General, or Carter when he called in again.
Finally, they were on the shuttle. The ride out to their destination
was necessarily slow due to the multitude of aircraft pulling out of
gates, preparing for take-off. O’Neill’s impatience nearly over-rode
his happy expectations of traveling in the fantastic jet. His
anticipation was dampened further by the nervousness of his pilot,
who was busy checking and re-checking weather printouts and maps. Her
mind was totally absorbed with flight preparations.
The shuttle finally pulled up outside the Gen-Tec hanger. The large
doors were open, revealing the sleek jet - in all of its glory.
Rubber-necking until the shuttle pulled to a stop, O’Neill observed
several maintenance people working on the aft section of the plane.
Prodding Carolyn’s arm for attention, O’Neill asked, “Is this thing
ready to fly? Cause there seems to be an awful lot of activity near
those engines.”
Musgrove looked up from her print-outs to where he pointed,
dismissing the activity as normal, “ Just good ground maintenance,
Jack...why don’t we get out of here, you can call in and I can start
the preflight check off.” She smiled up at him, her bright, open-
faced smile, as if to apologize for her distraction. Together they
stepped out of the shuttle.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Dammit, doesn’t the woman ever answer her phone?” O’Neill growled
into his cell-phone. He'd really been hoping her conference was over
so she could give him a clue as to what the son-of-a-bitch Simmons
wanted. “Carter, pick up!”
“Hi, this is me," Major Carter’s voice finally spoke into his ear, "I
can't answer your call right now, so leave a message, and I’ll get
back to you a.s.a.p.”
Sonofabitch
"Yeah...Carter, It’s me...O’Neill. I’m coming in this evening, would
you
make sure my truck is parked at the airport? If you can’t take it
yourself, ask Daniel...”
Another voice intruded.
“Jack, are you finished? I’m about ready to get going...” Carolyn
hailed, from the flight deck of the aircraft. O’Neill grinned as she
leaned out of the opened forward window.
“Yeah,” he waved to his pilot, and then shouted, “ Yes, I’m coming
Carolyn” - then into the phone, “Okay, Carter, I've got to go now...see
you.” Pressing the end button on the small instrument, he sighed with
regret.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
General Hammond was pissed - he’d left upset in the dust, and was
headed straight for pissed. The nerve of that...that man, for want of a
better word, coming here; to the SGC, to interrogate his people...it
was ludicrous. His adjutant, Captain Smith, had given him the low-
down as soon as he’d stepped back on base. AFTER he'd left messages
at the sentry post, and any number of them on the general's cell
phone.
The general didn’t like surprises, especially when they came from his
own backyard, and subordinates. Besides, what was the man after this
time? General Hammond marched through the hallways, in search of a
predator. A man who would sully, slander, even kill his own kind, for
no other reason than it was an order -
no questions asked.
Captain Smith double-timed his steps to catch up with
had been jumpy ever since the smarmy Colonel arrived. All superior
attitude and
SG-1 together for a conference. The young adjutant had complied, but
he’d also notified his superior, LTC. Kevin Dalton, the SGC/OD.
Together the OD and SG-1 were sequestered with the smug, all-knowing
Colonel. Smith wished - not for the first time today that Colonel
O’Neill was here.
“What’s the meaning of this, Colonel?” the General asked angrily , as
he stepped from the metal stairway into the briefing room. “I don’t
believe I received a request for a conference with any of my people,
Colonel. What game are you playing this time?”
On his arrival,
faces as they hurriedly stood to attention. Everyone stood except
Colonel Simmons, who looked like he’d just bitten into a green
persimmon - his face was all scrunched up, his full lips
pursed like
he'd sucked something sour, otherwise he looked very unhappy.
“General
SGC with your presence. My intelligence tells me you’ve let the
second string carry the ball...is there something you’re not telling
us?” Colonel Simmons was bluffing, he knew it; he just hoped
didn’t.
“Nothing that I haven’t already told My Boss, Colonel, and we all
know who that is, don’t we?”
satisfaction. Chalk one up for the good guys.
Carter,
comeback. Captain Smith was still too nervous to do anything more
than smile and mentally declare "Atta' boy George!"
“Now, Colonel, I suggest you cut the crap, and tell me just why
you’re here...unwanted AND uninvited.”
Simmons looked uncomfortable, he really hated giving up information -
he felt it was more blessed to receive than to give it away, but he
was getting nowhere with this tactic and time was wasting.
“First...let me say, that your poster boy, O’Neill, is conspicuous by
the absence of his mouth...” SG-1’s facial expressions took a decided
downturn at the insult to their leader. “Second...we have evidence of
his collusion with suspected enemies of the United States Government.”
“What!?”
“That’s absurd!”
“He would not...”
“You’ve got to be crazy.”
“Colonel, what the Sam Hill are you talking about?"
Ha! Ha! - Now, Colonel Simmons grinned, his was the smug satisfaction.
“He was seen with a... Carolyn Musgrove,” he checked his notes, but
it was all for show. He knew the document by heart, “...Who is a
pilot for a firm that retro-designs stolen weapons. Last evening at
a
hotel...they appeared to be very...cozy.”
They hadn’t looked that cozy, but this was his story, he’d tell it
like he wanted to. And that look on Major Carter’s face
was very telling.
“Colonel Simmons, you’ve reached some pretty tall conclusions there,
with next to nothing in real hard facts. You’re mighty good at
jumping, aren’t you?”
to dishonor a man, who put his own life on the line, every day of his
life for this country. “Although it’s none of your business, Colonel,
but my second-in-command was in
I hadn’t had a family emergency I’d have been there instead. Would
that make me a collaborator too, Colonel?”
The NID Colonel was silent.
“General
hostile atmosphere. All eyes turned to the youngest officer in the
room, Captain Andrew Jackson Smith, the general’s adjutant.
“General
came on the base. He wanted to speak to you or Major Carter. He
would’ve spoken to Dr. Jackson or Mr. Teal’c, but Colonel Simmons had
them in conference already, Sir.”
“Did he leave a message, son?” The General asked softly, he knew
Captain Smith was not the bravest, or the most vocal soldier in this
man’s Air Force. But, he did an excellent job, in spite of it.
“Yes, Sir. He wanted you to know that he’d be deadheading back to
file. And then he asked me to tell Major Carter that he’d be flying
back in a new Gulfstream, and he’d try to call her from the airport,
before take-off. He...he...also said 'to leave the porch light on for
him', Sir.” Smith took a deep, unsteady breath, he liked Colonel
O’Neill and hoped nothing bad would happen to him.
“Did you get the call, Major?”
Dick Tracy.
“No, sir. My cell phone’s in my locker and I’ve been in here most of
the morning, and haven’t had a chance to check my voice mail.”
Carter’s heart was in her throat. If someone could travel two
thousand miles and have trouble meet them at the airport, it’d have
to be Colonel Jack O’Neill.
“Would you mind going upstairs and checking, please Major Carter?”
Colonel Simmons rolled his eyes,
Gentleman...it was enough to make a strong man sick.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sleek twin-engine jet roared down the runway, looking - for all
that took notice, like a beautiful metallic bird seeking flight. The
fair, crisp weather aided the aircraft as it lifted higher and higher
into the thin air, catching the rays of the afternoon sun, making
them dance and shimmer.
Jack watched in fascination as Carolyn managed the controls like the
pro that she was. Carolyn promised, since this was now only a ferry
flight, that he could take the stick, as soon as they were up to
cruising altitude. O’Neill would love to be flying one of these
babies with Carter, listening to all the gobble-de-gook/ techno-
babble she could think of. Carolyn was all business, too serious and
too preoccupied since they’d left the hanger. It was looking like a
very long trip to
But, once she’d leveled off at 45,000 feet, and had been flying long
enough to get a feel for the aircraft and the weather conditions,
Carolyn gave Jack her attention. The two old friends talked about
themselves and about what they’d been doing for the past several
years. Each had areas in their lives, which were forbidden territory
and no-mans land; filled with regrets, disappointment, and secrets.
But for each, there were also areas of joy, and hope, and renewal.
O’Neill only spoke a few words about his team, but those few quiet
word spoke volumes about his relationship with those special people.
As their conversation wound down, Carolyn gave Jack permission to
walk around the aircraft and see it up close, since his curiosity was
getting to him. Jack’s first stop would be the tiny lavatory; his
breakfast coffee was calling his name.
The lavatory bounced and jumped with turbulence. The vibrations were
felt all the way from his feet up to his teeth, as O’Neill washed his
hands and dried them. For such a refined, sophisticated piece of
equipment, this aircraft sure did rattle and roll a lot. Walking out
of the door, he heard a loud pop, it was probably his ears doing that
thing they did when he flew. He made his way forward again, poking
into nooks, compartments and storage, taking note of the lavish
leather seating, and the obviously expensive appointments.
Appointments created especially for the discerning millionaire mogul
weapons designer.
In the increasing turbulence O’Neill staggered forward to the flight
deck. Carolyn’s attention was glued to the control panel. She
maintained a death grip on the stick, fighting for control. O’Neill
slid into his seat, looking at his friend with raised eyebrows and
concern - something was wrong.
Had something happened during his expedition aft?
“Carolyn? What’s up?” O’Neill asked quietly, as he clipped his seat
belt together. He didn’t like her attention being so totally focused
on the instruments, as if not believing what they were telling
her. “You need to take a break, or...”
“Jack, we...something’s wrong with the aircraft...it’s not... responding
like it should. All of a sudden it just went soft and sluggish on me.
Would you help me hold on to her?” She looked into his eyes, showing
him her deep concern.
“Sure, no sweat,” he replied, with a nonchalance he didn’t feel. But,
she was busy enough, he didn’t need to increase her stress with
pointless questions. O’Neill grabbed hold of his controls with both
hands; hands which had suddenly grown sweaty. Both maintained a
steady hold, while the aircraft tried its best to wrest control from
their combined grip.
“It feels like the hydraulics. I’m getting only minimal response from
the elevator or the rudder...they’re feeling way too sluggish.”
“Carolyn, we CAN land this plane without those - right? We just have
to find the right landing strip...
"Right now, Jack, I'm not so much worried about landing this baby as
I am about holding her up in the air.
"Yeah, there is that." He thought for a moment, still maintaining
a
death grip on the feisty controls. "But...come to think of it, I did
hear a loud pop just as I was leaving the rear lavatory. I thought it
was my ears, but it could have been something else....” Jack turned in
his seat, looking out the forward side-window, attempting to see
something aft. The only sign of their movement through the sky were
the contrails streaming behind the aircraft.
“What could it have been, Jack? This plane was checked, and double-
checked from stem to stern before I arrived. And then I checked it
again myself.” But Carolyn had her suspicions, and it didn’t look
good for either one of them.
“How about I go check? There is access from inside? Can you hold her
while I take a look?” Jack hated asking the questions, hated
distracting his friend, but if he was to be of any help, he needed
the answers. “Maybe I need to get on the horn, and warn your company,
or find us that tall mountain to land on...”
“Yes, aft... It’s a tight squeeze. I’ve got her for now, but come
running if I call, huh? Let’s find out what’s wrong before we stir up
anybody. I’ve got it here, you go on back there.” Even though her
fear was becoming apparent, Carolyn maintained control of the
situation. Her military training and level head was a solid support
during any emergency. And, she could still give a mean command.
Jack removed himself from the seat, and staggered back to the rear of
the aircraft. It seemed bent on pitching and yawing him back to the
front. He found the access panel, opened it quickly and moved inside
the maintenance area. The compartment was dark, but he smelt the
overpowering stench of smoke and burnt electrical insulation and
hydraulic fluid. Snapping on the flashlight he’d filched from the
rear compartment, O’Neill began his search, shining the light over
the interior shell of the aircraft. Shining the light aft highlighted
the starboard wall, where conduits and cables marched in profusion
along that side of the plane. Splintered and fractured cables, which
no longer marched in single file, picked up the light from the
flashlight. Jack breathed a sigh of disgust.
”Sweet...Jesus.”
It had taken a pro to rig the explosive. The force had been small,
controlled and deadly. The area immediately around the explosion was
only mildly disturbed. And, it accounted for the loud pop O’Neill had
heard earlier. Now they were trapped in a flying coffin - not
to put
too dramatic a spin on it. Now, until he got those wires and the
hydraulics reconnected again landing this baby was not going to be
so sweet.
O’Neill moved over to get a closer look at the damage. Several wires
still sparked, as if begging for its sister connection. He wasn’t
much of an airplane mechanic, it had been a while since he'd been up
close and personal with the guts of an airplane, but he could fix it,
or jury-rig it, or MacGyver it...like Carter always said. Fix it strong
enough and long enough, to gain even a tiny degree of control. Then
Carolyn could get them down to a lower altitude, and turn in a useful
direction.
Was there any duct tape on board?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Samantha Carter stood on the tarmac watching the vast number of
aircraft taxi, one by one out of their gates, and move into position
down the runway for take-off. She and Daniel watched as smaller
planes jockeyed for positions amongst the larger ones. Each aircraft,
regardless of size, was equally anxious to gain the sky and lose the
gravity-bound earth. Others were equally anxious to lazily land on
firm soil.
Sam and Daniel had been here since getting out of Colonel Simmons’
grip. Ever since General Hammond had strongly advised him to leave
the SGC, and to not even think of Jack O’Neill, in any context, as an
enemy of the government - or else.
Carter had driven O’Neill’s truck here for when he landed. After
checking at the main terminal, they were directed to this area. A new
large hanger, with an adjacent office building stood behind them -
the company logo Gen-Tec, was proudly on display.
Carter enjoyed driving the heavy-duty truck, and felt more than
reluctant leaving it here, alone and unattended - even though it was
locked. She also missed the truck’s owner - though it had only been a
tiny bit over thirty-six hours since she’d last seen O’Neill. It had
been a long thirty-six hours. The Colonel might be out of sight, but
seldom out of a girl’s mind, she laughed softly to herself. They were
originally supposed to drop the vehicle off and leave, but after
that... Colonel’s ...insinuations,
stay until O’Neill arrived. And now Daniel was off investigating,
asking questions at the Gen-Tec offices.
The crisp breeze took on a decidedly colder feel as the sun slid from
the sky. Artificial lighting could be seen automatically turning on,
brightening up the shadows, as the sun sunk lower into the western
horizon. O’Neill loved to watch the sun set Carter knew, and wondered
if he was seeing the same one she was watching? Or was he seeing an
even better show from his vantage point far above the earth?
Carter’s musings, lost high in the sky above, were interrupted when
Daniel Jackson hurriedly returned from his foray into the Gen-Tec
office.
“Sam, something is definitely wrong. These people haven’t heard from
Jack’s plane and they were supposed to call in, just over,” he sighed
as he checked his watch, “...Just over fifty minutes ago. And...” he
paused, “There’s been no flight plan filed.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The beautiful metallic bird came to rest; nose down against large
glacier borne boulders, well above the tree line on Jack’s tall
mountain. A wide, skid-marked debris trail defined its passage over
rough, rocky terrain. Metal fragments and large chunks of mountain
detritus had been flung haphazardly, deeply gouging an earthy trough.
Graceful wings had been swept away with the force of the aircraft’s
plunge. A fearful plunge past rock formations and the sparse, sturdy
vegetation located at this height. The fuselage remained intact, but
was strangely naked. The soft sigh of the wind, the feeble crackle of
spot fires, and the high-pitched shriek of metal combined in a
symphony of sound. That sound was the only noise to be heard on the
mountain.
Inside the downed aircraft, its two occupants remained bound to their
respective seats, looking relatively unharmed. Unharmed - except for
the large jagged piece of metal, extruding from the abdomen of the
pilot, and the sluggish flow of bright red blood, which surrounded
it. The setting sun highlighted the pilots' too pale complexion and
the tiny beads of sweat erupting over her quiescent face.
The co-pilot was out cold, his face marred by the blood flowing from
a wide gash on his forehead.
The bright sun slowly receded from the western sky. The distant howl
of four-legged predators joined the sigh of wind in the distant
trees, and the pale silvery moon finally illuminated the crash site.
Jack slowly ascended from his unconscious realm and automatically
took stock of his condition. He was conscious of the smell of burning
circuitry, mixed with the stinking fumes of aviation fuel. His legs
and arms seemed okay - no broken bones grinding together in a pain
all their own. His head hurt like hell as brilliant streaks and
flashes paraded behind closed lids. His head pounded in tandem with
his heartbeat, as did his chest. He groaned with the pain, probably
broken ribs, as he slowly moved - he’d cross that bridge when he
moved.
Jack gradually opened his eyes - or at least tried to. Something had
glued his right eyelids shut. And bringing his hand up to the eye, he
felt fresh, wet sticky warmth. He fuzzily wondered why his head ached
so insistently. Remaining quiet, he slowly turned his aching head
toward the starboard side of the plane, taking in the dark, moonlit
landscape just outside.
How much time, he pondered - still dazed from the impact, had passed
since their free fall back to earth? Yeah, it could be classified as
free fall, for all the control they’d had. But they were on the
ground, everything else seemed irrelevant in comparison.
Jack said a silent Thank You to the Man upstairs. He took a deep
painful breath,
“Oh man...Shit, that hurts,” then turned his head to the left side to
check on his pilot. He only vaguely remembered that he hadn’t heard
any sound coming from her.
The sight of moonlight reflecting off the large, jagged piece of
metal extruding from his friend's body, made his stomach flip. And
caused his heart to break. Chills raced down his spine at the sight
of the steady ooze of blood from the exit wound, sending any
remaining mental cobwebs to oblivion.
Was she breathing? Was she alive?
O’Neill slowly unbuckled the seat belt harness, and turned to the
left easing his battered upper body out of the safety device. A wave
of dizziness swamped his senses, as thoughts of relieving himself of
a long forgotten meal danced with dark spots in front of his eyes.
Breathing deeply and filling his battered lungs, Jack successfully
cleared his light-headedness, improved his vision, and temporarily
settled his stomach. He needed a flashlight, where had he put the one
he’d used before?
“Think Jack, think,” he muttered.
The whereabouts of the previous apparatus refused to enter his brain.
But Carolyn had gleefully pointed out the presence of a “plethora of
storage places for other battery powered lights.” All he had to do
was remember just where they were. Seconds passed, then he quickly
brought his hand up to the back of his seat, and there, still
undisturbed, was another flashlight, ready for use.
O’Neill moved over to the other seat, shining the industrial
strength, battery powered light on Carolyn. He looked at the damage,
while reaching for her neck to feel for a pulse. She was alive. She
was breathing...but for how long?
He knew with dead - pardon the pun Carolyn, certainty that even his
relatively advanced field training in first aid wasn’t going to help.
It would not be enough to keep her alive. A rush of emotion stung his
eyes and for a millisecond, O’Neill felt the weight of his friend's
desperate condition. He felt overwhelmed and unsure. But he took
another deep breath; Calvin Musgrove really would haunt him if he let
Carolyn die without having made some kind of effort, albeit useless.
Jack began his assessment of the situation, and began mentally
cataloguing the injuries of his friend.
Moving his hand from the pulse point of her neck, Jack picked up her
small, very capable hand. It reacted with a slight pressure in his
hand and he held it as one would a fragile, irreplaceable crystal
treasure.
“Carolyn...Carolyn...Caro Mio,” Jack whispered her husband's favorite
nickname into her ear. “Can you hear me? It’s Jack...we made it. You
got us down. Carolyn, but you’ve been injured...so don’t try to move.”
Her sage-green eyes fluttered open, dazed and glazed with pain. Her
breathing was shallow and rapid, as she attempted to speak to him.
" Jack?” Her eyes drifted from Jacks’ face to the destruction around
them. She asked in a voice barely audible, and a throat gone dry and
rough, “We made it down?”
“Yes ma’am," he declared, "we made it down. Now we have to go find
those sonsofbitches that did this to us. You've got to hold on,
Carolyn...so together, we can go hang their Asses.”
The woman moaned softly. Jack smoothed her hair out of her eyes,
giving comfort in his contact, and waited for her to recognize him.
She slowly lifted her head and looked into his dark eyes; eyes made
even more dark by his fear.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” She asked softly, almost gasping for breath.
Indecision was evident on O’Neill’s face. Should he tell her, what
should he say?
“Who’re you trying to fool here, O’Neill? Carolyn saw his
hesitation, "Me, or you? I can see this huge,” she started coughing,
bringing up blood with each exertion, “...Huge slab of airplane stic...
sticking out of...my ...gut. I’m pretty sure...it’s," she struggled to
breathe. "...It’s not...supposed to be...there. Hold me, Jack, I’m feeling
kind of cold.”
O’Neill never hesitated, but unfastened the safety harness from her
shoulders and lap, easing the mortally injured woman out of the seat
and into his strong grip. Moving out of the tight space of the flight
deck, he grabbed an emergency kit from its storage. Jack laid his
friend on the carpeted floor, and sat down beside her, easing her
impossibly small, now fragile body into his warm arms. He could hear
the blood rattling in her lungs, as they filled with the life-
suffocating fluid. She moaned, very softly, as he maneuvered her into
his embrace.
Carolyn could feel her strength draining from her body, with each
drop of lost blood. She had to tell Jack; Calvin would expect it of
her.
“
concentration deteriorated, “I was... pick up the SGC’s man... it was
just your..." she took a breath, "your dumb luck...”
O’Neill gripped her hand, as much to stay his anger as to give her
succor. He remained quiet, and she continued with her deathbed
confession.
“Gen-Tec...a high-tech think...tank - not...necessari...ly...for good...of...
mankind. I took job, because of risks. A...ah, General Hammond...was to...
to be ...pass'nger, not you...never...you.” With her slow and halting
breath, Carolyn told of her mission - Get General Hammond, compromise
the SGC. Continuing slowly, she told Jack how life had been after
Calvin, the love of her life, had gone away. Ever since Calvin
Musgrove, Major - USAF, disappeared into enemy territory, Carolyn’s
life had slowly unraveled. And then her beloved son Keith had died -
in a traffic accident. She began fast tracking down the road to
destruction, “I didn’t want to live...you can understand, can’t you,
Jack?” She asked in a breathless, small voice.
If there was any pain, which Jack O’Neill understood completely, it
was the pain of losing a child. He slowly nodded his head. He was
sure she didn’t have much time left.
“But, I didn’t want you... to suffer, that’s why we left in such a
hurry, why... I never filed a flight... plan. They would’ve known...
where to look. I guess this must be plan B. I just wanted to be with
you - talk about Calvin a little more. God, I miss him so much,” her
voice ended in a whisper, “ Kind of like you, and your Sam...Jack. ...
You've got to grab what little bit of...heaven on earth...you...can...get.
Jack...don’t...don’t let the parade...pass...that’s a song you know.”
At her non sequitur, Jack smiled a tight smile.
Her voice slowed to a whisper, her eyes no longer focused on any
earthly plane. O’Neill tried to staunch the flow of blood, with
whatever was available, whatever was in the emergency kit - Damned
useless thing. His hands and clothing were saturated with her blood.
She was dying.
With a force of strength neither Jack, nor she quite realized she
still possessed, Carolyn pulled herself up, and out of O’Neill’s warm
embrace. “ Jack, you have to leave this place...they’ll find you...
they’re coming.” And then, taking one last shallow breath, Carolyn
Musgrove died.
Tears flooded Jack O’Neill’s eyes, as he held her lifeless body.
Tears of frustration - for two lives sacrificed on a field of war, of
pain - for a lost friend, of anger - that this should have happened
to his friend, and of guilt - that he might’ve been able to turn this
lost soul from destruction. He might have helped her find a purpose
in life, but he’d been too consumed with his own pain. Tears silently
coursed down tanned cheeks as he sat, holding onto her body, giving
solace in death, as he had not in life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Well, just keep looking, Colonel, we’ll keep it up on our end also,”
General Hammond concluded his call, softly replacing the receiver
into its cradle. Then taking a deep breath, scrubbed a hand through
his almost non-existent hair.
pensively reflecting back over the last two days. His family - the
daughter and grandchildren he loved beyond life, had been hurt and
injured. But they had now been returned to him, through the grace of
God. Tessa and Kayla had been located; scared but unharmed, and
returned home. Katherine’s surgery had been successful, removing her
ruptured spleen had put an end to her hemorrhaging, and she would
soon be on the mend.
Now his other family was in danger - lost, possibly hurt and in need.
He’d hated sending Jack O’Neill to
detested the place. But, O’Neill was a soldier, who did as he was
ordered. But most importantly, he was a friend, who did what needed
to be done as a friend, without regret, or guilt.
Yes, he had to admit, and never to the man himself, that Jack O’Neill
was like the son, or brother, he’d never had. And taking into
consideration that he could be a pain in the ass, a thorn in his
side, a nightmare to try to control, and the best-damned con man this
side of the
Everything that could be done to find Jack and his friend would be
done, until the last hope was reluctantly given up. But Jack O’Neill
was one resilient soldier, who never gave up.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jack sat in the darkened aircraft, which had brought them to this
place from
The overwhelming emotions were long past. Jack sat in the dark,
coming to grips with the calamitous events of the last few hours.
Yet, still soothing her dead body. To have said he was in shock would
be an understatement.
Falling out of the sky was enough of a shock for any normal, sane
person. But compounded as it was by the confession of collusion, from
someone he trusted with his life - and had done so on many occasions
in the past, was an even greater shock. The death of this same
person, a friend...traumatized - was a more accurate description of
O’Neill’s state of mind.
The long night slowly passed as Jack sat in the protection of the
ruined aircraft. Cold mountain wind whistled through its torn and
mangled exterior skin. Eerie howls and noises of nighttime mountain
dwellers could be heard - prowling around, investigating the crash
site. O’Neill held the dead woman in a crushing grip, afraid that a
scavenger would try to rip her from his arms. He didn't quite realize
that the aircraft remained too much intact, for them to gain
entrance. As the night progressed never once did he think of laying
aside his burden. As he shivered in the chilled air, the cold body in
his arms pulled the warmth from his own body.
Trauma, Traumatic, Traumatized....
Long, cold hours passed, until night melted into day and the dark
cabin interior was easier to distinguish. The sun had yet to rise,
but as he sat, O’Neill watched the shadows disappear and the sky
lighten. With the coming of the new day, also came his resolve to
leave this place. Carolyn had warned him to leave, to get out of
here.
The first rule for any lost person who wanted to be found, was to
stay put, don’t leave the area, if at all possible. But, someone was
most likely on their way; in search of the aircraft and its
occupants. And not on any altruistic rescue-mission attempt either.
How would they know just where to look? Unless this bird had a homing
device, or locator beam - which of course it would for such a
sophisticated piece of art, or...or what Jack?
Jack had to plan; he had to get out of here, get off this mountain,
and get back to civilization. But first, he had to take care of
Carolyn’s body.
His hands were stiff and sticky with dried blood. His clothing was
saturated with the dried remnants of a wasted life. O’Neill gently
laid Carolyn’s body aside, getting up out of the cramped position
he’d maintained during the cold night. His joints screamed in agony
as they moved for the first time in hours.
He limped around the cabin in search of Carolyn's resting place,
somewhere out of harm’s way. O’Neill decided the rear lavatory was
best suited to the task. Walking, more like stumbling, aft on numb
feet Jack inspected his chosen temporary site. The door could be
closed and jury-rigged not to open, except by two-legged predators.
It would hold her until he, or his representative could return for
her. Now, for her burial shroud. Looking around the galley, invading
each and every drawer, Jack found a container with large plastic
bags. He was perplexed, why would this size of bag be on a thirteen
passenger aircraft? But, who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth?
Working and sweating, O'Neill finally secured the body inside the
lavatory, after completing the task of wrapping it entirely in the
plastic bags. He closed and locked the door, using a length of wire
from the tangled and broken mess in the maintenance area to secure
it. Jack stood at the closed door, his head leaning on the door; to
offer up a petition for his fallen comrade. God always forgave fools
and soldiers.
Now, if the animals outside the wreckage found a way inside,
Carolyn’s body would be safe, until he returned for her.
Turning to look out the smashed windows, O’Neill saw the sunlight
climbing the horizon. With the coming day and a little preparation,
it would soon be time to leave.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The briefing room was quiet, no easy banter or chitchat disturbed the
solemn individuals gathered there. Major Samantha Carter, Dr. Daniel
Jackson, and Teal’c, in thoughtful, contemplative moods, sat around
the large mahogany table waiting for General Hammond. They had been
on alert, since Daniel's foray into the
Corporation, and were here now to make plans to locate Colonel
O’Neill - assuming he needed locating. Although Teal’c was still
mending he’d insisted on being involved...and as long as he could
maneuver on crutches, Dr. Fraiser couldn’t deny him.
General Hammond walked into the briefing room, with the doctor in
tow. The petite doctor seated herself next to Dr. Jackson, who smiled
sweetly at her as she sat down. Carter saw the glow on Daniel’s face,
and smiled to herself at their connection.
“People,” the General began, “ What we do know... is that Colonel
O’Neill was returning home. Apparently, he was offered a ride from a
friend...and I do stress friend, contrary to Colonel Simmons’ report. A
friend, I might add, who had served with him in the Gulf War. Air
Search and Rescue has been alerted to a possible crash. The FAA at
citizen, who didn’t know which authority to contact, reporting a
possible crash outside of Rustic, near
area, so getting in there will be touchy.”
“So, let’s get going, Sir. Jack’s out there, probably hurt,”
interrupted.
“Thank you, Dr. Jackson, we will, in due time...we won't go half-
cocked. Colonel O’Neill would expect us to get our ducks in a row,
without going off on a wild goose chase. Is that clear, son?”
“Yes, sir,” the chastened Doctor of Archaeology replied, surprised at
the number of clichés General Hammond had strung together. Jack
seemed to rub off on everyone, even the general.
“Daniel Jackson, General Hammond is correct. Colonel O'Neill would be
best helped if we were prepared for his rescue, and not wildly
compound more confusion,” Teal’c sagely intoned. Sometimes, being
over 100 years of age helped when subduing the young.
”So, what do you want us to do, sir? If Colonel O’Neill’s plane went
down, they’re definitely in need of medical attention. All we have to
do is find them and get to them, right?” Major Carter brightened up
at the prospect of doing something.
“Right Major, that could be easier said than done. The Colorado
Ground Search and Rescue are mobilizing and will keep in close
contact with me. But first, until we hear something definite, we’re
going to do a little more investigation into Gen-Tec.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jack O’Neill was tired. He was so tired; he couldn’t remember when
his last good night’s sleep had been. It surely had not been in
grinned, WHENEVER it was, it had to have been more hours ago than he
could comfortably count. Too many hours, and now that he needed his
strength and stamina, and all of his senses working in tandem, he was
crushingly tired and feeling every one of his years.
O’Neill left the crash site as soon as the sun rose. He took only
those few items he could carry on his body, in a blanket roll -
courtesy of the Gen-Tec Corporation, or in his jacket. He was lucky
that he’d brought along his 9mm. On this mountain, it might come in
handy. Too bad he’d only found one extra clip. Count yourself lucky
on that one too, O’Neill.
He’d departed the site only after making sure the entry door was
locked, and secure from any curiosity seekers. But, he realized after
looking the damage over for himself that any wild animal that really
wanted to get inside, could probably get inside.
The supplies he’d found in the planes galley amounted to little more
then cocktail refreshments. Apparently, since Carolyn was ferrying
the aircraft elsewhere, no real food supplies had been on-loaded.
Bottled water and club soda would come in mighty handy if fresh water
couldn’t be found. The honey-roasted peanuts, which he normally
wouldn’t touch with the proverbial ten-foot pole, would make a nice
protein supplement. It wasn’t much he thought, still looking over his
meager assortment, but it would keep him going for a while until he
found something else.
Jack looked down at his watch, only to find the sweep hand wasn’t
moving, and the little hand declared it to be five-something. He’d
never know what, because the large hand was gone, along with the
crystal face. Sonofabitch...he fumed, he’d just gotten that watch for
his birthday. A little something - from Carter...Shit! Maybe she’ll get
you a Timex next time, O'Neill. You know -
It takes a likin' and
keeps on tickin' - sort of like you.
Jack took stock of his surroundings, and his position in relation to
the downed aircraft. He should call the SGC; they’d probably be
worried by now, not having heard from him in so long. His thoughts
turned to his commander, wondering how
out...and the granddaughter's?
His team would definitely be worried about him. Sam was probably
beside herself, since his truck was at the airport and he was nowhere
in sight. Daniel was probably already aggravating General Hammond to
death about his absence. And Teal’c...well, Teal’c was Teal’c; he’d be
worried in his own way. But, most of all, the General would be
worried and maybe feeling guilty. Not that he had anything to feel
guilty about, just...O’Neill knew his General. The small cell phone was
tucked securely in his jacket pocket, and if he hadn’t gone too far
down the slope, he’d, hopefully, still be able to get a clear
connection.
O’Neill removed the phone from its secure position, flipping it open
as he pulled out the antenna. For a second, the public number for the
Cheyenne Mountain Complex escaped him. How many times had he ever had
to use that number? It was like trying to call his own home number...he
had to think for a second.
Finally, the numbers tumbled through his brain, and his dialing
finger followed suit.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Stargate Command was on alert. General Hammond was on a rampage.
And SG-1 was on a search and rescue mission, leading a military
convoy up a mountain, into the higher elevations near Piney Ridge.
Since no one had clue as to the whereabouts of Colonel O’Neill, Major
Carter, Dr. Jackson and Teal’c were ordered to join the search and
rescue attempt advanced by the CGSART (Colorado Ground Search and
Rescue Team.)
hand wherever possible. Teal’c would be working under the more
Americanized and less-alien assumed name of
O’Neill had given him on a previous mission. It was simple and
honest, and he took it again without trepidation.
General Hammond’s blood pressure was at the boiling point, and unless
he got some answers to the questions being raised by this latest
frustrating imbroglio, he would surely burst a blood vessel. Colonel
Simmons appearance at the SGC, and the accusations leveled at Colonel
O’Neill had been no more than a blind bear hunt. Especially since
Colonel Simmons saw himself as a much more worthy 2IC of the Stargate
project - a MUCH more worthy man than one Jack O’Neill. He was more
worthy AND NID to boot.
But, after calling in some favors,
different picture of Jack O’Neill’s friend, Carolyn Musgrove. A
picture of illegal, nefarious deeds, which caused the General to hope
the aircraft did not reach its destination. Maybe a crash was for the
best, even an injured O'Neill was still a dangerous force to deal
with. With the SGC on alert; everyone was on his or her toes just in
case Jack O’Neill, heaven forbid, had been compromised. George
Hammond didn’t want to think about the possibility of an enemy
getting to his 2IC. It sounded too much like an old 'B' movie.
Because one thing
O’Neill would die fighting them, and he’d take as many of them with
him as he could.
thinking of the events and intrigue swirling around him and his
people. Trouble always seemed to follow O’Neill like a dark cloud,
just like that cartoon character...which one was that?
The intercom buzzed for attention, startling the General from his
ruminations.
“Call, Sir...outside open line, General. It’s Colonel O’Neill...”
General Hammond grabbed the telephone receiver with the swiftness of
a striking snake, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
“Jack, where the hell are you, son? How are you?”
“Hell if I know, General. I’m in a mountainous area...I can’t figure
out if it’s
I’m okay, so far...just a bump on the head, Sir, and you know how hard
my head is...”
as the Colonel continued.
“My pilot is dead,” O’Neill’s throat constricted with emotion, and
then swallowing the sudden lump, which had formed there,
continued, “I know this is an unsecured line, General, but I just
wanted you to know...” O’Neill cleared his dry throat.
“Generally speaking, Sir, the Texan prize was a no-show, so I had the
honors. I’m expecting visitors, any time now. I’d really appreciate
you guys coming to get me...as in, soon. Or, at least send in the
Cavalry, Sir.” O’Neill hoped his sad little effort, to warn the
General, was noted and understood, because his brain wasn’t up to its
usual covert level.
“I understand Colonel, and our people are already on it. Your ride
left a little while ago and is well on its way.” The General was
quiet for a moment, expecting O’Neill to continue, but the line
remained too quiet.
“Colonel, you watch yourself out there. And Jack...Thank you, my girls
are okay.”
“Yes, Sir,” he softly responded, “I’ll do my best. I’m glad, Sir,
thanks, that’s good to know.”
The line went dead.
irritating noise of a telephone, too long off the hook, interrupted.
Placing the receiver in its cradle, the officer flicked a switch on
his intercom.
“Did you get anything? Was he on long enough?”
The voice on the other side sounded relieved, “Yes, Sir. We have a
good lock on it, and our people are headed in the right direction,
but one thing General...”
“What would that be, Major?”
“That area is in for snow, Sir. We checked it before the search team
went out. If Colonel O’Neill isn’t found soon, he may be lost in the
storm. SAR won’t be able to reach him, if it gets too bad out there.”
vacillate between the frying pan and the fire with frightening
regularity.
“He’s already lost, Major. Let Search and Rescue know what we know,
keep a watch on the storm, and son, keep your fingers crossed.”
“Yes, Sir. I will.”
been one hell of a week. First, his daughter’s accident, and then the
girls scaring him out of his wits. And now, his second was doing the
same. Add to that, he had been a target - for which O’Neill was now
taking the heat. Enemies of the government were at large. For who
knew what purpose, in the disguise of a tax paying, jobs for the
qualified, American capitalistic free enterprise.
As his dear old mother used to say, “Son of a bitch.”
super-secret projects forgotten. O’Neill was in a heap of trouble.
Until he was safe and sound back in the confines of
tender mercies of subordinates. O’Neill was out there because he,
George S. Hammond, had asked him to go. He was a grateful father and
a guilt-ridden CO wrapped up in one tight ball. He wouldn’t rest
until his 2IC was returned to him, aggravating the Devil out of them
all.
The General walked out of his office, headed for a bite to eat - it
had been a long time since lunch. Had he even had lunch? Getting a
bite to eat and consulting with his CMO were two things he most
wanted to do right now. He was hungry. Plus, Dr. Fraiser had a knack
for always putting things into perspective, and right now, he needed
a different view of all that was going on around him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Feeling the heat, he looked up into the sky. Most likely it was only
mid-morning, since the sun wasn’t directly overhead. O’Neill felt he
was making good time. He’d be past the tree line and into the cover
of the forest in another hour or two, and then, maybe he could rest
for a while. Sweat trickled down his face, and ran down his spine,
the combination of morning heat and exertion was more noticeable.
Salty beads of moisture stung the open gash on his forehead, even
after he’d hurriedly bandaged it. At least it wasn’t bleeding
anymore.
O’Neill removed his jacket in an effort to cool down, stashing it in
the blanket roll along with his meager supplies. This heat wouldn’t
last long, only as long as his exertions. It wouldn’t do to be caught
out here at night, without some type of cover. And, although it was
only mid-morning, he couldn’t plan on a quick rescue.
Jack walked among the large boulders and scrub vegetation, lost in
thought, unmindful of his own stumbling and lurching gait. If someone
truly was after him, and whatever knowledge they thought he carried,
it would be better to put as much distance between him and that big
honking, come-and-get-me sign back up the mountain. O’Neill pulled a
pair of ever-present sunglasses from his pants pocket, slipping them
on to get a clearer look at his surroundings.
On any normal day, the mountain vista might excite his taste for
expansive, tree covered, mountainous ranges, capped off with a
picturesque early fall of deep snow. But today, the azure peaks, and
green forests in the distance, failed to capture his attention.
Except as a measurement of how far he had to travel and how long it
would take to get to any civilized area. The rough, rocky, barren
terrain on which he traveled, glared with the brilliant sun,
increasing his discomfort. O'Neill yearned for a cool drink of water.
The sun rose higher in the sky, and the rough ground gave way under
his relentless march down the steep grade. O’Neill suddenly staggered
to the ground, dark spots danced in and out of his vision; unchecked
by his dark glasses. The headache, which had plagued him since the
crash, returned full force.
Keep walking, O'Neill, keep going...one foot in front of the other.
Left right, left right. He didn’t have time to be sick; he had to get
off this mountain. Even if all of this was a big joke, at his
expense. Even if no one was coming after him and the SGC even now had
teams out swarming over the mountain looking for him. Even...even...he
had to get off the mountain.
The tree line came closer and closer. Until finally the sigh of wind
in the pines and the fragrant pine aroma wafted on the breeze toward
him, and became a tangible sensation. O’Neill’s knees buckled, as
soon as he reached the shade and comfort of the cooler air. He lay on
a bed of dry pine needles, attempting to calm his erratic breathing,
slow his racing heart, and ignore those spots still dancing in his
vision.
Jack O’Neill remained where his ungraceful movement had pitched him,
aware of the rivulets of sweat tracing down his face, and the itchy
salt trails down his back and legs. He closed his eyes letting his
body rest. He lay still listening to the sounds around him,
permitting those quiet sounds of wind, trees and distant creatures,
to lull him into a state of calm. Calm...except for four out of his
five senses being on red alert.
O’Neill opened one eye, and lifted his head up to look around. This
was as good a place as any to rest, take a bite of his cocktail fare,
and make a plan. He didn't have a clue where he was, or even which
state exactly. Lack of that sort of information tended to make
planning more difficult. But Jack O’Neill had a habit of making
lemonade from the lemons he had been handed throughout his life. He'd
never gotten around to asking Carolyn about her flight path - the
subject had never come up in their conversation. But from the looks
of the surrounding area, it looked like
it home.
Gazing up at the overhead sky, as near as he could determine it was
now mid-afternoon. Great masses of ominous clouds were collecting in
the west. God, he hoped - no prayed, there wasn’t a forecast of rain,
or snow at the higher elevations. But, he couldn’t expect anything
else; at this time of year the weather couldn't make up its mind what
it wanted to do.
Jack felt the colder air stir as he lay quietly planning, and then
decided to risk a small fire - he might not get another chance.
Rising up off the ground O’Neill removed his dark glasses, and again
experienced the darkening of his vision. Probably was a concussion,
to go along with his dented forehead.
Holy shit, O’Neill, you get any more concussions, and your brain will
turn to soup!
He gave himself time for the world to stop spinning, and then opened
his roll of goodies. He’d pilfered Carolyn’s handbag, and found a
pack of hotel matches, which had been thrown in the pot. After
collecting bits and pieces of forest detritus dry enough to burn,
Jack built a credible fire. Big enough to keep him warm, but not big
enough to raise an alarm. He gave the fire several minutes to catch
on before turning to the meager food and drink he’d brought. A good
stiff drink would go down very nicely about now O’Neill, but with
those mushy brains of yours, we’d better not.
Jack replaced the miniature bottle of scotch he’d picked out, and
instead opened a bottle of Perrier.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
General Hammond's sedan led the procession of military vehicles up
and into the mountain foothills. A citizen’s report, of an aircraft
in trouble, had been their only clue, their only possible lead to
finding one Jack O’Neill alive.
A Mr. Tom Selmore, of
sighting, “of a fancy airplane flying over his parcel of land, which
looked to be in trouble, cause it was flying’ funny and too low - for
these here mountains.” Mr. Selmore went on to explain that
he “knowed it was in trouble, cause he watched The Learning Channel -
by satellite, had a big fancy dish on the roof.”
A second report had been received regarding a possible crash “up on
the mountain,” from a concerned citizen, who didn’t want to get
involved.
The
then called the Colorado Ground Search And Rescue Team, or the
acronym CGSART . The CGSART was already on alert, due to a “heads up”
from General George S. Hammond.
The Gen-Tec Corporation had been very little help, which of itself
was strange. Considering one of their aircraft was missing, along
with its pilot and a passenger. General Hammond, having ‘friends’ in
the NID, called in a favor or two, asking them to quietly investigate
the corporation which Colonel Simmons accused of being an alien
weapon’s manufacturer. But where would their weapons be coming from,
now that the second Stargate was locked up “tighter than a virgin?”
So far, there had been no concrete news, or information about the
company except rumor and intimation. And now, his sedan was headed up
into those mountains, with part of his premier team, to join in the
search...while he sat here, in his own office, giving himself an ulcer
from his own accusations of guilt.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
O’Neill slept...not intentionally, but peacefully for the first time in
over eighty hours. Sleeping peacefully was a rarity in itself - but
sleeping when he was cold, hungry, and thirsty, he was a pro! The
small fire died down as he slept, leaving only glowing embers with
which to bring it back to life. His position near the fire insured
that if he moved in his sleep he wouldn’t get injured, but it would
awaken him should the fire go out ...which it did. After a brief moment
of disorientation, O’Neill felt like a rookie falling asleep like
that. It couldn’t possibly be that he was dead tired...still in shock,
and stretched to his limit.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The convoy of military vehicles moved slowly up the winding, two-lane
mountain highway - much to the chagrin of the any motorists unlucky
enough to be in the rear. General Hammond’s sedan carried three
solemn tenants, who had long since given up trying to keep up each
other’s spirits. The two-hour trip to
quickly, but the tedious drive up the winding road was getting on
everyone’s nerves, even Teal’c. When they reached their destination,
they would rendezvous with a Lt. Colonel Anderson, of the CGSART.
their assistance; providing insight into the man for whom they were
searching, and relief for their need to do something.
As the scenery passed, Major Carter watched from the side window. Any
other time she would have been thrilled to be here. Watching the
picture postcard scenery, soaking in the fresh air, and ready to help
her fellow man. She enjoyed a rare get away from the confines of the
mountain. But, this fellow man was her CO, someone whom she really
cared about. His being lost, in an area of tens of thousands of
wilderness acres, after surviving a plane crash, turned her thoughts
to a different arena. This past year had not been a good one for the
Sam and Jack aspect of their relationship, either working or personal.
After Orlan returned to his place among his own kind, wherever that
was, she and the...Jack, hadn’t returned to their easy way with each
other. Gone was the flirting and those 'just for her' smiles...and
truth to tell, she missed it. He’d been there for her when, following
his own agenda, Adrian Conrad had masterminded her kidnapping.
Colonel O’Neill had been Johnny on the spot trying to find her. He
had, along with Harry Maybourne of all people, successfully rescued
her from a death sentence. She felt emotions clouding her eyes, and
was glad that neither Daniel, nor Teal’c, could see her face and the
tears slowly tracing down.
Teal’c sat in the front seat of the car, rubber-necking at the
impressive scenery rolling by. The General had only reluctantly
allowed Teal’c to join the search. But both Major Carter and Daniel
Jackson had pointed out the obvious - Teal’c was an excellent tracker
and pathfinder, and was familiar with their quarry if the situation
soured. Teal'c had dressed for his outing in Air Force BDU’s and a
Military baseball cap, which covered the mark of Apophis. He looked
just like any other airmen who had volunteered to look for the lost
Colonel.
Teal’c was not comfortable with idle chitchat. And his concern for
Colonel O'Neill would have immediately stumped any attempt. Acute
hearing alerted him to Major Carter's quiet sniffles and throat
clearing release of emotions. He too, thought of his friend and
mentor, O’Neill. He sent a prayer to the one true God, that O’Neill
would be found, undaunted and unscathed. He looked forward to their
arrival at this place where they would join in the search for O’Neill.
Daniel Jackson was about to jump out of his skin. This tediously slow
trip was driving him crazy - why hadn’t they taken a helicopter to
this point, and then this slow boat up the mountain? He sat in the
back seat of an undeniably - even for a General, even for the
military, posh sedan. It couldn’t detract from the fact that his best
friend was lost, somewhere in a vast humongous mountain range.
car, not really focused on the beauty displayed outside the glass.
He was thankful that General Hammond’s daughter was recuperating from
the ruptured spleen, and that his granddaughters had been found safe
and sound. He was also glad they were now in the loving arms of their
father. But that didn’t preclude his anger that Jack was in trouble
because of it all. He knew it was selfish, and he knew Jack wouldn’t
approve, but it didn’t dampen his feelings of anger. Hearing the
quiet sniffles from the other side of the posh seat, Daniel turned
his head in time to see Sam, surreptitiously wiping tears from her
face.
Oh my God...Daniel was shocked, Sam is crying.
Daniel moved over closer to Sam and slid his hand along the seat,
finally enclosing her hand with his own. He gave it an encouraging
squeeze. When, in hell, were they going to reach their destination?
Sam Carter turned her head from the window. She felt Daniels warm
encouragement and bestowed him with a watery smile - half apologetic,
half dismayed. The driver of their vehicle saw them in his rearview
mirror, holding hands, and thought it strange that no one spoke.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The brilliant sun, which had so warmed him only minutes ago, was now
hidden behind dark, heavy clouds. A chill in the mountain air became
more pronounced as the temperature plummeted quite a few degrees. The
smell of snow, and a pre-snow stillness filled the air.
O’Neill shivered into his heavy leather jacket - it was made more for
looks and comfort, than traipsing around on top of a mountain