Date Published: 2017/07/02

Date Re-Edited:

Stargate: SG1 and Call Of Duty, are the sole properties of MGM and Treyarch/Infinity Ward/ Sledgehammer Games respectively. This is a work of Fiction, as well as non-profit, and thereby complies with their 'Term and Conditions' stipulated by the Companies themselves. The only thing I seek to gain with this Literary Work; is to improve my Creative Writing abilities, and if in the process someone were to enjoy what I have written…

So be it.

Chapter 3

Not If, When

"Link up! Set your radios to; five-seven-three-two-Charlie-Charlie-Delta–"

"We're five minutes out–"

"Alright! Listen up or be sorry… we are en-route to the Colorado Springs CID. A Hostile designated as Insurgent-Actual, has been sighted in an industrial area South of the CBD. Insurgent-Actual is personally responsible for the Deaths of eighteen enlisted personnel. This is not a Bag-&-Grab. We do not intend to apprehend this man. Shoot on site. Do not hesitate. Hesitation is a hole in the head. Any questions? No… good–"

"Thirty seconds out," the Pilot of the Chinook called out over the radio.

"Final weapons check," Staff Sergeant Morgan ordered as he made his way down the centre-aisle of the twin rotor helicopter… his futuristic grey and black armour stood out starkly next to the SG Teams in their black Tactical-Gear.

"Rules of Engagement…?"

Morgan didn't answer the Airmen's question, but he did turn to O'Neill for his opinion, "Colonel?"

"You're running the show Staff Sergeant," Jack replied as he adjusted the night-vision goggles perched atop his knit-wool cap.

"Fine. You see the son of a bitch you put him down. That answer your question Left-Tenant?"

"Crystal sir–"

"We're over the target, looking for an LZ–"

"Keep us in the air," Sergeant Morgan over-ruled the Pilot, as he marched back up the aisle and into the Cockpit, "anything on the Scope?"

"Nothing on the FLIR, civilian radio traffic is quiet… no contacts–"

"Keep us at two-hundred," Morgan ordered the Pilot, making his way back to the rear-ramp… he stood next to the Gunner manning the Fifty-Cal sitting on the end of it, "he's down there somewhere… now we just have to find him."

Morgan had barely finished talking, when the Co-Pilot called out, "I've got something on a civilian band, three blocks North–"

"Details?"

"Suspected Gang-Shooting. Six D-O-A's. Nine-Mike-Mike NATO Shells found on the scene–"

"Take us in," the Staff Sergeant ordered the Pilot as he did one final check on his Gear, "okay… this is how we're going to play it; I'll insert from altitude and locate the bastard. The Bird will pin the Target in place with the Fifties, while you and your men Fast-Rope in… any questions?"

"Call-Signs?" Colonel O'Neill asked flatly, from the end of the ramp next to Morgan.

"This is why I don't do Pre-Op Prep… Okay; the Bird is Raptor, SG's 1, 6 and 7 will be Raven…"

"What about you?"

"Call me Reaper…," Morgan replied coldly as he stepped off the edge of the ramp.

Colonel O'Neill watched slack jawed as Morgan plummeted to the ground, nose down. Ten feet before the ground, in a flash of smoke and fire, he spun in the air boots striking the concrete… whatever sounds from the ground were drowned out by the Twin-Rotor-Wash from the Chinook.

"I've got to get me one of those," Jack muttered with a grin, before making his way over to where Carter was sitting next to one of the side doors, "what do you have for me, Carter?"

"A live feed from Morgan's Helmet Cam," the Major replied factually, as Colonel O'Neill plonked down in the empty crash-seat next to her–

"Reaper-Actual to all Raven-Elements, no-sign of Insurgent-Actual. Switching to Thermal/Trojan," Morgan informed them calmly over the radio, as they watched him change weapons over the Video-Feed, "No-Contacts. Beginning sweep."

The atmosphere in the Chinook was tense, no-one dared speak… the only sound that filled the insulation lined bay was the thrum of the rotors, as the Chopper circled the dark dilapidated industrial area. On screen they could see Morgan on the move; checking corners, clearing rooms… first one warehouse, then the next. Room after disused room, corrugated in rusting tin and rain warped plywood.

Morgan was good…

He was quick, precise, deliberate… all the hallmarks of a Great Operator… Morgan was good, if a bit mechanical–

"I've got something," the Staff Sergeant chirped over the radio, as he kneeled down to examine a small trail of droplets that appeared luminescent through the scope of Morgan's nasty looking SMG, "Enhancing…"

A small screen popped up on the laptop, showing what looked like–

"I've got blood, its fresh…," Morgan followed the trail to the sharp corner of a nearby warehouse, he leant against it and peaked the barrel of his weapon round the corner, "I've got a trail… Reaper-Actual to all Elements converge on my location–"

"You heard the man," Colonel O'Neill snapped, jumping from his seat and making his way to the rear-ramp where an airmen was setting up the repelling gear, "get ready–"

BOOM!

The windows rattled, and they were all nearly thrown off their feet–

"Report?!" O'Neill snarled, as he hung onto a nearby support as the Chinook spun through the air, once… twice–

Then recovered.

As the Chopper stabilized, Jack staggered to his feet and over to a nearby port-hole… what he saw chilled his blood… it felt like there was ice running through his veins…

"Dear God…," Carter whispered in horror… she saw it too…

There was a dirty yellow mushroom cloud hanging over downtown Colorado.

"Make a hole. Make a hole."

"General Hammond, sir – I'm so –"

"At ease Major… at ease…"

"Thank you sir," Major Carter whispered as she collapsed back onto a small folding chair, in the corner of the Forrest Green Command Tent the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) had set up in an old High School… less than a mile from Ground-Zero.

General Hammond eased himself into a chair next to the tired Major, he sat there rubbing his right knee… his joints weren't like they used to be. Hammond sat back, watching teams of rescuers come and go… Navy, Air-Force, the Marines, Army, the Reserves… Fire Fighters, Policemen and women, Paramedics… civilian volunteers… Doctors, School Teachers, Accountants… men and women from all walks of life, drawn together in a time of tragedy… an event that General Hammond couldn't skirt around any longer.

"What happened here Major…?"

"I don't know General… I just don't know," Major Carter whispered her head in her hands, "one minute we had a lead, the next we were scrambling to get out of the contamination area–"

"Nuclear? Chemical? Biological?"

"Mercury…," a tired Carter muttered wearily, "Asbestos, Chlorine, Carbon-Monoxide, Sulphur-Dioxide… those warehouses were full General… full of raw materials, manufactured products… thousands of tons of Goods that are now either on fire, or spread across half of downtown smouldering… until all the fires are contained everyone within a hundred miles is at risk–"

"How many?"

Carter didn't answer right away… and General Hammond couldn't blame her, they'd lost more men in the last six hours than the entire SGC had lost in the last six years combined. Not that the sight before them inspired much confidence… the skies were choked with poisonous black fumes, the horizon ablaze with a hundred different hues… but the terrible beauty of the flames was not what drew their eyes downward.

No… it was the body bags… more than Hammond cared to count–

"Fifty-six…," Carter muttered at last, "and that's just the ones they've managed to recover… there's whole sections of downtown that are still on fire that we have no access too–"

"Any sign of Staff Sergeant Morgan?"

"I doubt we'll ever find anything…," Carter muttered despondently, shaking her head tiredly, "he was too close to the blast, there's nothing–"

"General Hammond… they've found a survivor," a nearby Air-Force radio-operator announced, a forest green headset dangling around his neck, "they're bringing him in now–"

"With me Major," Hammond ordered as he swept out of the Command Center towards the make-shift motor-pool set up on the schools blacktop.

There was a row of trucks being unloaded by a platoon of Army Service Personnel, lines of civilians being sent through a thorough decontamination cycle and dozens of CDC Teams wearing yellow Hazmat Gear crossing back and forth. The General in his Service-Dress and Flight-Cap stood out like a sore thumb. Hammond led the way, there was a convoy of trucks and humvees coming down the road, it didn't take a Rocket-Scientist to figure out where they needed to be to intercept this ʻsurvivorʼ.

The lead humvee rumbled passed the pair before either of them could flag it down. Hammond turned towards it to–

"General look–"

Hammond spun round, only to find–

"My God…"

It was Morgan. He was alive. His armour was scratched and covered in soot. He was battered, but alive. And he was carrying a body… a very small body.

The Staff Sergeant didn't stop to chat.

He walked right passed the General, passed Major Carter, passed the lines of silent men and women… no-one spoke, no-one made any move to stop him… you could have heard a pin drop. Morgan gently put down the small badly burnt body at the end of the long line of body bags. He crossed the… child's arms over its small emaciated chest…

"Rest now young one…

Your suffering is behind you…

Were you go now…

You must go alone…

One day we shall meet again…"

"Poetic…," Colonel O'Neill noted solemnly, General Hammond hadn't even noticed the man's approach.

"The world I come from… Religion has no place in it," Morgan muttered quietly, his battered helmet completely obscured his face, but he sounded… tired, "philosophy and self-reflection had – or at least one day will – replace unthinking fanaticism and tired old dogma… but man still needs hope, a Life after Death… and I'm rambling…"

"Take it easy Sergeant," Jack soothed by resting a calloused hand on the tired Time Travellers shoulder, "you've been through a lot–"

"I should have seen it coming–"

"No-one could have foreseen–"

"I've been fighting these bastards for over thirty years!" Morgan snarled as he ripped his scorched helmet off and threw it at the ground.

Morgan's helmet bounced and rolled to a stop more than ten feet away, but the Staff Sergeant wasn't done, "Thirty years! I've seen nearly every dirty trick in the book! Strapping bombs to children. Venting Atmo. in civilian areas. Viral bombing population centers. That IED was god-damn textbook… I should've seen it coming," Morgan muttered as he collapsed on a nearby crate… head in his hands.

Colonel O'Neill was flabbergasted… but not for the reasons one would think–

"An IED?"

"An Improvised Explosive Device–"

"I know what an IED is," O'Neill snapped flustered, "I know what a car bomb can do, this – god-damn it this wasn't an IED–"

"Carter!" Morgan growled.

"Er-yes?"

"That archaic laptop. Hand it over–"

"Now wait a minute–"

"Here," Carter simply handed the computer over without a fight.

"Primitive…," Morgan muttered irritably as he held the heavy little laptop up with one hand.

"What are you…," any protest Jack may have had died on his lips…

Images were flashing across the screen of the laptop. Far too fast for Jack or anyone else to make out… but that wasn't the most startling thing. Morgan hadn't even touched a single key–

"Here," Morgan shoved the laptop into Jacks hands, the screen had a single still on it.

"What am I looking at?"

"The last five frames from my Helmet-Cam," the Staff Sergeant replied as he scooped up the Helmet in question, the sphere-shaped camera that was mounted on the front was missing, "scroll using the arrow keys…"

Jack did as he was told. The first still showed a warehouse, with a long sixteen wheeled tanker in it. A pipe was running from the truck to a nearby drain. Morgan's M16 knock-off raised to the right of the screen, and armoured hand raised on the left. The following two were the same. The fourth frame had a flash of light near the Tanker. The final frame contained a blossoming blast… centered on the drain.

Jack handed the laptop over to the General. He didn't know what to say. All this. All this death and destruction. All of it… caused by a single Tanker–

"Oldest trick in the book," Sergeant Morgan muttered, shaking his head sadly, "and I walked right into it. pump a flammable liquid or gas into a confined system – pipes, air vents, space station, you name it… Wait fifteen minutes and light a match… explosive decompression… the girl was bait."

"You can't be serious–"

"He popped the Bangers to get the Local Departments attention, grabbed the girl to lure in first Responders… seen it before…," the Staff Sergeant muttered darkly as his eyes lingered on the growing line of body bags, "bled the girl, they murdered her on a whim, probably not the last little body I'll have to pull out of the rubble… god-damn… you know what the last thing I tried to do is? Hack the detonator… old habits die hard… bastard used a two-way radio… no tech to hack…"

"Old Habits?" Jack asked the tired Marine, doing his best to keep the man talking… lest he slip into shock.

Morgan chuckled, he actually laughed… amidst all this death, all this tragedy… he laughed.

The Staff Sergeant tapped the side of his head, while he explained, "D.N.I. – Direct Neural Interface… some eggheads at Langley cooked it up as part of Project Prometheus in 2058. I was one of the first volunteers–"

"I thought you said you came from 2153," Jack muttered incredulously, one eye on the Staff Sergeant, the other was on General Hammond who was talking on a Satellite-phone.

"I'm older than I look," Morgan chuckled… the laugh sounded hollow, and the grim smile didn't quite reach his eyes, "I was on my third heart at that point… I was a mess. The Cyber Warrior program broke me down and built me back together from the ground up… hard to tell where I end and the tech begins…"

Morgan flexed a black clad hand, clearly he saw something that they didn't… not that he said exactly what that was though.

"You gonna be okay…?"

That was Carter asking the question, she'd handed the laptop over to some FBI investigators nearby, but her attention was on the Staff Sergeant.

Morgan didn't laugh, he didn't smile, he didn't crack a joke… his next words were both concise and emotionless, "I've been involved in nearly every international conflict since the Zurich Affair in 2056. I have over a hundred years combat experience. I've seen more dead bodies than most coroners. Half of which I put in the ground myself. This… little incident barely even registers… I have seen worse – done worse… you're not ready… not for what's coming…"

"And that is…?"

"The Future…"

Whatever gravitas the situation may have had, was completely ruined by what Jack said next, "that… is the biggest crock of–"

"Colonel!"

"Sorry General–"

"There's no time for apologies," Hammond insisted, before waving over a nearby airmen, "we're needed back at the SGC, Sec-Def wants a personal debriefing in an hour–"

"We can't leave now George, they're still pulling people out of–"

"Jack! This is bigger than either of us," General Hammond insisted gesturing to the nearby tents and trucks filled with personnel and supplies, "the Feds have it all well in hand Colonel. We're needed elsewhere…"

Jack swore silently to himself, the General was right, and the Colonels ascent went pretty much unsaid, "I'll radio Teal'c, he's helping Army CID screen the survivors… we'll be ready to go in fifteen–"

"You're not ready," the Staff Sergeant snapped standing up and putting his helmet back on, "not for what's coming–"

"What other choice do we have?!"

Sergeant Morgan didn't answer the irate Colonels question, at least not directly.

He did however have a question for the Major, "tell me Major… what do you know about 3-D Printing?"

There will be no authors notes this day... Oops.

This Concludes the Arrival Arch of this Story.

My AN at the bottom of the Chapter 5 of Upon The Wings of Eagles should explain the delay, both of this Chapter and of the Vision Board.

To repeat. Story Arch 3 is now finished. Arch 4 is being written. 16 Chapters and counting.

Next Update: 2017/07/31