"Home is Where the Heart Is" (4/6)

[kristen999]

Title: "Home is Where the Heart Is" (4/6)
Authors: everybetty and kristen999
Word Count: 55,000-
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Some violence and a couple f-bombs
Genre: Gen. Drama, Action, H/C
Characters: Sheppard, McKay, Ronon, Teyla, Todd, various SG-1 members and OCs.
Summary: Atlantis is back on Earth; things should be quiet and boring, light years away from Pegasus. While trying to find a place in this new life, John struggles with politics, a pending promotion… oh, and a deadly conspiracy that threatens the lives of everyone on Earth. Again. John POV, Post-EATG.


Notes: This was written for susnn for her very generous donation to help_haiti.


“Previous Chapters”




Locating and acquisitioning three vans to take them across the street wasted twenty minutes. Ronon was keen on running by foot toward the train station, but they needed access to secured areas away from civilians and to the tracks.

“Are we going in, as you would say, guns blazing?” Teyla inquired, the turn of phrase not far off the mark.

“We're not exactly inconspicuous. Might as well hang signs around our necks advertising military black ops.” The other Marines and Ronon stared at Rodney and he cleared his throat and pecked at his computer. “I'm just pointing out the obvious. As soon as we start sweeping the tracks, whoever took Todd is going to see us.”

“Not if you tell us which train he's on.” John was being serious and he gave Rodney that you need to work your magic expression.

“It doesn't exactly.. .Look. I can give us a general vicinity. Within three hundred meters.” Rodney matched his serious look with one of his own. “It's the best I can do.”

“Then we'll have to make it work.”

It didn't take long to arrive behind one of the larger platforms, the GPS coordinates they'd been given directing them through all the service roads, a flash of their badges taking onward through security. They unloaded as discreetly as possible, considering they were brandishing automatic weapons and carrying enough C-4 to blow up half the yard. The area was clear of civilians except for a small group headed in their direction in a hurry.

With the enemy on the grounds, no one took those approaching without caution, several Marines stepping forward and meeting the strangers half way.

Jameson held up his rifle, the rest of his unit covering him. “Identify yourselves.”

“We don't have time for this,” Ronon growled.

“Bill Matthews, director of operations,” the business suit introduced himself, breathing hard from his rush over. He handed Jameson his ID badge. “I was informed about your arrival by Homeland Security.

Jameson gave John an 'all clear' nod and Matthews gestured at a police officer dressed in SWAT gear and armed with an MP5. “This is Mike Shannon, he's in charge of security.”

The burly officer gave a curt nod. “Sirs.”

“And I'm Ryan Burke, ATF supervisor for this station,” the third guy introduced himself, finger at his earpiece to listen to something.

“Have all the railway platforms been evacuated?” John inquired, getting straight to the point.

Matthews took a wrinkled handkerchief with a meaty hand, mopping his brow and over whisps of silver hair. “We have seven major lines at this hub, servicing Vegas, LA, Seattle, New Orleans and...”

“Did you shut them down or not?” John snapped impatiently.

“Over a hundred trains run through here daily, including those we've diverted and others that are stuck on tracks, waiting to enter. Not to mention the local commuter rails and--”

“Yes or no?”

Matthew's face was flushed despite the cool air and he glared at them all. “Yes!” Then he hesitated. “Well, most of them.”

“What the hell does that mean?” John snapped.

“I just got the order and it takes time to conduct a full shut-down.”

“How long?” Lorne asked.

“Twenty minutes,” Shannon, the head of security answered, giving his boss some much-needed back up. With a glance at his watch he added, “we just initiated it. Should be another ten and all traffic will be halted.”

“Are the cargo trains separate from the commuter?” Rodney asked, never looking up from his tablet.

Taking his glasses off to rub his eyes, Matthews slipped them back on. “No, Union Pacific, Metrolink and Amtrak all use the same lines.”

“Fan-tastic,” Rodney muttered and shook his head. “I can't get a tighter focus on the signal. He's here.” And he swept a hand across the whole station. “But I have no idea where.”

“Sir,” Shannon stepped toward John, hands closing the Velcro straps on his bulletproof vest. “If we knew the type of threat we're facing, we could--”

“Sorry, need to know,” John cut him off regrettably, hating having to keep a fellow uniform in the dark. He turned to all three teams. “Alright. We'll do a grid search, checking every cargo train.”

“What about the passenger ones?” Teyla inquired. “Could Todd be...hidden somehow?”

Gnawing on his lip, John shook his head. “I don't think they'd take such a risk. If we strike out searching the---”

“Oh, no.”

Whirling on Rodney, John stared at the computer screen that had the man in a panic. “Oh, no? What's oh, no?”

“I lost the signal.”

“What? How?”

“I don't know how!” Rodney yelled, smacking his keyboard. “No, no,no.” Cradling the laptop, he sat heavily on the ground and started typing commands in earnest. “Come on! You piece of crap.”

“McKay?”

“I don't know what happened, but the signal's dead!”

“I thought it was part of him – you said it was-“

“I know what I said. Either Todd turned it off himself or they turned it off for him. Which… can’t be good.”

“Well, he was here just a minute ago and we’re not letting him get any further.” John checked the safety of his P-90. “We stick to the plan. Lorne you take the east, Jameson, your team the west side. Use a V pattern. My team will start at the far north end and we'll meet in the middle.”

Matthews eye's widened. “There are hundreds of cars to a train, Major---”

“That's Colonel Sheppard,” Jameson corrected.

The ATF agent who'd been studiously quiet spoke up. “There's ten cargo trains dead on the tracks now. Anywhere from three hundred to eight hundred boxcars per train. You'll need a lot more men to search them all, sir.”

It was a needle in a haystack, but John focused on what he could control. “Major, get Bates on the horn, tell him we need additional manpower.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Wait! How long is this going to take?” Matthews exclaimed, verging on a coronary. “If you think that a major rail hub is going on lock down based on…based on nothing! You have another think coming. I have passengers who--”

“Your passengers' safety is our number one concern,” Teyla soothed. “We are here to ensure they do not come to harm.”

“Look, see it from my point of view,” Matthew beseeched. “The terror level hasn't been raised. It doesn't sound like we're under a biological or bomb threat. I’ll follow your requests, but I wasn't able to halt everything and trains have already left the hub. If you're searching for someone. He might already be gone.”

“You better hope not,” John growled and gestured toward his people. “Let's move out.”

----

Frustration formed into knotted shoulder muscles and a furious thudding of John's heart against his chest. The life signs detector's limited range only covered the length of ten boxcars, forcing them to run along each train.

“They stretch for so far,” Teyla commented in awe.

John remembered times waiting at a crossing signal, Dad impatiently drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, the train taking five even ten minutes to run by. His radio squawked with 'negatives on target' and 'covering the next twenty cars.'

An hour in and all three teams had only scanned four trains with six more to go. All the while the bad guys could have bailed and gone, covering from overhead… his gut told him Todd was gone. That the enemy had bugged out already.

The Marines from Air Ground Command had a perimeter set up a quarter of a mile out in all directions, checking all outbound cars and trucks without luck.

Union Station was on lock-down and it wasn't enough.

“Colonel Sheppard, we're not picking up any life signs on the remaining trains, over.”

“Copy that, Captain. Do one more sweep.”

“Will do, sir.”

Nothing. They had nothing!

John yanked out his radio piece and curled his fingers around it, hand trembling. It took every last ounce of willpower to resist hurling it across the yard before he quickly stuffed it back inside his ear. He began pacing, boots pounding the ground, his breathing matching the ratcheting thunder of his heart. And instead of channeling all his pent up frustration, it only revved all his anger into a boiling crescendo. He unhooked the straps to his tac vest so his lungs could expand; his thumb got caught on one and he ripped the rest of it free, his chest heaving.

Non-stop hours of tracking down every clue, ripping apart the mountain, ripping Kavanaugh's head off, and choppering in three assault teams into Union Station. And Todd slipped right through their damned fingers. He stumbled over a piece of rebar, nearly tripping. Cursing, he snagged the iron rod and sent it sailing through the air, his internal fuel tank sputtering empty with that final burst of energy.

His knee aching, he wandered toward one of the empty trains and leaned against the heavy cast-iron car, closing his eyes in exhaustion.

A hand touched his shoulder and he saw Teyla peering over him. “Are they calling off the search?”

Blowing out a breath and rubbing at his knee, John wiped at the sweat beading over his face with the back of his arm. “Think so. All civilians were cleared off the tracks and they're not picking up any heat signatures.”

Not to mention the gridlock created for thousands of people, but John couldn't allow himself to care about that.

“We're gonna need to re-group. Come up with another plan,” he said, pushing himself off the steady support.

His fingers reached for his earpiece, but Teyla took them. “I'm sure Major Lorne can arrange for our transportation and something to eat while we discuss out next steps.”

With a tired smile he nodded, knowing they could all use a little time to recharge before the next battle.

------

His Blackberry vibrated non-stop with text after text inquiring about their next steps, the tenth and eleventh ones none too subtlely requesting that they be made without inquiring the wrath of the local mayor. John rolled his eyes at that one and plunked the phone onto the conference room table.

Teyla snatched it up with one quick motion, thumbing the off switch. “I think you're allowed a few minutes peace without this thing constantly rattling.”

Arguing with her was pointless; he replaced his phone with a Styrofoam cup of bad instant coffee and a ham sandwich from the vending machine. Ronon chowed down on his second sub, while Rodney pulled the pickles off his and inspected the Grade D meat with disgust.

“If I wasn't so damn hungry, I'd put this in a petri dish and study it for intelligence,” he mumbled before taking a giant bite, the mustard squirting out the sides. With a grumbled curse, he found a napkin before spreading it all over his fingers.

The rest of the Marines were piled up in the adjoining room, eating dinner while John's team went over things in their temporary command center with Lorne and Bates.

“We need theories about Todd's next possible location,” John started off, before swallowing the last of his sandwich.

“Depends if he was loaded onto a truck or was put on another train that left before the whole station was shut-down,” Lorne suggested.

“Does it matter how he was transported?”

“What do you mean?” John asked Teyla.

Glancing at the map of the United States tacked to the wall contemplatively she wet her lips. “Whoever took Todd, did so for a reason. We should focus where they want him to end up.”

“We talked about that already,” Ronon interjected. “We don't know anything, but all that matters is how.”

Rodney gave up on cleaning the stain on his shirt and released a long-suffering sigh. “No, you're both right. Truck, train, bicycle or catamaran. They, whoever, they are, need to get him away from the United States and somewhere remote where no one can touch them. Or even look.”

“Alright and that would be?” John pressed, a half a dozen locations flashing through his mind.

“That doesn't matter either, because once he gets there, we'll never find him. It's the drop-off point in between. He was in Los Angeles. Why?” Without waiting for a reply, Rodney's fingers glided over his keyboard. “It's an international gateway to any other part of the world. If we can figure out the mode of travel, we can calculate where he is now.”

“That leaves air or sea,” John pondered, standing to study the map. “If we're talking globally.”

“Or if they haven't changed plans,” Ronon grunted.

“There are dozens of private and public airports, excluding military. We're talking thousands of flights,” Rodney supplied. “And I don't even think the IOA has enough pull to ground them all based on a theory.”

“I hear a but in there.” John bent over to view his teammate's laptop. “You're working on something.”

“I am,” Rodney replied, squinting at the rolling data. “And if you give me a few more minutes, I'll.... Aha!” The group gathered around the computer and he glared at them. “Air, people. I need to breathe.”

“We're running out of time, McKay.”

Rodney dismissed John's words with an irritated wave of his hand. “I'm keenly aware of that. Which is why I'm trying not to waste any more. There.” Turning the screen for everyone to see he went on. “The port of Los Angeles. Ticket to anything across the Pacific and right on the rail line to Union Station.”

“That's really good, McKay,” Bates said with a clap on his shoulder and then fumbled with his phone when it buzzed.

John ignored Bates as he walked out of the room to take the call, his eyes glued to the port on the map. It was huge. “That's good work, McKay. Do you think you can---”

“Locate what cargo ship might have a Wraith on board?”

“Yeah.”

“Um, no. The computer isn't a fortune teller.” Rodney ignored John's dagger-of-death stare and tabbed over a few pages. “I can however, bring up all the cargo trains that arrived from Union Station within the last two hours.”

“And?” John prompted testily, knowing Rodney's flair for the dramatic.

“There were four within that window. They already arrived, but fear not. I'm hacking into Union Pacific's computer tracking system that keeps a log of all cargo containers that enter from the rail-yard and where they are transferred before being loaded onto a ship.”

The room was silent with anticipation, everyone hanging on Rodney's words.

“Oh, for crying out... it seems their system is down! I'm sure that's not a coincidence.”

There was a collective groan, because that it had been going way too easy.

“But,” Rodney turned around in his seat. “There was a single train that left Union Station at the time we arrived. It has to be the one.”

“If Todd was on a train,” Ronon mumbled.

“The signal said he was. If I cross-reference the time it stopped transmitting and when this train took off… I bet it was within minutes,” Rodney defended.

“Without using their database, do you think you can figure out where the cargo is?” Lorne asked, drumming his fingers on the table.

“I'm no expert on shipyards, but I'm sure there's some system involved. In Canada, trains arrived on the same schedule, on the same tracks etc. In a giant freight yard, I'd assume there's a similar type of redundancy.”

“That's good enough for me,” John declared, throwing away his wrappers. “We'll chopper in and this time, with reinforcements. If we lose him in this shipyard, we lose him for good.”

Bates stood in the doorway, clearing his throat with a weary expression. “I'm not sure about those reinforcements.”

“Why not?” John growled.

Ronon stood to his full height, shuffling forward with a desire to vent his frustration physically.

Bates was professionally cool and collective, but even he didn't seem to enjoy the bullshit he was about to spew. “Chatter's gone through the roof in the last hour. We have warning alerts on all major airports and talk of gas attacks in metropolitan areas. Everyone has to be on stand-by for a possible terror attack.”

“Damn it! You know that's all crap. That whoever got into Mountain has the ability to screw with us like this?” John was pissed, on the verge of joining Ronon in his need to punch something.

“I know, Colonel, but right now, Homeland has to take the uptick in threat levels seriously and until you have an accurate lead on Todd, you're not going to get any additional resources when we have to triple patrols on the border and gear up for a possible large scale deployment.”

The two of them glared at one another and John clenched his jaw, knowing he'd get no back up from anyone else without Todd's signal magically appearing like a bull's eye. “I'm keeping my three teams and the choppers.”

Bates relaxed a little, knowing that John understood he was against a wall. “Of course. They're resources of the SGC. And if you get a 100% definite read on your target, you can have an entire base as back-up.”

“Need all access to the port authority and full cooperation.”

“You got it, Colonel. Let me make a few calls and I'll meet you guys at the choppers.”

Bates was out like a flash and John gathered his gear, his team following suit behind him.

“You'd think for a global emergency, we'd get more help,” Rodney mumbled.

Not when the enemy had been five steps ahead of them with virtually limitless power and control. But one thing about arrogance, it bred carelessness, and John didn't have a problem with being underestimated if it meant he caught the bad guys.

-----------------------------

“We're two miles out, sir,” their pilot radioed.

“Copy that, Captain,” John answered as he double-checked the schematics of the shipyard on his Blackberry. “Land us at the LAXT terminal. I'm not going to give these bastards time to slip away again.”

Bates had already threatened, name dropped and laid the political smack-down over the phone. All sixteen lanes in and out of the port had been shut down and trains were not allowed to enter or exit the premises. John was about to flip his Blackberry closed when a text pinged and he double-tapped the message.

From: Nancy

Pulled some strings. Three squads are standing by at Camp Pendleton. If you get in trouble, text 911 and they'll be deployed. ETA under twenty minutes.

Good Luck

A slight smile tugged at his lips. Who would have ever thought his ex-wife would be covering his team's six.

John peered through the window at the sprawling seven thousand acre harbor, the sun beginning to set on the horizon. There were dozens of ships docked at the south side, gigantic gantry cranes loading the steel beasts with cargo. He couldn't guess at the number of shipping containers, somewhere in the thousands, creating endless rows for trucks and cars to navigate through.

“Are you kidding me? Sheppard, this place is as big as Atlantis,” McKay's voice shouted in his ear.

“Good thing we know where we're going, huh?”

It was a mini industrial city and among all that hustle and bustle was their single target. They passed over the five story ICTF tower, no doubt those inside monitoring their arrival.

Ronon inched closer to him with an impressed expression at the sprawl below. “Think we can trust the info we got?”

“Bates talked to all the right channels, so we're gonna have to,” John answered.

Teyla maneuvered to get an eyeful, her face struck in awe. “It still astounds me, the scale of everything on this planet. I can only hope those in Pegasus will one day become as advanced.”

He gave her shoulder a squeeze and mentally went over the game plan. To operate such a massive undertaking, every detail of the terminal was meticulously scheduled and organized. All cargo from Union Station was stored at the LAXT terminal until the containers were transported to the proper ships.

If Todd hadn't already been moved.

“Life signs, McKay?” John demanded.

“Um...we're looking at about ten.”

John radioed one of the other choppers. “Bates, can you confirm all civilians were evacuated from this terminal?”

“Affirmative, Colonel.”

“We've got ten bogies and we're about to crash the party. Everyone stay on your toes.”

“Landing in sixty seconds,” the captain informed them.

The chopper touched ground and they disembarked quickly, everyone meeting in the center of the impromptu landing area, the coming evening illuminated by rows of light posts.

John turned to Bates after he was done updating the port authority on the phone. “I want you to remain here.” He held out his hand, cutting off any protest. “I need to make sure this place remains clear of civilians. If the area gets hot and we're in the middle of a fire fight, I don't want people or security running over here to investigate.”

“But I could...”

“We don't need victims of friendly fire.”

With a curt nod, Bates still checked the safety of his sidearm. “Got it. Sorry. Call it a leatherneck's desire to be in the action.”

He gave an envious sideways glance at McKay, but there was no argument about his involvement. Rodney was a part of John's team and after five years, he'd proven his worth in combat situations. John fished out his LSD, locating the enemy, who were forming a defensive perimeter. Based on the concentration of men in the middle, he knew exactly where Todd was located.

“Okay, I think we made a loud enough entrance. They know we're coming. We'll use a simple three prong assault. Jameson, when I give the signal, move ahead and toss your flash bangs at their center of gravity. We'll do a five count and the rest of us will pop some smoke to keep them disoriented.” Shaking the LSD for emphasis, he went on. “Each team has a gene carrier. We'll use the life signs detectors to our advantage. Let's break 'em up into smaller groups and take them out. Got it?”

Jameson loomed like a tower and readied his weapon. “Affirmative, sir. It'll be easy pickings.”

“Hey, don't underestimate these guys. They got a Wraith out of Cheyenne; something tells me we're dealing with ex-military,” Lorne reminded him.

Jameson and Lorne each led five man teams, giving them a slight advantage.

Teyla shouldered her weapon, closing her eyes. “I can sense a Wraith nearby. We are in the correct place.”

“Once we take out the enemy, we'll locate our primary target. We all have stunners just in case Todd isn't secured, but something tells me they have him locked-down tight.” John's LSD displayed the dots holding steady and he donned his orange protective eye goggles along with the others. “Alright, let's go.”

Ronon and Teyla were in the middle while he led the way, with McKay covering their six. The shipyard was a tactical nightmare, rows of red, green and brown boxcars stretched end to end, further than the eye could see. The obstructions gave way to sporadic clusters of cargo tanks, providing ample cover for either side to use.

Some of the containers were stacked three and four high, with gaps in between them for the enemy to maneuver in and out of. The flashing dots stood their ground.

John clicked his radio three times and Jameson darted forward, ducking by an abandoned forklift and flinging five flash bangs like an NFL quarterback. The area lit up like the Fourth of July and the other two teams converged from the left and down the middle, John's team came from the right, each holding position long enough to throw smoke grenades.

John's eyes flicked to the LSD, the order to move on the tip of his lips, when the screen fluttered and returned to life with thirty white dots.

“It's a trap!” Rodney yelled. “They have triple--”

A invisible force knocked John to the ground, his body slamming the pavement. Paralyzed by pain and numbness, it took a minute to recognize being hit by the tail-end of a stun bomb blast. No one had lodged a bullet in his brain, so some of bad guys had to have been compromised by the smoke and flash bangs.

Rolling to his side with a groan, a hand grabbed him by the tac vest and lifted him to his feet. Before he could raise his weapon, Ronon's bulk steered him toward two stacked sets of containers and shoved him in between them. Rodney came stumbling a few moments later, dragging Teyla.

The world stopped buzzing and John's vision cleared enough to focus on their latest fubar. There was shouting and confusion and he waited for the LSD screen to stop spinning, observing eight flashing dots move past ten frozen others.

Damn it! Everyone else had gotten the full exposure to the stun.

Teyla was still a bit wobbly, but nodded that she would be fine and all of them huddled between the metal structures. They were sixty seconds out before being discovered. Gripping his LSD, Rodney signaled where the bad guys were headed and the four of them started to back out the opposite direction. Ronon peered over Rodney's shoulder to view the screen, eyes flicking to John's as they both came to the same realization.

They needed to outflank these guys.

“Go,” he ordered. Ronon disappeared without a word and John hunkered down with Rodney and Teyla in the darkness. “We need to catch them in a cross-fire,” he breathed in their ears.

Both nodded in unison and they circled backwards to avoid detection, taking cover behind a dark blue container with peeling yellow lettering. The dots were in an arrow column formation which was still counted as a straight line. Attack the front and rear and the whole thing fell apart.

A tiny voice cut through the din of thousands of competing thoughts and John yanked out his cell phone. He couldn't believe it slipped his mind. Racing through his contact list, he jabbed his finger over Nancy's name, tapped out 9-1-1, and hit send before quickly tucking it away.

Rodney became their vision, signaling where the enemy line was heading. They played cat and mouse, staying out of range, creeping around containers, biding their time for Ronon to get into position.

The enemy was in sight, eight men in black commando fatigues and heavy vests were within twenty yards. John kept constant tension on the trigger and locked eyes with Teyla. 'Aim for the legs,' he mouthed.

Holding five fingers up, Rodney ticked each one down in a silent countdown. On zero he gestured with his pointer, and John and Teyla popped around and aimed for below the knees.

The first three surprised commandos fell in a heap as Ronon attacked the rear, bullets and red weapon bursts cut down the formation. There was no time or room to scatter and the two soldiers in the middle were caught in opposing lines of fire and quickly picked off.

John and Teyla ran over and kicked all weapons out of reach, while Ronon stunned those too busy writhing on the ground to react. There was no hauling around the extra rifles, but Rodney snapped up the ammo clips, emptying and scattering the bullets, making it difficult for anyone else to use them.

“Status?” John barked.

Breathing hard, Rodney studied his screen. “All the other dots are staying put except for one.”

“Where?” Ronon demanded before John could.

“About a twenty meters over--”

“Get down!” John shouted.

Firecrackers went off above their heads. John dived next to Rodney who let out a startled yelp. “Move!” John screamed, adrenaline coursing through him, body hugging the ground as he crawled toward the closest cover.

Gunfire pelted the top of the container and John realized that the sniper had a perfect bead on them.

“We are exposed!” Teyla yelled, her right arm bleeding. She shook her head at John's questioning look. “It's from a ricochet. I'm--”

A hail of bullets peppered inches above her head and another set kept Ronon pinned down on the other end.

“The sniper hasn't moved, but we should,” Rodney panted, flat on his belly.

“We need to blind him,” John growled, thinking this was the perfect stalling technique.

“No more smoke fumes, please, I need my brain cells!” Rodney complained.

“You're a genius, McKay,” John grinned. “That's exactly what we'll use.”

As if reading his thoughts, Teyla matched his smile. “Let Ronon and I to go after him.”

That was going to be his suggestion; his knee was extra painful after smashing the asphalt, and he wasn't in shape for a fast sprint. He pulled out his last smoke grenade, the pin between his fingers. Rodney and Teyla readied each of their canisters. Ronon cut a piece of his shirt into strips with his knife, handing one to Teyla and they both wrapped them loosely around their nose and mouths.

The sniper took another pot shot, the bullet pinging off the wall and almost striking John in the shoulder. “Enough of this.”

They simultaneously popped smoke and threw the grenades in three different directions to produce a encompassing cloud. John squinted against the grainy smear and fired at the enemy's position, providing additional cover for his teammates to slip under. By the time the sniper could peer down his scope again, he wouldn't know where to track them.

“What about us?” Rodney squawked, orange eye gear obscuring his face, nose planted into his sleeve.

“Keep the guy busy...” John coughed, his throat and nasal passages raw from the smoke. “Just keep shooting in his general direction.”

They were both in line for hearing aids after this, the P-90's amplified by all the surrounding metal. Sniper Guy didn't take another shot and Rodney demonstrated his multitasking skills by checking the LSD and firing another volley. “It looks like the guy is on the move.”

John tapped his radio to warn Ronon and Teyla, but Rodney began shouting excitedly. “They're too close together now. I think--”

“John, we got him,” Teyla's voice echoed blissfully in his ear. “We are returning to you.”

That left twenty enemy forces, but Rodney anticipated his question. “No one's budged. They're not coming after us.”

John's team was outnumbered and it would be another fifteen minutes until back-up arrived. Their options were limited and he mulled over the next steps while Teyla and Ronon made their way back.

“What now?” Ronon asked barely seconds after arriving.

Rodney was appalled, his voice shrill in the cover of closing darkness. “What do you mean what? I don't know if you noticed, but we're the only ones standing!”

“We've got back-up on the way,” John announced to his team's surprise. “Call it an ace in a hole.”

“Should we get a closer look? Scout out the situation for when reinforcements arrive?” Teyla paused, her eyes reflecting a far away sort of daze. “I still sense a Wraith.”

A repeat of the train station was unacceptable. Todd could still be stowed aboard any one of dozens of ships, some headed to countries beyond the IOA's reach.

John's decision was an easy one. He took out a field bandage, handing it to Teyla who inclined her head in thanks and began wrapping up her arm. “We still have men out there. We get them to cover and perform some recon. When more units arrive, we'll be in better shape to implement a plan. It'll be nightfall by then and we still have the advantage of the life signs detectors.”

“Am I the only sane one?” Rodney rolled his eyes. “Forget I asked. They have access to powerful stun bombs and can obviously manipulate our equipment. Or do I need to remind you of the sudden population growth of the bad guys?”

“If they had LSDs, they'd be using them.” Ronon twirled his blaster. “And if there were more men, they'd be hunting us.”

The lingering silence ended all arguments and John replaced his clip and did an quick and dirty inventory of his ammo. “Let's get a look-see of their operation.”

With the detector in capable hands, Rodney directed their every move with the precision of radar; the thundering noise of a truck or machine echoed in the distance as the edged closer.

“Um...I think there's a problem,” Rodney hissed.

John held out his fist and they all kneeled. “Define this problem.”

“Our guys. Their dots are moving.”

“Maybe they're waking up,” John suggested, hoping that was true.

“Not when the bad guy dots get really close to them and they all become a big fuzzy mess until reappearing in the enemy camp,” Rodney growled, fingers crushed around the detector in anger and fear.

“Double time it,” John breathed, funneling rage into steel control.

They moved in tandem, reaching the outer edge of the perimeter of the earlier ambush. Most of Lorne's team had been taken, but Jameson and his squad were still sprawled unconscious on the ground.

“I'll keep watch,” Rodney announced, allowing the rest of them to take a body and drag it to safety.

John hefted up a lanky Marine by his vest, pulling him a hundred yards behind another cargo container. The man didn't even twitch. It'd be another half hour before any of them recovered from the stun and John wiped the sweat from his brow and convened with the rest of his team.

Ten minutes before back-up arrived. Could they wait it out?

“Colonel Sheppard, I know you and your team are out there,” a distorted voice blasted out of a megaphone.

John grit his teeth, debating acknowledgment of the taunt and giving away their position.

“We may not have Ancient devices, but we do have heat sensors. We know where you are, Colonel.”

Crap.

“If you and your team do not drop your weapons and surrender in the next sixty seconds, we will begin executing the rest of your men. Starting now.”

They exchanged a mixture of expressions; Ronon's body practically vibrated.

“We'll go and try stalling,” John told them.

“That's your plan?” Rodney demanded and gulped. “I mean, what's...”

“Thirty seconds, Colonel.”

“We keep our people alive and Todd in sight until back-up arrives,” John ordered.

He dropped his P-90, kept his .45 holster and stunner hidden. Pulled out their only flash bang and pulled the safety pin and squeezed the lever without releasing it. His team followed suit, shedding most of their weapons. “All right, we're surrendering!” he shouted.

“Hands on your heads, Colonel.”

John gave his team a nod, and they obeyed without lacing their fingers because, you know, the bad guys hadn’t asked them to. Ronon had at least two knives hidden in his hair, his blaster stuffed behind his back, and Teyla had a blade or two on her body.

They slowly marched the fifty meters between rail cars and toward a group of seven commandos who stood next to a forklift loaded with a large black steel box big enough for a certain Wraith to be imprisoned.

Off to the side was a pile of bodies, two more commandos pointing M16 rifles at their unconscious teammates. When they rounded the last orange storage box, ten more appeared from behind a large blind spot and spread out behind them in a semi-circle, half of them ghosting their every move with the stunners pilfered from Lorne and Jameson's men. Everyone wore the same black military fatigues and bulletproof vests, their faces obscured by smears of paint or caps to shadow any facial features.

John kept the lever to his flash bang compressed, eyes darting at each person's position and assessing the quickest routes for cover. He gave a cocky grin at the wannabe special forces group. “So, is one of you in charge or do you each take turns playing with the megaphone?”

A guy in his late forties with bushy salt and pepper sideburns and beard stepped forward from the pow-wow around the fork-lift and removed his tinted sunglasses with unneeded flare.

“Very dramatic,” John commented.

The leader chuckled, stopping a few meters short, arms resting over the weapon clipped to his vest and gestured at John's side arm. “If I recall, Monsieur, I ordered for your surrender.”

“Yes, you did. Isn’t it usually the French who do the surrendering?”

Mr. Leader Guy removed his beret to rub at the perspiration beading under the rim, hair like an unkempt wolf spilling out, before he slipped his hat back on. “Your reputation proceeds you Colonel, hence the extra precautions we took once when we saw you at the train station.” Pulling out a cigar, he bit off the tip, spitting it on the ground before lighting it. Releasing a puff of smoke, he stuffed his zippo back into a vest pocket. “I am sure you are biding for time. Waiting on some back-up, perhaps?”

John schooled his face without comment. Leader Guy waved a leather gloved hand in dismissal. “We have reinforcements arriving, too. I wonder, who will show up first? Should be fun game to see who wins, no?”

Teyla and Ronon waited for a signal, but Lorne's team was still under threat and way too many weapons pointed at him and his team. “You won't get away,” he threatened lamely, hoping the rest was a bluff.

Chewing on his cigar, the man smiled calmly. “In three minutes all cell towers within five hundred miles will be down and will simultaneously cause a massive surge on all landlines as well. Communications will be strangled. Your choppers will no doubt be re-routed at the appearance of the first stage of a terror attack.”

John whistled. “That's a big gamble.”

“No bigger than our current mission, I assure you.”

Rodney let out a laugh. “And you think it won't be difficult to track down a giant cargo ship? Those things are slower than....than giant sea turtles.” At John's look Rodney held up his hands. “What? Sorry, if I'm not an expert on marine life.”

“And who says our package will remain on any ship for long? The ocean is quite big, mon amie.” He returned his attention to John with a grin and threw his stogie to the ground, crushing it with his boot. “Au revoir, my friends.”

Lead Guy snapped his fingers and John tossed his flash bang at the same time. He closed his eyes and tackled the leader, momentary deafened by the loud blast. Using his fingers, John stripped away the rifle tethered to the man's vest and slammed the butt end into what he hoped was his face.

There were shouts and sounds of stunners. John scrambled away, opening his eyes to find the commandos by the forklift stumbling about and he opened fire in the midst of their disorientation, taking out the four wildly aiming their M16s.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw both Rodney and Teyla were down; three more bad guys lay unmoving next to them. Ronon was furious motion, tossing one knife, then another, taking out those guarding Lorne's team.

John shot at the two commandos who were trying to sneak up behind Ronon, then had to duck and roll when one of them aimed his way and tried emptying a clip into him.

“General!” someone shouted.

With a face splattered with blood from a busted nose, the general fired at John with his side arm. Bullets flew from everywhere and John ran for his life toward the forklift, his knee screaming at him with every pounding step. He skidded around the cab of the forklift and almost tripped over the injured bad guys sprawled on the ground. One of the commandos propped himself on his elbows and shakily aimed his Sig at him. John pulled out his stunner with his other hand and blasted the guy. Then he fired on the other two moaning from their wounds to keep from being shot in the back.

His heart fluttered at hummingbird speed and he peered around the cab and barely missed having his head blown off by heavy fire. Three commandos continued showering his position with their M16s and they were soon joined by a few of their pals.

Ronon countered, firing red bursts from behind an empty rust colored boxcar five meters way.
John did a double take. Ronon had somehow made it to cover when he wasn't looking and they could see each other behind their new temporary line of defense.

The shooting stopped momentarily, but it was hard to listen for bag guys over a faint ringing in his ears. They were probably regrouping to plan their next move and he pulled out his LSD to confirm the dots were gathering into two distinct groups.

“John Sheppard.” He cringed at that familiar voice, thinking maybe it would be better if his hearing was shot. John risked a look at the black steel container resting on the pallet. “Free me, Sheppard and I will help you,” Todd's broken voice spoke through a slit in the top of the box.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” John yelled at no one in particular.

It took a second to connect the dots; the boxcar with the open platform where Ronon was currently pinned down, was where the Wraith had been unloaded from. And all over the ground laid the remains of a wooden packing crate and an unattended crowbar. They’d probably unboxed their prize to check to see if the Wraith was still alive.

“You are outnumbered,” Todd hissed weakly.

“Sorry, but I'm a little preoccupied right now!” Twelve to two wasn't that bad, John told himself.

The white dots were standing there, maybe going over their strategy and John signaled Ronon with the enemy's position and numbers. The reinforcements from Pendleton should have been here by now and he wondered if they'd been turned back. If the world outside was going crazy with paranoia and lost communications, leaving them all on their own.

“Release me and I will...” Todd's breathing hitched with a ragged cough. “I promise not to escape.”

Todd sounded bad and there was no way John was going to allow a hungry, injured Wraith loose.

“I offer you one last chance to surrender. Put down your arms,” the general yelled.

The dots were fanning out and John pulled out his .45 and stuffed it in the front of his pants. He chanced a look with Ronon, the two of them communicating silently.

“I'm done playing games, Colonel.”

The threat ended with a loud echoing gunshot.

“You son of a bitch!” John yelled.

“You've sacrificed one of your men. And I will kill them one by one until you give up,” the general snarled. “I might even save the woman for last.”

Whoever these people were, they were going to kill them all regardless. John verified that his magazine was loaded with a full clip and held out his hand with three fingers, indicating a silent count. Ronon gave a curt nod and the two of them prepared to give it their all.

The dots were on the move, the good general anticipating John's go to Hell response.

One.

Two.

Three.

Hunkering behind the forklift, John poked out, his eyes widening at the grenades being thrown at the boxcar. “Ronon!” he yelled in warning.

Ronon was busy firing, then upon seeing the projectiles, ducked for cover.

Everything occurred in snatches of light and sound. There were fireballs and plumes of thick smoke and an endless popping sound all around him.

People were yelling and John realized he was screaming back, squeezing so hard, blood dripped between fingers and the trigger. Thought became reflex, his feet and hands moving, dodging.

Reacting. Disconnecting.

Bullets ricocheted off the forklift. Between his own pants for air and the buzzing chaos, there was this hissing snake sound. “Free me, Sheppard. Release me from my cage.” His brain and hands tingled strangely. In the midst of the battlefield, heedless to the pinging of bullets off the metal around him, John rose as if in a dream, walked over to the boxcar door. Phantom fingers pulled a chunk of C4 from a vest pocket, shoved it in over the lock. “That's it,” the voice coaxed, bringing goosebumps up all over John's skin. He hesitated inserting the detonator, but the snake hissed, “Trust me.” And John complied.

Out of the corner of his eye, orange flames burned and crackled around the boxcar and the world slammed back, leaving him breathless. Dazed, John ran toward Ronon, firing at anything that moved, his stolen M-16 clicking empty. Limping the rest of the way there when his leg refused to run, he dropped his useless weapon and yanked out his .45.

Ronon was motionless on the ground, the rest of the bad guys yelling at one another and closing in. John saw his friend's chest move and that was enough to refuel him.

He open fire at the first black clad asshole who launched himself around the car. It resulted in a deadly diversion and two commandos outflanked him from the other side. John spun around hard, and found himself facing the muzzle of a Sig. He saw the flash as the trigger was pulled, heard the report. His knee had taken all the punishment it could; it gave in and gave up on him too. Expecting to be dead, he instead now found himself crumpled to his one working knee on the asphalt, the bullet zinging through where his head had been a split second before. No time to really consider how close it had been, John took out the commando with two pulls of his .45.

But he couldn't pivot in time to eliminate the second guy. John thought he saw the man smile as he opened fire with his M16.

There was a muzzle flash followed by ear rattling noise. Then, Oh God, the pain. It was like being split in two. Drawing for breath was a sledgehammer to his chest, and all he could do was stare up at the night sky, one leg folded under him as the other one was engulfed in fire.

He couldn't move his fingers to grab his gun, the numbness in his extremities in stark contrast to the feeling of a dozen bowling balls slamming into his chest. Warm blood dripped down his arm, more pooled under him from....he had no idea from where.

All he knew was he couldn't breathe and the man who had shot him up was busy removing everything from his vest, talking to someone as if John was already dead. Though that probably wasn't too far off from the truth.

“Merde! Finally. Time to clean up this mess. Are you hurt?”

There was no mistaking that accent.

“Flesh wound. Was standing too close to a boxcar, got hit by one of my own bullets,” came a reply with a different accent, this one more Eastern European.

“C’est bon. Go check on the others, get who's left all on their feet. When we're ready to move out, we'll kill the rest and finish what we started.”

“My pleasure.”

John blinked, his vision fading in and out.

“Just push the button, Sheppard. Save your friends,” a voice whispered in his head.

Numb fingers reached inside his vest and clumsily pulled out the detonator.

A bushy face peered over him and cigar smoke was blown into his face. “You are a great adversary, Colonel. Any other time and you would be a bonus for my associates, but I am afraid your disappearance would not be worth the extra pressure. You are, what do they say? A hot commodity.”

If he could, John would have chuckled, but he was having a hard enough time breathing. He settled for a,“Go to Hell.”

The general tsked and pulled out his pistol, pressing the warm muzzle against John's forehead. “You first.”

John squeezed the remote, setting off the explosion beside them.

The general stood abruptly up, his Sig dangling from his side. “What did you do?” he whispered.

“I'm not... sure,” John coughed, the action sending jolts of agony throughout his body.

His breath seized through constricted lungs and he was so busy trying to ride out the pain, he hadn't noticed the general's absence until his boots were no longer in view. There was a familiar low growl, followed by panicked shouts and gunfire. He attempted sitting up and it was like a hot dagger to his side and he only made it an inch before slumping back down. Sweat broke across his brow and he tried to centering his focus, holding his breath and slowly releasing it.

Ear piercing screams caused his hair to stand on end and he redoubled his efforts to shift off his back. With his left leg trapped under him, he tried pushing off with his right boot heel, resulting in spasmodic jerks and the feeling of hundreds of nails digging into his limb. “Fuck!”

Panting, he tore a hole in his lip and fumbled for a weapon with more automatic fire and shouts of horror sounding closer. Had he dropped his stunner? He wouldn't have to worry about running out of bullets with that, but his fingers wouldn't cooperate and his hand flopped about his vest. Then he remembered all his weapons had been stripped away.

An eerie silence descended and he was forced to lay there with nothing but the stars staring back. “Ronon?” he called out.

His body shook harder now and a bone-chilling cold spread through his whole being. He didn't want to go out like this, with his team in danger and a bunch of assholes threatening his planet.

The crunching of dirt and rock signaled the approach of someone and John jerked as he fought to hang on to consciousness.

A figure loomed over him and John froze as Todd filled his vision with an amused smile. “It would appear as though our positions have been reversed, John Sheppard.”

John's lips moved, but a strangled noise came out instead. Rage filled him to the core at his vulnerability and he tried forcing his elbows under him but failed miserably when the pain was too much.

“Do you feel helpless, Sheppard? Trapped by your failing body? Wondering what those more powerful plan to do with you?” Todd knelt beside him, fully healthy and in control. “What is it like? Knowing your only chance to survive depends on the one you least want to place such trust in?”

Todd bent closer, wisps of hair tickling his chin. John shuddered, fingers scraping the asphalt in frustration. “Y—you...you...”

“I manipulated you, yes. When your mind was distracted. But you should know, I would have never allowed myself to be hunted like an animal. I did not plan on escaping.” Todd tilted his head, face pensive. “Are you giving up, John Sheppard?”

“N-nno,” he gasped, his drooping eyes betraying him.

Hovering, Todd stared up at the far too distant stars. “Defiance is born from a fiery place within. Will you allow it to die away out here? Or back where it belongs, with all of us in our rightful place?”

John wanted nothing better than to match his adversary's philosophical mutterings with a few choice words of his own, but Todd froze, his yellow eyes widening. “People are coming.” The Wraith rose, leather wrist restraints swinging from a belt around his dark coveralls and he held his hands up. “I surrender.”

“Freeze! Don't move!”

That sounded like Bates and John strained to get a look at him.

“Son of a bitch! Get away from him!”

And that was Jameson’s voice.

“Which is it? Do you want me to freeze or do you want me to move?” Todd chuckled.

“Screw this!” Jameson barked, followed by the sounds of a stunner.

“Hold your fire!” Bates screamed, but there must have been six or seven shots.

“I wasn't about to risk the colonel's security,” the angry corporal countered.

Everything was a blur from John's peripheral vision and he struggled to sit up, but Bates was next to him, hands gently holding him still. “Colonel, don't move.”

“Status?” John grit out.

“Jameson and those mobile enough from his team have the area secured. Major Lorne is on his feet and he should be here any minute. We have a few minor injuries and one critical from the major's team.”

That had to be man the general shot. John's head spun and he was losing the battle to keep the pain at bay. “W-what...”

“All the enemy are dead, sir. Casualties from the assault and a few from being fed upon. And Todd's... well he's out for the count.” There were sounds of boots and gruff voices and Bates looked over his shoulder to shout something before returning into John's view. “Let's get you taken care of.”

Bates unbuckled the straps on the sides of John's tac vest while yelling for assistance. John groaned when the heavy restriction was loosened around his chest and he closed his eyes, trying to control his panting.

“How bad is it?”

John recognized his XO's anxious voice.

“Not sure, Major, but I need another set of hands. Looks like he was shot in a right to left strafing motion. I'm checking for the source of the other bleeding, but his leg needs attention.” Bates undid the rest of the straps and lifted the front part of the vest, pushing it over John's head to reveal his undershirt.

Lorne yanked out several dressings, peeling away the wrapper with his teeth. John craned his neck to gain eye contact and he stifled another groan. “Major...how's my...”

“Teyla and McKay were just coming to when I left and Ronon's being looked after. It doesn't seem serious, but he's still out.” Lorne let out a low whistle. “You've got a few holes in you, sir. Sorry, but this is going to hurt.”

John screamed when his leg was jostled, and he jackknifed, while hands and arms tried steadying his movements. His world was engulfed by fire and he drifted off, or passed out, because he came back to himself in tiny increments, strained voices talking over him.

“He needs to be evac'd, right the fuck now. How long before—“

“The unit from Pendleton is two minutes out.”

“They better have a corpsman with them. He took one in the belly right below the vest and I couldn't find an exit wound.”

Awareness was a heavy shroud with listless limbs and scattered thoughts and sounds while John reacquainted himself with his pal morphine.

“Oh my God! Is he...is he...”

“Give the colonel breathing room, McKay.”

“Breathing room? Does he look like he's breathing to you, Major?”

“He is, and I'm going to make sure that's what the colonel keeps doing.”

“By waiting for him to bleed to death? I mean...wasn't he wearing a vest? I bet it was defective. I read about the military and their definition of workable budget cuts.”

“It kept him from getting ripped in half!”

“Oh, that's something, isn't it, Bates?”

“Rodney, please. This is not helping.”

“But, Teyla...”

John fought his way through the haze, but the voices became frenzied.

“The chopper's here!”

“Rodney, we should make a path. We will follow behind and ride with John and Ronon.”

No! Don't! John wanted to scream, but he couldn't think, couldn't remember anything other than some imminent threat. Time warped and stretched like a rubber band and he panicked as his lungs burned from lack of oxygen.

“Colonel! Colonel Sheppard, just breathe.”

John's eyes fluttered open to a plastic mask over his nose and mouth and the face of a stranger with almond-shaped eyes. He couldn't hear a damn thing over the roar of an engine and rotor blades that hadn't been there moments ago, and his body fought against being pinned in place.

The stranger peered over him, his words muffled, like through a tin can. “Colonel, I’m a corpsman, HMC Park. You're strapped to a backboard. You can't move. We're almost at Pendleton, where we're gonna get you fixed right up.”

John's brain had other ideas and it blew all its circuit breakers. His heart sped up on rocket fuel, slamming against his breastbone while his lungs refused to inflate, causing him to gasp wildly.

“Oh, no you don't, Colonel. I hear the Air Force has big plans for you, I'm not going to let you miss them,” the chief shouted in his ear.

“Sheppard! Stop showboating. I know you don't like listening to other people, but make an exception this time.”

Honing onto the voice scolding him, John clung to it like a lifeline, seeking the familiar owner, locking onto desperate blue eyes.

'Please,' Rodney mouthed.

John tried offering reassurance, but an elephant decided to sit on his chest.

“Pendleton. We've got a Caucasian male, early forties with multiple GSW's to the shoulder, abdomen and leg. Pulse is tachy at 134, BP sixty-five over forty and falling. Request a red line straight to the ER when we land.” The corpsman peered over him. “I'm giving you something to help with your respirations, Colonel. Stay with me.”

A few seconds later, warm fingers slipped into John's hand and he desperately returned the grip, knowing it was Teyla. He was scared and while he couldn't vocalize his fear, she just knew. Teyla pointed in the other direction and John's eyes tracked her toward Ronon strapped to a gurney next him, whole and alive, and staring back.

The big guy pushed away one of the Marines helping the medic, his lips moving, his words lost by the squall of white noise.

It didn't matter, because John didn't need his ears to know he was being told to fight.

---


“Chapter Five”