Stargate Atlantis: The Chosen (Stargate Atlantis)

by Whitelaw, Sonny

  “Why keep repairing the wall now that we know the oil’s coming?” asked Ford.

  “Given the fact that they’ve had weeks to check the place out, the Wraith must have known that they could just walk into the Citadel once they crossed the Channel.” He pulled his jacket back on. Even away from the wind, the night air was cold.

  Nodding, Ford said, “I got it. You want the Wraith to think the Dalerans are trying to rebuild the wall before they hit.” His grin turned into a grimace. “McKay’ll hold this over our heads for weeks. We’ll never hear the end of it.”

  That triggered a query in John’s mind, and he scanned the area. “Yeah, where is Rodney? If the oil has reached North Bridge, he should have been back from Nemst by now.”

  “Maybe he’s at the Command Center.” Ford also pulled on his jacket and cap.

  This whole situation contained far too many ‘maybes’ for John’s taste. He snatched up his P-90. “C’mon. McKay wouldn’t have wasted any time treating us to a full color commentary.”

  They jogged along the alleys and into the now-deserted Sanctuary Hall that serviced this side of the city. Instead of the usual clutter, a wide path stretched from the transport to the entrance in order to facilitate the ongoing evacuations from outlying villages. John had ordered any incoming evacuees to move into safer sections of the city. If the Wraith breached the eastern wall, he didn’t want them supplied with a marketplace full of defenseless MREs.

  Using the lights on their P-90s to show the way, they failed to notice a bunch of goons lurking in the shadows until it was too late.

  “Wraithcraft!” cried half a dozen voices. “Kill them. Their evil lamps will surely bring the Wraith upon us!”

  John could see Ford roll his eyes through the dim light. In a truly bizarre way, this situation was starting to feel almost routine. Unfortunately, that didn’t make it any less deadly.

  Instead of his P-90, it was the transport doors opening that managed to scatter their attackers. Yann and Ushat stepped out ahead of a bunch of refugees. “What’s it like out there?” John said, taking the two men aside.

  “While there is much desperation, there is also much hope,” replied the warrior. “With each new group we pass around several of the Shields. Always, there is at least one among them who is a Gene.” He looked past John’s shoulder to a teenage kid who was lingering near the entrance of the transport and gestured for the boy to join them. “This is Peryn. He comes from a village near Quickweed Lake. He will go with Yann to help transport the others from nearby villages, while I—”

  “Will come with Ford and me to find McKay.” John nodded for Yann to leave with the boy.

  Ushat’s eyes narrowed. “He has not yet returned from Nemst?”

  Behind the warrior, the transport doors closed. “No.”

  “You have not heard from the bugler who was—?”

  Ushat was interrupted by an arriving warrior. “Word from Nemst. The Gene who was with them, the one called McKay.” He glanced at John, who was already feeling the clench in his gut. “His Shield was lost in the river. Wraithlight came and took all as they ran for the transport.”

  The clench locked tight and twisted mercilessly.

  “The bugler survived,” Ford blurted. “Maybe McKay—”

  “The bugler’s signal cut off mid-tone.” Ushat turned to the warrior. “Call North Bridge and ask what they have seen of Black Hill.”

  John went to follow them outside when the transport lights came on again. The doors folded back and Teyla stepped out. “The first platoons of warriors and recruit fighters are ready to take their place at the eastern wall,” she reported. Even in the darkness of the Hall, she must have sensed the tension, because she added, “What is it?”

  “McKay’s missing,” he said shortly, heading outside to the sounds of the distant horn. He might not have understood the notes, but to his ears, they sounded bad.

  Ushat turned to him and grasped his arm. “I am sorry for your loss, my friend. Wraithlight crosses Nemst and Black Hill unchecked.”

  Everything inside of John demanded that he go back to Nemst and check for himself, but if the Wraith had taken Rodney, going anywhere wasn’t going to achieve a damned thing. He looked up at the stars, but they offered no insight, no visual cues to the undoubted presence of the hive ships. Damn you, McKay, for getting yourself taken. The stars began to wink out in that last darkness before the dawn.

  “Major, it is time for us to leave.”

  John heard the sadness in Teyla’s voice, as subtle as the gentle grasp of her fingers on his arm. He couldn’t see her eyes, and there didn’t seem to be a hell of a lot he could say, so he opted for reaffirming the next phase of the plan. “Yann and I will transport to the village near Quickweed Lake the moment we set fire to the river. There’s enough oil here to keep the flames going for hours.” He turned to head back down to the wall. “McKay did a good job.”

  Teyla’s words followed him. “He did indeed, Major Sheppard.”

  Early morning mist blanketed the landscape. In the distance, Aiden could see the mountain peaks, lit by the sun still beyond his view, periodically appearing and disappearing behind fast-moving clouds. Although the air on the ground was still, the upper winds were blowing directly from the mountains.

  Aiden wished the sun would slow down. The oil had reached the dam at the far end of the Citadel, which meant the entire South Channel was now flooded with the stuff. But it wasn’t thick enough yet to overflow the eastern bank. Still, the low mist had some definite visibility benefits. No one could see the water until practically on top of it. That meant that the attacking Wraith wouldn’t be able to spot the oil until it was too late.

  Movement caught his attention from the treeline, a few miles out. It looked like the entire forest was in motion. A gust of wind blew the distant mist aside, and gasps of horror erupted all around him.

  Too well trained to succumb to unwanted emotions, like dread, Aiden nevertheless silently agreed with the reaction. He gripped his weapon, knowing it would be next to useless. At best, he could maybe slow down a few of the enemy before the nets were employed. And the Wraith lined up in the distance didn’t look like they would be slowed down by much.

  Sheppard appeared beside him, scanning the field with a practiced gaze. “Lieutenant.” His voice was cool, professional.

  At the start of the Atlantis expedition, Aiden had mostly seen the laid-back side of the Major, which had borne out Colonel Sumner’s initial impressions of the man. It hadn’t taken long for the combat-veteran side to make itself known, from that first rescue mission to the Wraith world up through the recent Genii assault. It was that side that Aiden found himself addressing now. “There’s got to be a couple of thousand of them out there, sir.”

  “I guess we’re going to have ourselves a bigger barbeque than I expected.”

  The distant mist cleared again, and this time, it stayed clear. Aiden offered a feeble grin. “This is about the point when I start hoping for the wizard guy, Gandalf, to show up. Preferably with an artillery unit in tow.”

  “I’d go with you on the artillery, but given a choice, I’d rather have McKay be the one riding in on a white horse.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past him, sir. You know what they say about pennies.”

  “Or Loonies.” The bleak smile that crossed the Major’s face was one Aiden had seen before. Almost without exception, officers who’d lost people under their command acted as though they’d lost a piece of themselves.

  Maybe he hadn’t always seen eye to eye with the scientist, but McKay had been part of Aiden’s team. To a Marine, that meant more than anything. But there wasn’t time to dwell on loss. They all had to focus on the battle to come.

  Down on the wall, one of the engineers was motioning frantically. If he was aiming to convince the Wraith that they were desperate, it was overkill. Men and women, even kids, had spent the night building piles of black rocks against one another, but they’d hardly raised the stru
cture above chest level.

  Using his binoculars to check out what the engineer was signaling, Aiden scanned the forest. The nightmare army had begun to advance. Behind the first ranks, more Wraith appeared carrying what looked like—

  “Fording bridges,” muttered the Major. “I was hoping they’d use logs. Assuming those aren’t made of flammable material, we’ll have to ignite the oil before they breach the channel.”

  A series of notes from a horn, this time from the east, sounded. “The signal comes from the dam,” explained the warrior with them. “They shut the sluice gates, forcing the water level in the channel to rise. Blackwater has begun to flow into the eastern fields.”

  “How long before it spreads?” Aiden asked him.

  One of the nearby men replied, “The fields have been sown with a grain that grows in water from the spring floods. Depending on the speed of the flow, the oil should cover the fields in perhaps two to three hours.”

  The Major lifted his binoculars. Aiden had already noted that the attacking force had split into three broad columns. Planning their assault on multiple fronts was undoubtedly the time-tested method of triggering panic amongst the population of the Citadel. “At the rate the Wraith are moving, it’ll take them at least an hour to get here.”

  As predicted, it took just over an hour for the first of the attacking force to arrive. The mist hadn’t quite burned off the low-lying eastern fields, possibly because some of them were still partially flooded with water. Rice paddies, by the look of them. From what John could tell, no Wraith remained in the forest beyond.

  “Give the order,” he told the warrior with the horn. “Get everyone who doesn’t have chest armor to fall back behind the first group with nets.” It was a simple enough strategy, and one John had reminded them all, whether they needed to hear it or not. The Wraith weren’t out to kill or injure them. They wanted their food alive and healthy. That probably wouldn’t prevent them from feeding on the run—unless they were obliged to stop and figure out how to peel off the body armor.

  On that score, he’d reluctantly agreed to allow a couple of Wraith bridges to ford the channel before setting the oil alight. If the enemy had been human, John would have never succumbed to the demands for revenge, but the Dalerans would not take no for an answer. They wanted, needed to confront the Wraith directly. It wasn’t his place to deny them that. Besides, in all likelihood such a confrontation would better prepare them to stand their ground in the planned ambush to follow.

  A warning note from the horns signaled everyone up and down the wall. John didn’t need it because he could see for himself. “Crap.”

  The Wraith weren’t going to risk floating the bridges across the narrow channel. They had stopped at the riverbank, and were now lifting the broad planks of what appeared to be a lightweight composite material, until they stood vertical.

  “They’re going to drop them all at once!” Aiden declared.

  On second thought, may be that wasn’t such a bad thing. “The oil has a low ignition temperature,” John said. “And it’s thick enough to sustain a continuous blaze.”

  “How come you know this sort of stuff, sir?”

  “I tried one of their oil lamps. And I’ve seen one or two oil fires before.” Turning to the warrior with them, John said, “Give the order: everyone except the torchbearers to fall back as far as the first buildings. The moment the bridges are lowered, drop the torches, then get the hell out of there.”

  The sound echoed up and down the wall. Some of the Wraith, stonily silent on the far side of the channel until now, began pointing to the water. Others further back were lifting their feet and examining them.

  The familiar tension heightened John’s senses. He could feel their uncertainty. On one level, it didn’t matter whether the Wraith realized what was going on and chose to withdraw before the oil was ignited. They were an enemy that, at least for the moment, couldn’t be defeated outright. His entire strategy, like that of Dalera, was purely defensive. The idea was to make capturing their prey so unpleasant that they gave up and went elsewhere. But it was that ‘elsewhere’ that had John hoping they would indeed attack. The more Wraith died here, this morning, on this rock, the fewer could continue culling on some other planet.

  During the momentary pause, John gave the order to drop the torches. As luck would have it, the horns blew at almost the exact moment as the bridges began falling into place. Then came a roar like the afterburner of a jet engine. A blast of heat followed in its wake. The horns transmitted the second ‘fall back’ signal along the wall. A blanket of black smoke began to billow toward them, then lifted high enough for the wind to send it up back across the eastern fields. Within minutes, the thick, choking smoke had obliterated their view.

  John decided in that moment that fighting blind was actually worse than flying blind. When flying blind, he at least had instruments for reference.

  Despite the overwhelming heat, a reasonable number of Wraith were managing to cross the bridges, but disoriented by smoke and batting at themselves to put out the flames, they were surprisingly easy quarry for the nets. Well, something was going right for them. John didn’t dare count on things staying that way.

  Along with Ford and a large contingent of warriors and Daleran fighters, John made his way through the increasingly dense smoke to the transport in the Sanctuary Hall. Pleased to see that the Hall was still empty, he ignored the sounds of heavy axes and shouts of victory coming from the direction of the wall. Their biggest test was yet to come.

  “Hurry!” Yann called, running in ahead of a contingent of fighters. “To the transport.”

  Another series of notes erupted from the horn. Before leaving, Ushat had sorted the combatants into two groups. The best runners and most skilled net throwers would now join him and Teyla’s group preparing the ambush outside the Citadel off North Bridge. Those better armed and armored for close combat would remain here to defend against any further Wraith capable of making it across the eastern wall.

  Yann piled into the transport behind Ford. It quickly filled with sweating bodies, along with the sound of clanking swords against metal breastplates, panting, and complaints from some that they had not yet managed to personally vanquish a Wraith. The fighters’ demeanor was a far cry from that of the special-forces troops with whom John had often worked back on Earth. Those men had been skillful and silent. These, not so much. Fortunately, that was exactly the effect they were going for in order to lure the Wraith into the trap.

  “Don’t worry,” John told them when the doors closed. “You’ll get your chance soon enough.”

  The transport opened inside the now-familiar Sanctuary Hall where they’d first arrived. John stepped out, with Ford, two buglers and five warriors behind him. “Take everyone else and report to Teyla and Ushat,” he ordered Yann.

  A few of the Dalerans looked at him suspiciously. “You are not coming?” Yann said.

  “After I see what the Wraith are doing.”

  Many of them remained uncertain. John was the last person to quibble about people blindly accepting orders. “We’ve been lucky so far; everything’s gone according to plan,” he called. “That’s not necessarily going to keep happening, which is why it’s important for you to follow my instructions. If the Wraith fall back due east, we’ll need to get everyone inside the Citadel pronto, because they’re likely to regroup before attacking from a different direction.”

  Pointing outside, he added, “Next to the Enclave, this is the highest point in the Citadel. It ought to take the first group of Wraith around forty-five minutes to make its way north to where Teyla and Ushat have set up the ambush. It’ll take you about thirty minutes to reach them from the village behind. Buglers have been sent to every Station around the Citadel to signal any change in movement, but right now, I need to eyeball what’s going on.” He smiled grimly. “Save me a Wraith.”

  “If you see Lisera,” Yann called to Ford, “tell her my thoughts are with her.” He stabbed at t
he panel and the transport doors closed.

  Outside, tendrils of oily smoke were blowing up the eastern side of the Citadel. It was already higher than the uppermost level of the Station. “Oh, man,” Ford groaned. “The westerly wind’s dying down.”

  “No, I don’t think so.” John studied the clouds. Heading east at about fifteen knots, he estimated. “The heat’s creating upward vortices.” Still, that wasn’t going to help him see any better. “The view should be better from the top of Black Hill.”

  Ford shot him a knowing look. “Maybe we could scout around for McKay while we’re there.”

  Except that he’d also given his word to Teyla, Yann, and Ushat. He’d split the difference. Twenty minutes looking around Black Hill, and then he’d double-time it from the transport to the ambush site, which should still get him there well ahead of the Wraith. “Okay, let’s go check out Black Hill.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  When the mist parted, the echoes of a thousand feet reverberating through the ground resolved itself into a dreaded truth. From her post in one of the trees, Teyla bit back a gasp. Never before had she seen such a vast horde of Wraith.

  The sense of loathing and terror that rippled through those perched with her in the branches was as tangible as the chill bite of the morning air. And yet, the mere fact that the Wraith had been forced to march on the Citadel gave Teyla a measure of satisfaction that she had never before known.

  Many stories from her childhood, and the drawings in the caves where her people had taken refuge, all spoke of the same thing. The Wraith came in their great ships, shredded the lives of generation after generation, and there was little anyone could do but run and hope that enough would survive to go on. But in her heart, Teyla had never accepted that this was truly the destiny of her people. Somewhere, somehow, the Wraith could be defeated.