Day Fifty

Lunch is interrupted by an urgent call from the bridge. "Sirs, new sensor data indicates what could be Wraith still on the ground."

There are at least seven Wraith still out there, well out of walking distance, and with the dead mouse on Carson's autopsy table, that means that it's an air support mission. Two teams crowd into the last four F302s, and divide up the targets between them; the first one done takes the last objective.

John takes one 302 with Cadman behind him, and Lorne takes the stick in the other with Timmons. Somewhere in the back of John's mind, this particular group has become John's default team on Dominat. They're familiar with each other and work well together, but John feels an ache of guilt when he thinks about Ford and Teyla.

If John is also feeling slightly guilty that he's glad for this mission, it's only because it's Wraith that's giving him an opportunity to get out and fly; to do something useful.

John wishes that the craft had a trunk; it would make it so convenient to pack all of the extra weaponry, ammunition and C4 that he'd really like to take. It would be nice to have a four seater. Hell, what he'd really rather have is a 'jumper, but a sweet Pave Low would do for this mission, and he'd even settle for an old, lumbering Jolly Green Giant. The F-302 is fun and deadly, but it isn't his ideal for an all-purpose transport craft.

They take off, and this time there's no joy riding. The plan is to get to the first target, take care of the problem and move onto the next. John calculates the distance/fuel ratios, but it's more likely that they'll have to return for ammunition than fuel, especially if it goes FUBAR.

The first two are easy; the targets are still inexplicably in open desert and are quickly dispatched with a pair of AMRAAMs. When they land near the next village, John is expecting mass confusion; he's afraid that they'll have to shoot through a panicked crowd.

It's a relief that the village seems to be nearly deserted, though the LSD shows the locals are mostly hiding in the low mud brick buildings; there are only a few dots moving about on the screen. As they prowl through the wide and dusty dirt roads, in search of the Wraith, there is evidence that a lot of these folks had tried, and failed, to mount a defense. Their dry husks are lying in the street, with long, wicked looking knives still in their hands.

John watches as Lorne pulls the weapon out of the hands of a dead body, and looks at it closely. It's beautiful, with an ornate handle and a razor sharp cutting edge covered in still-tacky Wraith gore. Lorne nods at the mummified man lying on the ground. "Looks like he did some damage."

"I doubt he managed to dispatch it," John snorts.

Lorne gives him a rueful grin. "Right. Maybe they'll let us take one of these back with us."

"Yeah, maybe. We'll pick it up on the way back. It's too fucking hot, and we're already carrying a full load," he says. They're weighted down with ammunition and water, Cadman and Timmons are packing a SMAW and shells, and the higher gravity make their burdens even heavier.

They spread out, walking down the center of the main road, P90s out and prepared, and John is holding the LSD in the hand that's propping up the weapon's muzzle.

He easily finds the Wraith, because it's the only other sign that's doing a door-to-door search, like the town is its own personal cafeteria line. It's bad news, since a newly fed Wraith is harder to kill than a hungry one.

John's language lessons come in handy because he advises the occasional villager that crosses their path to go and hide as they double time it to the target. He must get the words close enough to right, or his voice carries the order, because they scurry out of the way and disappear.

He signals the team to spread out and surround the suspected position of the Wraith. Cadman is across the street, crouching down behind a low wall, with the SMAW on her shoulder, loaded with a high-explosive dual-purpose round. Timmons is carrying the extra shells to reload the rocket launcher, so he's right beside her, alert with his P90 held high and prepared to fire. Lorne is in the narrow alley behind the dwelling, crossing over and coming onto the main street opposite John's position. Even though it's very late afternoon, the sun is still beating down on them, and John feels like he's about to float away on a pool of his own sweat. He can see that the rest of his team's faces are shining and wet in the bright sun. There isn't time to mess with the canteen; the target could appear at any second, and they have to be ready.

The street is quiet except for the screams and roaring inside the house. John's instinct is to burst in and prevent any further feeding, but fighting in close quarters with a Wraith is a bad way to reach old age. Instead, he tries to ignore the sound of his worst nightmares and focus on the next house down, and the one next to it and the one next to it: the ones that won't be serving up victims if they're successful.

It doesn't take long. The drone exits the house still roaring, looking powerful and deadly, and then turns towards Lorne on its quest for overindulgence. John has his P90 set full automatic, and he lets loose a chattering barrage that doesn't stop. The Wraith isn't even hurt, and as it starts to turn toward John. Lorne and Timmons begin firing so that the creature is caught in a triangulation of their weapons fire.

That's Cadman's cue. She stands up, sights, and scores a direct hit when she fires the missile. The HEDP is designed to take out light armored vehicles and concrete barriers, and the Wraith is propelled backwards into the house as the shell explodes.

The explosion bursts the building open, spewing out ballistic bits of brick, furniture, people and wraith parts. Cadman takes a flying rock to the side of her head, and Timmons drops behind the wall to check on her.

People begin to pop their heads out of the houses to see what's going on. John yells at them to stay put while he and Lorne advance inside the house slowly, weapons sighted.

'Inside' is only a couple of remaining stumps of the mud brick walls, and a few small fires are burning, blue and bright. They take a moment to stomp on them; any fire in an environment like this is as deadly as a Wraith. Nothing else remains, just the shattered jumble of someone's former home.

They continue on through to the back, searching for visual verification that the wraith is definitely dead. Lorne stumbles across part of the armored carapace and nudges it with his boot. "Sheppard, what the hell is this?"

The self-destruct mechanism is intact and blinking away. "Fuck! That's a bomb!"

Lorne's eyes instantly grow wide, and they simultaneously drop to the ground and tuck into a roll as it explodes, shrapnel skewering their backs.

The tactical vest's chicken plates mostly protect them, but there are places the vests don't cover. John rolls to his side, and a hand to the back of his neck comes away bloody. There are a few more pieces of shrapnel in his legs and ass, but he's mobile and conscious, so he weakly gets to his knees and crawls over to check on Lorne who was closest to the self-destruct.

Lorne has a nasty head wound that is slowly seeping blood around the embedded shrapnel. "Lorne, buddy, come on." He doesn't respond to John's attempt to rouse him. John keys his radio. "Timmons, Lorne's down. Go roust out a few of the residents and say the word rememdium. Got that?"

"Yes sir, rememdium. Got it."

"If they have one, we're in the courtyard behind the house."

John can hear Timmons in the distance, yelling and pounding on doors. He uses all of the field bandages they're both carrying to try and stem the bleeding. He leaves the piece of shrapnel in place-it'll bleed like a motherfucker if he yanks it out. He takes the risk of moving Lorne, half-dragging, half-carrying his inert body. "Buddy, you have got to go on a diet if I'm going to be carrying your ass around."

He leans against the remains of a wall where there's a little shade, and pulls Lorne up against his chest, John can feel blood dripping down his neck, soaking the back of his t-shirt, and Lorne's blood is dripping down his front. He can't hear Timmons anymore; he's either moved out of range, or help is on the way, and John can only hope that it's the latter.

He taps his radio again. "Cadman, come in, you awake?"

"M'hr shr."

"How you doin'?"

"Th'nk brk m'jw."

"Christ. Can you walk?"

"Shr."

"We're behind the house, I need field dressings—you got any left?"

"Y'shr. 'n m'wy."

John pulls out his canteen and takes a deep drink, then leans his head back on the wall as he closes his eyes. "John Allan Sheppard, you are one stupid fly boy." If he wasn't waking up the wraith or losing team members, he was going out half-assed and half-prepared on a Wraith hunt. OTS never prepared him for leading land assaults, and his on-the-ground training of the last year was a bell curve too high to beat. If it wasn't the Wraith eating his people, they were suffering from self-inflicted collateral damage from their own offensives.

Cadman and Timmons show up at the same time, with a fairly large crowd of scared looking people following them, all talking at the same time and at high speed. John can make out a few words here and there. A middle-aged woman, wearing a scarlet hat kneels next to him and introduces herself as Maisa.

John stretches his vocabulary to the absolute maximum explaining to her that the Wraith was gone, they'd stopped it, but his friend was badly hurt. He isn't even sure that they'll understand the Peragro.

Maisa replies, but he doesn't quite comprehend, he's dizzy and lightheaded with heat and blood loss. He shakes his head—that was a mistake—and answers her with 'don't understand.'

She gives him a small, sad smile and instructs several men who move to pick up Lorne, while Timmons gives John a hand up.

"Colonel, you're bleeding."

"Yeah. Cadman, you got that bandage?"

"Y'shr." He takes the bandage and fumbles it open, but Timmons takes it from him.

"Lean down a little, sir."

John bends at the waist and rests his hands on his knees, letting Timmons press it gently into place and tie the ends off neatly around his throat. It hurts like hell, but John just grits his teeth as he flinches slightly.

Maisa is still standing there when John straightens up. She takes in the state of Sheppard and Cadman, and bids them to follow her with a wave. She obviously understands the situation far better than he understands her.

John stumbles over a rock, and Timmons is there, sliding under his arm and wrapping an arm around his waist. "Come on, sir. We'll get you there."

The rememdium is on the far side of the town. The men that are carrying Lorne have rushed ahead, but Maisa keeps pace with Sheppard.

Once at the rememdium, Maisa cuts through the crowd easily, leading them into the building, pointing at a low sofa. Cadman takes the chair next to the door. John tries to push through to check on Lorne, but Maisa stops him with a hand to his shoulder. "Wait." She tries to guide him over to the sofa, but he's bloody and filthy on the exact side that he normally sits on and he's reluctant to soil the furniture. John leans on the wall for support as he starts to peel out of his vest and shirt, while Timmons make sure he doesn't just keel over.

Maisa puts her head into the back room, speaking swiftly, and if John ever heard an order that was definitely one. A young man quickly appears from the back, carrying a bundle under one arm, and a large carved wooden tray with various glasses, bottles, jars and neatly folded cloths. He sets it down before unrolling the blanket with snap and draping it over the sofa. He speaks in a soft quiet voice that carries far too much authority for his young face, but John gets that he's a rememdium and his name is Laith.

John sighs and bids goodbye to the last shred of his modesty as he unbuckles the thigh holster and his pants, carefully sliding them down before laying face down. He's grateful for the first aid, he really is, but he just doesn't want to know who's removing his boots and pulling the pants the rest of the way off in company. John rests his face in his arm and closes his eyes as the young man starts to unwrap the bandage around his neck.

"Timmons."

"Sir?"

"I think we'll be okay here. Go back to the 302 and give Caldwell a sit-rep. See if they can walk you through patching the mobile radios through the 302. Advise that we're not gonna make our next objective."

"What should I say about Major Lorne?"

He raises his head up and finds Maisa; she's looking at Cadman's face, which is swelling fast and turning an ugly shade of blackish purple. "Maisa. Rememdium? Yes?"

"Yes." She nods, never taking her eyes off Cadman's injury.

He slumps back down onto his arm. "At the moment he's getting first aid, we'll know more in a little while."

"Yes sir. I'll be back before you know it."

"Pace yourself, we're not under attack. Don't die of dehydration."

"Will do, sir."

Laith tugs the chain with John's dog tags out of the way and begins to work on the wound. John can feel the hard carapace shards as Laith pulls them out, and the sting of the sweet smelling unguent as he cleans the wounds. When the hands clasp John's neck, he goes stock-still. It's a sharp sensation, like the tingle of a nine-volt battery to the tongue, only hotter, and it mingles with the pain. Laith is murmuring in Ancient, John recognizes the sound from when Neela was laying hands on Elizabeth.

Soon it's almost too much for him to bear, and John shifts uncomfortably. Laith's hand lifts from his neck, and the relief is almost as agonizing, until he firmly slides his hand down John's back, checking for injuries—John can feel the heat in the hand. When it reaches the waistband of his boxers, Laith warns him with a tap tap, and then he's sliding them down.

It doesn't matter that this is a trained professional, John can feel his face flushing, and he prays that Maisa and Cadman's attention is elsewhere, but there wasn't anything that was going to convince him to look and check. There are some things you should never know about your commanding officer, and his hairy ass is one of them.

The rememdium repeats the process on his backside, and now John's face is well and truly blazing, because it's the most erotic feeling he's had since Chaya and John's glad that he won't have to roll over any time soon. He'd only made vague, intellectual connections about the Gift of Qaral, but suddenly he understands intimately that this is proof of the Ancestor's blood, a direct relationship between these people and the Ancients.

Laith slides his boxers back up and treats the last wound on his calf, then pulls the blanket from the back of the sofa over him. John wraps it around him, and sits up when Laith hands him a glass of water. He touches the back of his neck to find that it's still a wound, but not bleeding and remarkably pain free. He'll check the others later.

Cadman's starting to look glassy-eyed. John realizes that her injury prevents her from drinking anything. He stands, wearing the blanket like a toga. "Cadman, come lay down before you pass out, and I have to pick you up."

"Y'shr."

The rememdium guides her so that she's flat on her back with her feet over the arm, and the injured side of her face is away from the back of the sofa.

John feels bad that she had to wait to last. As he begins to dress, there is a knock on the door. Maisa and Laith look up in surprise, but John quickly yanks his bloody, filthy t-shirt over his head before pulling the door open to find Timmons, looking hot and sweaty. Maisa smiles, and Laith returns his attention to Cadman.

John peers past Timmons into the now dark street, to see an orderly crowd of people standing behind Timmons. "Come in. I gather there's no need to stand on ceremony, everyone looked surprised when you knocked."

"Oh. The radios are patched through, and Colonel Caldwell wants you to report as soon as you're able."

John takes Cadman's chair and pulls his boots on, cranking the laces down tight. "I was just about to look in on the Major." He leans down and picks up his thigh holster, strapping it on with quick, efficient motions. When he straightens, Maisa is standing at the door to the back room, where John presumes Lorne is being treated.

He follows her back into the large, dim room. Another older healer is introduced as Haitham, and John can tell that this is probably Laith's father who's kneeling next to Lorne, holding his head and softly chanting in Ancient.

Lorne is still unconscious, his skin is pasty and covered in sweat, and he's shivering and trembling. John isn't a doctor, but he knows this is a very bad sign. He nods to Maisa, and steps out of the room. He picks up his vest, and yanks the ear piece out of the pocket as he slides it on. "Daedalus, this is Sheppard."

He can hear the static humming from the radiation, and there's a slight delay as the signal travels to the satellite and back down again.

"...ay again...king up." There's a crackle and then the humming noise.

John takes it outside and tries again. "This is Sheppard, over."

"Reading ...by tw.. say ag..."

He comes to a decision, faith healing is a marvelous, wondrous thing, but it doesn't look like its really helping Lorne very much and there's no time to call for a doctor from the Daedalus, who will probably request an immediate evacuation, anyway. He goes back inside. "Cadman, Timmons. I'm going to take Lorne to the Daedalus, and ferry another pilot back. I'm sorry to leave you without any way to really communicate, but Maisa seems to have it figured out."

"I'm sure we'll be fine here, sir." Timmons says for the both of them. Laith is leaning into Cadman's forehead, and his hands are cupping her jaws in manner that suggests the Athosian greeting. She nods minutely.

"You'll be okay?"

Cadman makes an 'mmm' sound, which John is going to have to assume is a yes. "Yeah, okay, a couple of hours tops. Timmons, make sure the gear's secure."

"The SMAW and the last HDEP are already on board. I picked up one of their knives, too. They seemed pretty willing to let me have it."

"Good man. Now I just have to convince Haitham to let me take Lorne."

Timmons raises an eyebrow indicating John's chances.

If explaining the wraith was difficult, making Maisa understand that Lorne needs to go to their rememdium immediately is complicated fusion of words and gestures, but he gets the idea across.

Maisa conveys to Haitham the gist of the conversation, and it's frightening how quickly he agrees. Timmons supplies another field dressing to protect Lorne's injury, and Haitham calls in the men still waiting outside by the door. The nervous crowd is still waiting for news and explanations, and John hopes that they've earned enough credit to be in their favor without an immediate explanation.

At Maisa's instruction, they don't even bother to take Lorne from the bed; six villagers simply pick up it up and head outside. Timmons leads the way and the odd looking convoy follow him through the dark, narrow, dusty streets. It takes all eight of them to carefully manhandle Lorne into the second seat of the aircraft. Everyone is talking excitedly and touching the 302, and John warns them to stay back. Timmons gently pulls them away as John takes off.

He tries the ship's radio, and this time the signal's clear. His portable must have been damaged when he ducked the self-destruct. "Daedalus, this is Sheppard."

"Reading you loud and clear, Colonel."

"I'm inbound with wounded."

"Copy that, Colonel."

He stays in constant radio contact with the comm tech through out the flight, advising Carson of Lorne's condition and getting the skinny on the other team's progress and the teeth-grinding news of their flawless successes.

Beckett and Sodeburg are running towards the craft as he trips the wire. The ground crew is swarming over the wings, and sure hands pull Lorne out and down and Sodeburg disappears with him into the ship. Beckett latches on to the fact that John was also injured and chivvies him to the infirmary.

Hobeck and Faraj are waiting to return for Timmons and Cadman. "Hold that thought, Lieutenant, I'll be right back."

"Not a problem, sir."

John makes for the infirmary at a quick lope. When he arrives, nurses make a grab for his hand and begin to insert an IV as they push him onto an infirmary bed. "Beckett! I don't have time for this!"

Carson raises his head. "You have time if I say so. Tell me what happened and strip."

John knows this is a battle he won't win. He's pulling his shirt off as Rodney skids into the infirmary, looking red and flustered, his hair in complete disarray. "Sheppard! What happened?"

Carson returns and stops him with a hand. "We were just getting to that, Rodney." He pulls John's head down to inspect the wound on the back of his neck.

"Their rememdium did the laying on of hands thing, Lorne was either too much, or it was going to take too long. My injuries weren't too bad, it seemed to work."

"What was that like?"

There's no way that John's going to give anyone a full detailing of that experience, ever. "It was strange, hot and tingly."

Rodney gives Carson a triumphant look. "All medicine is voodoo magic, anyway."

Carson lets John sit back up. "Well, it looks like it's healing fine." He picks up John's shirt and turns it over in his hands. "Looks like you lost a lot of blood, Colonel." He picks up a vacutainer and threads a needle onto it in preparation to take a blood sample.

"He lost a lot a blood, and you're going to take more? That doesn't even make sense," Rodney says incredulously.

Carson only gives Rodney an annoyed look.

John didn't think he lost that much blood. "Most of that is Lorne's. You can't keep me. I'm the only pilot that can even halfway begin to communicate with those people."

"Aye, but I can." Carson pulls the needle out of his arm and instructs, "Press down here," and leans over to the wall and hits the button on the intra-ship comm system. "Colonel Caldwell, Dr. Weir, please come to the infirmary."

"Rodney, we have got to find a better way of getting around this damn planet."

Rodney gives him a supremely annoyed glare. "I know that, Colonel, what do you think I've been doing? Playing tiddlywinks with Hermiod?"

"You bellowed, Carson?" Elizabeth is still croaky, and probably will be for weeks, but she sounds slightly stronger.

"Colonel Sheppard's got a wee bit of a dilemma."

Colonel Caldwell joins them. "What can I do for you, Dr. Beckett?"

Carson nods at John, who decides that he might as well get the whole briefing out of the way now, though he wishes he weren't half naked. He starts at the very beginning, and goes through the whole story again, ending with "So, I had to leave Cadman and Timmons. Laith was looking at her when I left, but we've got an entire village that's probably about one step away from riot and pitchforks over the Wraith. Carson wants to keep me here, but we don't have another pilot that has any chance of communicating with them."

"I'm not certain how much blood the Colonel's lost and I'd prefer to keep him here for observation, not gallivanting about the planet."

"I could go, and see what I can do." Elizabeth offers, but Carson frowns and shoots down the idea.

"I'm not particularly thrilled with the idea of you going either, Elizabeth. I don't want to risk you losing your voice altogether."

John murmurs mostly to himself, "Plus, it would mean sending out another 302." It's important, but the limited fuel reserves have to be considered of paramount importance.

"I have a solution. Send Shaaziya. She's perfectly capable of communicating with them." Rodney's chin is tilted in a dangerous way, and his arms are crossed, telltale signs that he's prepared verbally assault anyone within range, if necessary.

"No offense, Rodney, but do we really want to take that step, to have her pose as the public spokesperson for the Daedalus?" Elizabeth whispers.

"Oh, please," he says truculently. "She's learned more English than either of you have learned Peragro. Having an indigenous liaison is practically SOP for any invading foreign force."

John backs the idea completely. "Despite the fact that we're not invading, I think Rodney's right. She's sharp and personable and not likely to fall into any of the cultural land mines that I would. It says that we're willing to work with them, and that's always a plus."

"Colonel Caldwell? Is this a precedent that we want to set?" Elizabeth deferring to Caldwell is just wrong in John's book.

Caldwell thinks it over for moment. "I have to hold to Beckett's assessment of you and Sheppard. If he's grounded, he can't go. You are barely recuperated, and I'm sure that Hermiod isn't a good third choice. I think the situation calls for it. We have an obligation to those people, but we can't meet it if we can't communicate. Sheppard's as much admitted that he's out of his league with this. We can simply ask her to help us out in this particular instance. If she will."

Elizabeth nods firmly, even though she's just been shot down. "Okay, if she would like to help in this instance, Rodney, we will discuss a permanent arrangement in depth at the first opportunity."

Caldwell nods at John. "I'll contact your team to see if it's a problem if there's a delay." Caldwell turns to Carson, "I want to have a full debriefing as soon as Sheppard's ready, doctor."

"I'll be through with him in a tick."

"Very good," Caldwell says just as he's about to leave the infirmary.

"I hope you feel better soon, John." Elizabeth smiles at him.

John complains, "I don't feel bad!"

"I'm sure you don't. Rodney, I'd like to speak with Shaaziya as soon as possible." She tips her head and leaves as well.

John asks curiously. "Where is Shaaziya, anyway, Rodney? She's almost been your shadow ever since she arrived."

"Uh, well she's... Resting, resting in her quarters."

The dime drops for John. He gives Rodney the eyebrows of doom, and a smirk. "Well, better go 'wake' her up. I've got people on the ground out there."

"Right, I'll just go do that, then." Rodney backs up and then makes his getaway from the infirmary with uncommon speed.

Carson and John share an amused look, confirming John's suspicion. 'That dog', he thinks.

 

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