Lt. Eric Van Sickle

All I could see was the dark downed tree against the darker rock, just a dim silhouette in the rapidly deepening gloom. Placing my feet became secondary, as I stumbled more than once, not because of the lack of light, but from my mind-numbing haste. Finally I reached him, only to freeze in sudden fear. Need pushed out my hand, hot fingers groped for a pulse on his cold, death-still throat.

Time stopped, or at least for me it did. Being only marginally aware of its passing, I hung suspended within that relentless current as my brain processed the sensations my fingertips reported, then time jolted back into motion.

"He's alive," I breathed in wonder over my open mic, my fingers still gently resting on the Colonel's cold-hardened skin. Reveling in the study throb there.

He lay nearly flat on his back and just slightly on his right side; his neck exposed as his head lolled towards me, lying on the drift of sand that all but buried him. I flicked my flashlight on, planting it in the damp grains, angled to glance its beam off the canyon wall to scatter the light. The Colonel's right arm rested curled before him in a finger scooped crater, his attempt to dig out.

"Sir? Packs on the way. I tied a light to them... Sir?"

Glancing up in response to Monty's words I spotted a bobbing light above me. The effort I expended to pull away from this man who was so important to me was Herculean in stature, but I succeeded. He needed me to. I needed me to.

As the clicks of acknowledgement of my transmission sounded, I was already sprinting to the lowering supplies. I have no conscious memory of freeing the packs, of the rope being drawn up or my return to the Colonel. I was just there.

From the outside of one of the packs, I plucked off a canteen, just one of a couple tied on. None of us wanted to risk using water from the creek, who knew what death could lurk there, we had seen small corpses drifting in its current more than once. Pulling a bandanna from my vest, I wet it before softly mopping it across the unresponsive man's face. Once cleared of dirt and sand I used the pack's flashlight to study the face before me.

'Shit! Eric, just when are you going to start thinking ahead!'

In my lack of foresight I had cleaned off the dirt and sand, yes. But, I probably caused damage doing it; O'Neill's face was red and swollen with sunburn and exposure.

As red and puffy as he was, an underlying paleness prevailed where I know a healthy golden hue was the norm for this robust soldier.

Determined to prevent even the slightest discomfort from any more of my bungling I gently reached both hands up to his head, running my fingers methodically over his skull, the back of his neck, brow and anywhere else I could reach looking for injuries. I found a couple of little bumps on his head, a gash in the hairline above his right eye. A few scratches on his face and neck, not deep, but they were angry and raised. Bruising was just showing along his left jaw, visible proof of his struggle to survive.

His exposed hand and arm was also bruised, scraped and scratched. He'd a few fingernails torn off raggedly, one having bleed heavily. The rest of his body was encased in the sand. His head cleared the hard rock of the canyon wall by a few inches, explaining some of the bumps on his head. The badly battered tree loomed, probably pressing him into rock. A short ragged stub of a branch located on its trunk close to the Colonel's face appeared to have had been twisted off. If he had done that, it would explain the scratches on his face and arm. But, in that, I was speculating.

Even trapped as he was he had tried to dig himself out of drifted sand, but the angle he was pinned at precluded any success on his own. Although not from lack of trying. He needed help to accomplish that and I was that help.

Moving around to far side I began digging. It didn't take me long to discover snugged into the man's side was a truncated main side limb leading off from the tree. It had hooked him at the top of the hips dragging him along and later protected him from the current, standing between him and what ever came along. More digging revealed that he wasn't actually pinned against the canyon wall, but against a boulder between his back and the cliff wall. He must have taken a beating when the tree slammed him into the boulder. Here I ceased digging.

I needed to think about the dynamics here. Now was the time to think ahead. For once.

The tree didn't rest on the Colonel's chest; there was about two inches of sand between them. The cutoff limb, that no doubt snatched him out of the water as the tree shot past, did not touch the canyon wall or boulder, twice the span of packed sand between them. But, the Colonel was in direct contact with the boulder, which was also in direct contact with the rock wall. The tree had room to shift; the Colonel didn't have anywhere to go. And that buried limb was awful close.

Looking at the tree I wondered just how much of it was hidden in the drift of sand, the Colonel was imbedded in the very top of it. The sand might be here because of the tree, making the tree large and probably stable. Or, there could be a different, hidden reason for the sand dropping out of the current here, making the hidden part of the tree smaller and less stable.

Digging out the Colonel was not the best of ideas. I needed to dig out the tree first. And, that wasn't entirely the best idea either. Digging out the tree could drop it on the pinned man; two inches of sand would be nothing against even the visible part of the tree.

Crap!

I keyed my radio.

"Captain Ellis?"

"Here he is, Sir," squeaked out Captain Everett's voice before Monty spoke up. "Sir?"

"You might as well bed down for the night. This is going to take time and daylight," I ordered tiredly, my hope for an easy, quick solution very much beyond my reach now.

"Sir,..."

"No. It's too dark and I'll need both of you up there to help get us up that wall. You stay there. I'll be all right. Just keep the radio near, just in case."

"Yes, Sir, I'm not happy, but understood. I'll be listening. Good luck, Sir. Out."

Monty's voice was ragged with disappointment and worry, but it was safer to have them up there. With my one handed grip I would need their help getting out of this canyon, even with the winch we improvised.

At the silence, I felt an overwhelming depression descend on me. Here I was, stuck in a situation that shouted life-and-death-decision making time. Every doubt of my life loomed before me; I began to feel panicked. Closing my eyes I thought about the last time I felt like this, where I had been and most importantly who had been with me and summoning up his face I again saw the certainty in his eyes and heard the conviction of his voice. Fight back against the panic I heaved off my yoke of hopelessness. Remembering he had told me I could do this. And -- I will.

Opening my eyes, my inspiration lay broken before me, that such a strong man could come to this I felt the despair slash into me again.

'Just explain to me why you can't do this.'

What! But...

'No, buts. I believe you can do this. You are the only one who doesn't believe.'

Those remembered words put the brakes on my downward spiral faster than a bullet hitting a steel plate. He was right then and he's right now, the only thing holding me back was myself. I had to get beyond the idea that I couldn't do things. I certainly never would if I didn't at least try. Mentally I kicked myself for my own stupidity.

What should I do first? That should have been my first and only thought. Well, now was the time to begin a new way of thinking.

It was getting cold. A fire? Yes, but not yet. O'Neill had been here God only knows how long buried in cold, damp sand. I needed to start getting him warm, and my traveling companions and I had already discussed the options available to help this man with the equipment and supplies we had. Warming him would be first.

Remembering the coolness of his skin as I felt for a pulse, an idea was born. I dug out the hot packs and some of the spare clothing we'd brought. Activating the packs and wrapping them in cloth I placed them against his head and neck, packing more cloth over that to keep the heat in. The scalp is an extremely efficient radiator of heat and can be used just as well in reverse.

Kneeling back, I studied him, the tree and the canyon wall, just what their spatial relationship was. Puzzling out just where I could put the fire to warm him further. Reflector and windshield sprang to mind. I eyed the naked, battered semi-upright tree that bent back away from the canyon wall. Perfect!

First, a spar, or straight branch was needed. Finding one right off was luck; I pulled out a plastic tarp and some parachute cord, mentally thanking Captain Marie Everett for her Earth-side wilderness training. She and Captain Ellis had forced the knowledge of every trick of survival they knew or heard of on me. Their persistence was paying off. Never again would I balk in such a situation again. No one knows everything and apparently everyone knows something no one else seems to.

The straight branch became the top support between tree and canyon wall for the tarp; the tree became an upright corner support. The cord was binder and support beyond the tree; I tied that end off to a boulder. I had two walls to block the breeze and reflect the heat. I built the fire pit nearest the free standing wall, the fire's heat would be trapped between the two walls of the tarp and third wall of the canyon, leaving one open end, which I hoped would be downwind, not up.

Pulling the packs closer in, I propped them against the rock wall, well away from the now burning fire. Again drawn to the Colonel I placed the back of my hand against his cheek, I wasn't sure if he felt warmer or not. Knowing there was much to do I reluctantly left to gather wood, lots of wood. And cobbles.

It was going to be a long night.

With sizable piles of broken wood and cobbles, I tended to the fire and carefully slid a couple of stones into the edge of it; I'd need to get them back out again later. When the chemical heat packs were gone, these stones would stand in, warming the Colonel.

Already the air inside the three walled makeshift room was warmer, the surface of the sand was drying out. Crouching down next to the object of my concern I carefully felt his cheek, trying to gage his temperature. He felt warmer, this time I was sure of it.

Not knowing a great deal of first aid, just the basics as taught to every airman, I knew I would need more than basics off world and had intended on taking additional courses after settling into the SG Team I was assigned to, but then that stupid accident happened. Now Marie and Monty's words began playing in my head, deciding what I needed to do next I pinched the skin of the Colonel's forearm, it was slow to snap back into shape. Dehydration. So, getting fluids into him would be my next project.

What I was doing scared the Hell out of me, if I screwed up my newest friend would drown, or choke or God knows what. Gently I held his jaw and pulled down to open his mouth to dribble water into it, watching as his throat contracted in a rippling motion, reflexively swallowing the liquid even while he was unconscious. He needed to breathe, too much too fast would be disastrous; I had never been so careful before. His breathing was slow, shallow and regular. Letting a dozen breaths go by before I dribbled more liquid into him. My hands and arms ached, and my back was hot as the fire was behind me. The day had been physically hard; these small steady movements were practically impossible, my muscles constantly trembling with fatigue. And the canteen was slippery in my faulty grasp; I had dropped it more times than I cared to think about. Maybe I should duct tape it to my hand?

Cough.

I dropped the canteen, splashing water across the man beside me. My shock-widened eyes watched as the Colonel's eyelids fluttered, his breathing picked up and deepened and he coughed again.

"Sir, Colonel O'Neill. Are you awake?"

His eyes popped open just to slam shut again, tears squeezed out to run across side of his face headed for his ears.

'It's too bright Eric!'

I leaned over the stricken man, blocking the light and lay my good hand over his eyes.

"Sir, try again. I've covered your eyes. Open them. Please."

Lashes tickled across the palm of my hand.

"Sir, I'm going to uncover your eyes slowly. Okay?"

Something squeezed my knee, looking down I saw his hand had latched onto it. I hadn't noticed him move at all.

As I slowly lifted my hand, I leaned further over him until my face was only a hand span above his. His dark eyes sparked amber highlights in the flickering light of the fire reflecting from the flat surfaces around us. Blinking, a tear oozed down the side of his nose, I don't think he was really focusing on anything.

Picking up the canteen I brushed sand from it before offering it to him. Drinking slowing, deliberately, he knew he needed water, and knew enough to not chug it down. Relief washed through me, if he could do that, then his head must be okay, despite the bumps. He just wasn't quite all the way with me yet, was all.

He stopped drinking and was looking at me intently, focused for the first time; I pulled the canteen away. He was trying to puzzle out just who I was. He closed his eyes a couple of times and coughed.

"Eric?"

His voice was a raw, dry whisper, nothing like his normal loud could-be-heard-everywhere voice.

"Yes, Eric. How do you feel Sir?"

"Resurrected," he rasped out grimacing in pain. "Warmer."

"Good, I was beginning to worry you'd never wake up, Sir," I grinned, hoping his sight was good enough to see the expression on my face.

"I didn't think I would either," he admitted breathlessly. He tried to move a nd yelped, slamming his eyes shut.

"Sir, how badly are you hurt?"

"Not sure, feels bad."

"Where?"

"Ah... everywhere. Back is worst."

"I know you can move your free arm, what about the other one and can you feel or move your legs?"

"Toes wiggle... boots aren't crushed." Closing his eyes, he seemed to be concentrating. The sand over his left arm humped a bit and he let out a puff of breath, before saying, "Ah... can't feel or move my legs."

"Probably from being buried, Sir. If you can feel and wiggle your toes you should be all right," I was ecstatic, but the back pain still worried me. A person with a broken back could feel and move their legs, but if they were moved incorrectly that could all disappear. Forever.

"How bad is the back, Sir?"

"Bad enough to want a painkiller desperately, and it's 'Jack,' " he grated out, a ghost of a smile on his ruddy face.

"I think I can handle that... Jack. How about something to eat?"

"Yeah, that would be good. Something warm?"

"You got it, Jack."

I already had hot water and had been pouring as much as possible into the comatose Colonel, besides keeping myself supplied with tea and coffee, trying to stay awake. I could easily make some broth. Get that and some highly sugared tea into him to help replenish his reserves. Give him a shot of morphine; let him recoup during the rest of the night. Then dig that damn tree out and haul him up the canyon wall to the FRED. Yep, it was a simple, easy to achieve plan.

He took the broth and tea well. My use of the hot cobbles impressed him, giving me a wonderful feeling of accomplishment. Even in his dire condition he joked with me, telling me he had wondered why he was trussed up like an obese mummy and the cobbles explained that. I laughed. He grinned. Then I pulled out the ampoule of morphine.

"No way, lieutenant," his voice stronger than at any time since he awoke.

I was confused.

"Not that, Tylenol or Advil. No narcotics."

"But, Jack... Sir. Those aren't strong enough."

"No narcotics."

General George Hammond

Teal'c has been haunting the Stargate; every time I've turned from it he was there, standing in the shadows of the Control Room, or in the open of the Embarkation Room. There one minute, gone the next, but always present every time the Gate opened from a world that is considered safe, one that can be used as a way station to ours, for some the only way home when deprived of their GDO's or if throwing off pursuit. Even I've caught myself headed for the Gate when those worlds are due to connect, how the Jaffa knows is beyond me, it's something that I should be concerned about, but have decided that I will not be.

This time he was the last to slip through the closing blast doors, following the squad of SFs whose duty is to stand ready when the Gate connects, even if it's from our side. He stands in full sight, not in the least worried that he should not be there, centered between the SFs and the caution strips. Not looking anywhere but at the Gate, expectantly.

Feeling somewhat expectant myself I approach Sgt. Davis, he has been here for every connection, something that should be impossible with the rotation schedule I've approved. Perversely I'm grateful he has bucked the schedule. Being in charge, I can overlook such small indiscretions. We are, at times, more family than military.

Returning my attention back to the sergeant he goes through his routine once, twice, and is well into the fourth when I place a hand on his shoulder, he looks up, devastated. No words are needed; the plea is there in his eyes. We both know what comes next -- in one year.

With a snap the Gate disconnects. For the final time.

Startled I look toward the cause of the sound and encounter Teal'c's eyes, he looks right at me, I'm fairly certain I know what he wants.

Now is when a team is listed as lost and no further attempts are made to contact them. Word is put out to our allies and anyone else who might hear of them. In a year we try again, but no one has ever been found after that time.

Teal'c's gaze is insistent.

Being in charge also means on occasion I can overlook the rules, and this is the occasion I choose to overlook them. This attempt never happened. My nod answers the Jaffa's never voiced question. He performs that eloquent head bow that isn't a bow before striding after the departing SFs. Tearing my eyes from his departing back, I turn to Sgt. Davis.

"Sergeant, schedule another attempt in twelve hours. Something tells me things will be different then."

The sergeant grins shyly.

Lt. Eric Van Sickle

"Ah, Sir?" Rasped from my vest, startled I'd forgotten about Ellis and Everett above me. I keyed the radio.

"I'm here," releasing the key I waited.

"Sir, please look upstream."

Puzzled I did as Captain Everett requested, standing to peer over the strung up tarp I saw nothing. Quickly glancing down to check the Colonel I checked again for what Marie wanted me to see and I saw it.

"Shit!"

Echoed in the empty silent canyon, I hadn't even realized I had spoken in my shock.

"I take it you see the problem Sir?" Keying the radio, I answered her.

"Ah, yes. Is that what I think it is?"

"We saw lightening off to the west before dawn."

Jeez, that wasn't good news, I needed to dig the Colonel out and get him up the canyon wall now. Staring back upstream, I could see the trickle of water was already bigger, my imagination just couldn't conjure that much of a change in just a few minutes. It sunk in that I might not have any time at all. So not good!

"Marie, I need two ropes rigged and a shovel."

"Sir... Eric. Monty is already working on it." Even through the rasp of the transmission I heard her concern, her worry and her fear.

My eyes were drawn to the thread of water; to deny its existence I forced my gaze away. Brilliant amber eyes locked with mine, without thought I had looked down to check on the Colonel as I had numerous times during my conversation over the radio, but this time he was awake and appeared to be very much aware of what was going on.

"Sir, there's a problem."

He raised an eyebrow in question.

"Uh... I think the canyon is about to flood again. I have to dig you out and fast, careful is something I don't have time for. Not liking this Sir, not liking this at all," if I he were anyone else I might have giving into tears of frustration.

What I was trying to tell him was that I was literally going to jerk him out of the sand with no thought to his present injuries or any that the jerking could cause. Hoping to God that the tree would stay put. I was going to hurt him and maybe hurt him bad. It was that or watch him drown. I couldn't do that. Hurting him to get him out was going to be bad enough.

Command sucked.

***

Keying my radio, I loudly ordered the slow uptake of the ropes, the acknowledgement inaudible over the roar of the deepening water. My tether tightened, taking up the slack in preparation to lifting both of us at my signal, and to give that signal, I left the radio in send as my hands would be full.

Straining against the now short damp lease of the rope I pushed my back against the rock and planted my booted feet securely against the slippery, vibrating tree. Partially submerged as it was, the water was having an effect on it and I hoped that would help me push it away, freeing the Colonel. I pushed for all I was worth, the water was up to Colonel's neck. It was hard to conceive that it had only been twenty minutes since the water first reached him.

My thigh and calve muscles burned, my feet, even protected by boots, seem to bend around the slim and not quite pliant enough tree. As my feet were pretzel-ed so was my back, as I now only contacted the rock across my shoulder blades. Something had to give and I was afraid that it would be me rather than the tree or what ever it was stuck in.

Since the radio was in send Ellis and Everett could only listen, hearing the thrum of the water and my grunts of desperate exertion.

The only warning I had was a high pitched scream that must have come from Marie Everett as I was shoved violently sideways by a wall of water. I held my tension against the tree just long enough to feel it break free as I dropped to a sudden sharp stop just below the muddy waters. Branches scraped across my arms as I clawed in the murky sluggish current for the Colonel, feeling a real fear that the tree had taken him again. That fear died when I fleetingly struck a soft body. Then the rope around my chest bit deep as I was literally jerked into the air, losing my fragile grip on that soft body, I cried out in anger, drowned by the water I expelled with that cry. Blinded and trying desperately to clear the gritty water from my mouth, the constant roar of the moving flood echoing in the canyon was split by a human voice.

"Christ!"

That cry had been ripped from the Colonel's throat as the rope took his weight and lifted him upwards, but not quite clear of the swirling floodwaters. I cringed at the pain he must be in for him to cry out like that. Urgently I tried to move closer to him, but the same waters hampered me as I hung from my own rope next to him.

We twisted and swung above the coursing flood that ensnared our lower legs, buffeting us against the wet, cold stone of the canyon, preventing me from reaching him. All I could do was interpose my body between the Colonel and the hard rock wall that loomed way too close, an attempt that was thwarted by our violent independent motion. Chance then allowed me to snag him with my good hand and I pulled him closer, snugging his back up against my chest, using my body to shield it. His painful words are all but snatched away by the passage of the deluge.

"Lieutenant. No! Let go! Damn! Hurts like hell."

Obedience kicked in before thought and I let go like I'd touched a flame. My ill-considered move bashed me into rock wall, I steadied myself with a hand planted against slippery stone and transferred that support with the other hand and O'Neill as I shouted my concern to him.

"Sir, you'll hurt a hell of a lot more if you hit this rock."

"Ah...Shit! 'Kay. Just stay away from the back."

That idea I wasn't crazy about; it left his injured back exposed, too exposed I thought. Maybe if I could keep his back to the open canyon, it would work, until a tree happened by. Pushing and pulling I was at last face-to-face with him, carefully I wrapped my arms around him. His loud cursing was constantly punctuated with short sharp inarticulate cries when jolted too hard.

"Sir, can you wrap you arms around me and hold on."

The water had risen to my thighs; at least we were at the edge of the current, now shielded by the very tree that had held the Colonel prisoner for so long. It only seemed right somehow, it had shifted enough to release its captive, but not enough to escape itself.

"Sorry."

I lent my head down to his face, unsure of just what I had heard. His hair tickled my lips as I asked for clarification.

"I don't understand."

"Can't move 'em."

"God, Sir. I'm sorry. When did this happen?"

"Rope."

Rope? Oh... since the rope took all of his weight, probably injuring his back further. This was so not a good sign, but it was either let him drown or risk irrecoverable spinal damage. Not much of a choice. Crap, command really sucks.

Tightening my grip on the Colonel, we swung at the end of our ropes, hanging just within the grasp of the raging wall of water roaring past us. O'Neill's face rested tiredly in the hollow of my throat; I could feel his body's uncontrollable trembling and hear his soft panting. Panting that was probably his instinctual attempt to control the pain. Again I regretted having not pushed the idea of him taking the morphine. He was in a lot of pain. You couldn't miss that; he was very vocal about it, cursing and muttering. As I adjusted my grip on him, I felt another sign of his agony. His body was rigid. And I knew that wasn't good, tensing up just makes the pain worse.

"Sir, you need to relax. I know it's hard, but you're just aggravating the problem tensing up. Please."

"Try'n ta. 'fraid I might... pass out."

"That wouldn't be such a bad idea, Sir," I lamely joked.

"In your hands," he sighed, his breath warming my neck.

And with that odd phrase his whole body suddenly slackened, I quickly reached up to prevent his head from falling backwards as he slipped down an inch or two. What the hell just happened? I checked for all the vital signs I could. What I found was relieving. Then his last words sunk in. He was putting his life in my hands. Literally. Shit!

He trusted me with his life.

I wrapped my body around his as much as I could and nearly wept at him giving me such a gift, and burden.

Captain Isiah Cochran

Hot. I'm damned hot. Something heavy and warm is lying across my lap. But that wasn't what woke me; it was the fricking whimpering that dredged me up from my restless and uncomfortable slumber, slumber my foot, it nothing more than a drunken stupor. I musta really tied one on last night. Crap! My fingers slipped through the dampness of drool smeared down my shirt. Yuck!

Squinting into the darkness, light seeped from under a door across from me, making me wonder just where here is. Shit, my head hurts, hurts just bad enough to want to close my eyes against that smidgen of light. Where the hell am I? Hotel?

Oh, yeah back to what woke me, the whimpering. Not from me, of that I was sure. My hands rested on the weight over my lap, it was a warm, sweaty weight. There was soft hair tangled in my left hand and the other was exploring. Hmm... nice skin. Who had I gotten lucky with? Pleasant erotic thoughts drifted hazily through the remnants of my drink gutted brain. Oh, that delicious skin, I must have gotten really, really lucky.

Under my questing fingers a neck throbbed with life, slow and steady, tracing down and over a firm shoulder my fingers stop at a very nice clavicle. My swelling interest had me squirming; I was getting just a little excited here. Whoa boy, she's not even awake and I don't remember us being properly introduced, but if we had, and this was the result, I'd pretend that we hadn't. Just to go through the process again.

Relishing that pleasant stirring down south I allowed my fingers to continue over that delicious clavicle to encounter the softest, springy carpet of hair I'd ever felt, then I found a nub of a nipple. Escalation. Down boy! Gently I indulged in a sensual tracing of the outer edge of the found object... Oooh, that's nice, ah... it's kinda... flat. Hmmm... a flat nipple, on a flat... breast? And it's kinda of large...

Spreading my fingers over the mound in question I feel its hardness... flat... hard... breast? Covered... in hair? Now... why does this sound really, really familiar...

With a snap, I lifted my fingers, straight up, trapping them under clothing. Damn, I couldn't get away fast enough! Simultaneously another part of me swiftly shrunk and sought to hide. And of course then a moan issued for the form holding me prisoner on the rather hard narrow bed. Bed! Shit, a bed that felt very much like a bunk, boot camp teaches you to never forget that feel. Quickly squashing my real need to stand and drop this rather unusual date to the floor -- at least I assumed there was a floor, too damned dark to tell for sure -- I decided that move might draw attention to my uninvited body exploration and I still had my hand in a bad place. I certainly didn't want to wake my bed companion. Yet!

My stupid left hand had all this time been absently stroking hair, ah... short hair. God, this is not good! I've been with some women with short hair, but this was really, really short in all the wrong places. Not to mention the, ah... rather manly chest.

Crap!

MacKenzie.

Lights exploded in my head as it all came crashing back to me. Me. MacKenzie. My Christmas gifts. And then the SFs. Shit!

Oh, I was so in trouble, especially if the Bird Colonel woke up with my hand down his shirt like this. And then, there was the other stuff.

Like engaging in an unofficial investigation, detaining civilians without sanction. Actually, well... Teal'c did that. But I bet my butt is gonna be kicked for it. Then, I'm taken into custody while intoxicated on base, even worse, taken into custody while in a compromising position with a fellow male officer. A superior officer!

This may be a 'don't tell, don't ask' man's, ah... person's Air Force, but how do you explain THAT!

Well, if I withdraw my hand from the inside of the Doc's shirt that would help a heap. Gods know who might show up now.

Slowly, and sweating out the eternity it took to accomplish, I pulled my hand away, wiping it across my own saliva dampened shirt to loosen the man cooties. Hey! That's what my sister called 'em. But I must admit she was eight and I was five when she did. But doing it did seem to help, never underestimate a female, even if she's only eight and your sister.

How am I gonna explain this mess?

Well, you see, Sir, General Hammond, Sir. Our resident psychiatrist gets really friendly when he's drunk. Oh, and why was he drunk? Cause he liked the taste?

Yeah, my ass is grass. And I'm not talking Mary Jane either. We are talking mulched, shredded and turned under. That kinda grass. I'm history.

My mom is gonna be so disappointed. My dad is gonna be disappointed, my sisters, my brothers, my cousins, my aunts, my uncles, godmothers, godfathers. Well -- huff -- actually the populations of about five states would cover just the immediate family. That's a lot of disappointment.

But the poor Bird Colonel, he has only himself and his mother. And from what he says she will always be disappointed with him. Poor guy. Reminds me of my nephew Morrie.

My sis got mixed up with a wise guy, a professor of mathematics from Boston. A real cold fish, but there was something about him sis had to have. The fish didn't want the kid around, so he'd been fostered off on anyone she could convince to take him, until Grams caught wind of it. You've heard of the Godfather? She's the Godfather's Godmother. Ya cross her and the whole horse winds up in your bed, not just the head. Morrie lives with her now, my sis is not allowed to visit with him alone. He's doing good, but it had been bad in the beginning. MacKenzie's childhood sounded a lot like Morrie's. I like Morrie a lot.

Crap, I'm still finger combing the guy's hair, what's with that!

He had told me a lot of stuff, stuff that would allow me to own him if I wanted to, but I don't want that. I feel sorry for the schmuck. He tries so hard, but he really doesn't know what he's doing, that I'd noticed right off, he hasn't a clue. Not a clue. Poor guy.

The lights flicked on, blinding me. Through the tears I could make out General Hammond standing in the doorway, he had a funny look on his face. I would too, if I saw me doing what I'm doing. He closes the door and firms up his face, he's in command mode now and I'm gonna get my butt kicked.

Firmly up my own expression I realize I don't give a shit what this may look like. We're two guys that have just survived a brush with death. I look 'em straight in the eye and dared him to do his worst.

Crap! Am I nuts or something!

Lt. Eric Van Sickle

Voices. Actually I was hearing shouts that echoed across the canyon, nearly drowned by the thundering floodwaters.

Shit! The radio.

Loosening a hand from my precious cargo I keyed it, a crowd of incoherent voices poured out. Keying send a few times I alerted them that I was trying to answer. Silence. Ellis' voice squeaked out.

"Sir, are you all right?"

"Would you be, if you were hanging at the end of your rope?" I wise-assed back at him and was rewarded with a chuckle over the radio. My words were the only way I could think of to give reassurance and get their attention. "Get me the hell out of here."

"Yes Sir. How's the Colonel?"

"Not good, hurry," I spoke loudly. Making certain they could hear me. My eye followed the ropes upward, where they hung from the lip of the canyon above me. It was up to them now.

'Hurry' turned out to be a slow inching along the rock wall, bouncing off of and thudding painfully against the rough stone at each inch of gain. How could it look so smooth and feel so craggy? The rope and ourselves caught at every protrusion along the journey upwards, and from my personal experience there was no 'evenness' anywhere on that smooth stone. My arms ached from the constant fending off of the overly affectionate rock. My legs burned as I attempted to walk that vertical distance. My every move had a purpose and that was to protect the life that hung next to me.

The slow vertical journey was nearing an end, only a couple of dozen feet above my head was a face, the grinning face of Captain Marie Everett as she motioned to her unseen partner, Captain Monty Everett. Between the two of them they had coordinated my sudden elevation while I concentrated on protecting my helpless commander and friend. I was nothing more than a breathing shock absorber, a task I wouldn't trade for the world.

Crap!

How was I going to get the Colonel over the lip of the canyon? You forgot Eric, you are supposed to be thinking ahead, remember. He has a back injury; bending, pushing and yanking him is not going to help him at all. Just having him hanging like he is has got to be really bad.

Looking up see something above me. What?

Off to the side Marie is waving her arms, suddenly just a sharp silhouette against the bright sky.

"Radio," echoed loudly, drowning out the roaring of near desperation in my ears. Shit! Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Reaching up I encouraged my fatigued brain into motion, released the radio from open send, and clicked three times to indicate a clear channel.

"Sir, Monty is going to send the Stokes down to you. He thinks that you can maneuver the Colonel into it making it safer to haul him up over the edge up here."

How I ever survived without such smart people around me, I'll never know. They had been thinking all along. This never occurred to me at all, but at its suggestion it was obvious, and simple.

"Understood. I let you know when to stop lowering it."

The Stokes basket inched down the wall from above and I radioed a stop when it was even with the Colonel and I.

"Sir, do you know what you need to do," radioed Captain Ellis.

"Yeah, Monty. I have a good idea. Remind me to give you a raise," I hear his chuckle as he acknowledged my reply.

Flipping to place my back against the chill rock, I pulled the mesh metal basket closer to my left side. I intended to swing it over my body and capture O'Neill's with it. He hung facing the stone, resting against it unconscious. Undoing its straps I heaved it over, manhandling it to gently rest against the injured man's back, neatly caging him against the canyon wall. Reaching an arm carefully passed his waist I groped for the first of many straps and pulled it between his body and the wall to join it with its mate on my side. Tightening it just enough to take out any gross slack, as I did not intend to fully tighten it until I had all the straps joined.

I felt as if all the skin of my knuckles had been scraped off onto that unyielding rock face after getting all the straps mated. Dashing sweat from my eyes I began to pull each strap fully tight; thankful that the minimal padding on the inside of the basket was somehow attached firmly enough to not cause problems. After a seeming eternity, I had the Colonel securely strapped into the rescue basket.

My last task was to flip the basket back over, with a heavy body in it that was not going to be easy. I had laboriously untied the rope from around the Colonel after the basket's straps supported him, so that would not be a hindrance, yanking and then pushing it out of my way. But the two ropes supporting the basket would be a problem as they crossed my support rope. Unless...

Reaching over I started to tie the now free rope to me. I struggled mightily with the knot, my maimed hand a bigger hurdle hanging here in the air than down below in the sand. Time and again, I failed; I had to let it happen. Let it happen. Sheer will power prevailed. Suddenly I found myself securely tethered. Now I needed to untie the other. Finding myself in another struggle with my disability I snapped, to hell with it, I released my knife from my hip sheath and sawed at the rope until it parted, I painfully jolted as the new rope took my weight and my radio erupted into alarmed voices.

"ERIC!"

Captain Monty Ellis' panicked voice roared from the radio at my shoulder; I winced at the volume. And am astounded by the echo of the shout that traveled the old fashioned way from the edge above me.

"Ah, sorry. I'm just switching ropes."

"Crap, Sir. I nearly released that one, to switch in one of the basket's ropes to its place."

Anger. I definitely heard anger.

Silently I allowed the man to lecture me until that anger died, better that than me I guess. And it would have been well deserved, I had to remember that I wasn't alone here, I had three lives dependant on me and mine on them. Apprising them of my intentions was my responsibility and I'd shirked that. My actions risked the precious gift that I was placing life and limb on the very limits of my abilities to save through my own stupidity.

Banging my forehead against the punishing rock a few times I breathed deeply, admonishing myself for my failure and promised the universe that I would try to do better, praying that somehow I was granted a modicum of wisdom for future use. Then I realized there was silence, as much silence as can be had while hanging over a noisy force of nature.

"Monty."

"Sir." The word was clipped. The anger lived.

"Forgive me, what I did was stupid and you are absolutely right," dragging in a ragged breath I continued. "I'm sorry."

"Get your ass in gear and think next time... ah, Sir!"

Couldn't help but wonder how confusing it must be to have an untried lieutenant as a superior when you're a seasoned captain. Would Colonel O'Neill ask those under my command for evaluations on my performance? He'd be nuts not to and I'm not so sure I'd come out smelling like a rose, dead meat more than likely.

[see Chapter Thirteen]