Author: Flaim aka Darkfalconheart

Story: You can run with us. (8/?)

Pairing: nothing as of yet, maybe John/Ronon later on

Summary: John get’s captured by the Wraith, they make him a runner.

Rating: for this chapter: 13 , may be higher in later chapters

Warnings: some violence

Status: WIP

Spoilers: Up to ‘The lost tribe’.

Wordcount: ca.4000

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, names or other various parts of the SG/SGA universe and all rights are with their respective owners. This is a work of non-profit fanfiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: I intended for much more to happen in that chapter, but some things take their time to be told. despite being terribly tired, the idea would not let go. I hope you still have some fun.

Chapter 8: The battles we chose

Blind

 in the dark dungeon's night
 So God,

please take me away from here.

(Blind Guardian: The bard’s song)

“We’ll need at least two of those ‘puddlejumpers’ if we want to get the people out of there fast.” Dietmar was nearly startled to see the change in O’Neill. Up till know he had seen the American General as a somewhat grouchy superior, a man from the field who had risen far and not always aged with grace. But right now O’Neill transformed into a man of action, decisive and with a spirit that belied his years.

“Two jumpers, Sir?” Dietmar asked, glad to focus on the problem at hand. It helped to ignore the growing dread inside him. Right here, in this moment the prospect of fighting ALIENS became very real.

“Tow will be enough, trust me, McKay’s ego is not that big.” O’Neill studied the map of the Athosian settlement on the screen before him. “We take the two jumpers through the gate, right behind us we send some explosives, let the guards at the gate believe it was an attack. The cloaked jumpers will land here and here. East and South of the village. The troops work in teams of two and three, the main objective is slipping past the enemy troops, finding the civilians and guide them back to the ships. Avoiding detection is imperative, engage the enemy only if discovered. Once a jumper is full it gets back through the gate and we send in the next one. Two teams, consisting of six men each will stage a diversion in the western woods.”

“Skirmishers.”

O’Neill nodded grimly. “One team engages the enemy, luring them towards this nice rock here, where team two has set explosives to burry our friends below an avalanche.”

“Focusing the enemy attention away from the landing points and give us a better chance to extract the population. A good plan, Sir.”

O’Neill waved it off. “Schmiedeberg – you were KSK platoon 5, specialising in ground insertion and sniper work, right?” he saw the affirmative and went on. “there are these huts close to the northern wood. We can’t land a jumper there, the forest is too dense. I need you and a team to make your way there and get the people there out.”

“Aye, Sir. This will need radio silence. Who will coordinate the rest of the teams?” Dietmar knew they needed someone to coordinate this op, someone who was level-headed and calm under pressure.

“I will.” O’Neill’s attention was already on other aspects. The preparation for the op ran like a clockwork. Time was essential, they needed to hurry.

Still, Dietmar stopped. For a moment he wondered if he had understood wrong. “Sir, is this wise. For a man of your…”

“Of my rank or my age, Captain?” O’Neill interrupted him sardonically. “We do not have remotely enough man for this operation, so we take anyone that can be spared. I know I can.”

Dietmar wasn’t sure whether he should be annoyed or rather admire the General’s decision. The man knew what he was getting himself into, he had fought battles like this before. “Aye, Sir.”

***

Rodney was cowering behind a fallen tree. His heart was hammering but he somehow manged to remain motionless. Overhead in the skies darts were shrieking, a white ray of light touched the ground, like a searching finger. Luckily it remained empty. Ever since Sheppard had been taken, Rodney dreaded the white beam, the searching hand falling down from a merciless sky. He hardly dared to look at it. Another dart shot past, circling above the woods. Rodney ducked deeper, trying hard not to shake. He had never been so afraid before. No hairbrained mission had ever scared him so much. This one year among the Athosians had taught him much about himself. He knew he was no survivor, he was no Ronon, who could laugh into the face of any number of enemies and then take them down with a shrug. He was no John Sheppard, undaunted no matter what fate decided to throw at him. Sure he had helped serving Earth time and again, but this…this here was different. Mathematics could not save him here, there was no formula to deal with the Wraith. This here needed muscles, hardness and sheer guts, three things Rodney knew he sorely lacked.

A patrol marched past him, he cowered deeper, grateful they did not see him. Running to the gate had been his idea. Teyla had mentioned the new General, Rodney was relieved to know O’Neill was in Atlantis. If he only would hurry a bit! What took the man so long? He had only barely managed to get the message out before the Wraith landed troops at the gate, and he had to run.

When the patrol was gone, Rodney moved on, away from the open clearing. The culling beam was less likely to hit, once one stayed beneath the trees. For some reasons the beam was easily obstructed by obstacles. It was a pathetic problem really, if the Wraith just were to calibrate the scanners behind it more precisely and were utilising a more sophisticated mathematic model for…. No, he was glad they did not. They could remain ignoramuses for all he cared.

He ducked beneath another bush to evade another patrol. Two Wraith drones marched past him through the forest. Inwardly Rodney praised his luck, but then he realised that they were already focused on another prey. From a hole under a tree-root emerged two small figures, running away from the Wraith as fast as they could, a taller figure followed desperately blocking the drone’s path. Banto sticks clashed with drone rifles, Rodney hardly dared to breathe. He knew all three of them: Cylin and Vali, the two children of Merean, the Athosian healer and their adopted brother Athalwyn. Rodney had taught all three during this past year.

Athalwyn dodged another attack, his foot hook made one of the drones stumble. Rodney was keenly aware, that the youth was no real match for the drones and would only buy time for his adopted brother and sister to run. Time bought with his life.

Jumping from his hideout Rodney fired his pistol, hitting the first drone in the back, the second one turned to attack him. One whirl of his long lance and Rodney’s pistol went flying into the bushes. “Oh no no…” Rodney retreated, stumbling over another tree root and landed on his but. The Wraith raised his weapon to stab Rodney, his movements froze in midair as a blue light engulfed his body. Hit by stunner he went down.

Rodeny saw Athalwyn, who had taken the stunner from the first drone and came running towards him. “Thanks.” Rodney came back to his feet. Cylin and Vali hurried back to them, Vali bringing back Rodney’s pistol. “Where do we go?”

Suddenly Rodney found himself in charge of their further escape. Cylin and Vali were looking up to him and Athalwyn… to be honest Rodney had not the faintest idea why the rough youth, who did had troubles to fit into the Athosian community, treated him with a respect bordering to admiration. It did not fit Rodney’s picture of typical teenager behaviour at all, and especially not for one that could be right down Ronon’s alley when he was older. Yet, they relied on him to find a way out of this mess. Think…. Think… he calmed himself. The Wraith were hunting guided by their sense of odour… they smelled their victims… “The swamp pit – we’ll hide there.”

The swamp pit proved every bit as the stinking hell hole Rodney remembered it from his first excursion into the marshes, months ago. Ushering Cylin and Vali to hide below a rotting tree stump, Rodney looked around. It was pitch dark around them. And it was silent, it was that eerie silence that freaked him out more than the hammering of the P-90’s ever had. Cylin and Vali stayed low and did not make the slightest noise, without any extra encouraging. There had been a time when Rodney would have been astonished about it, would have expected them to panic, to scream, to be completely unreasonable. But then, the last year had taught him a lot. Rodney had seen mothers in the Athosian camp, who taught their children to hide away the moment they could walk on their own, children learning to track and fight from earliest childhood on, children learning to be silent no matter what. Rodney could easily guess that Vali was afraid and wanted to cry, but she would not, she had learned to be silent. Her father had already taught her, that crying would give her away. His eyes met Athalwyn’s, who was crouching behind a bush. “We’re fine – there’s nobody close.” The youth whispered.

Rodney nodded, this was good news. If they were lucky, the Wraith would not come here and they could survive this culling. Staring out into the darkness again, he realised that he was kneeling in the mud, very wet mud. Shrugging he shifted a little, so he could rise easier, should they need to run again. He checked his pistol, he had five shots left and another clip in the pouch on his belt. Not much, but it had to be enough. A light sharp shot echoed through the darkness, form several hundred feet away.

Athalwyn turned to Rodney. “What was that?”

Rodney grinned. “Sniper rifle. Help is coming.”

***

“Ronon, take cover!” It took no encouraging to make the Satedan warrior obey at once. Left and right past him howled the plasmatic shots, taking down a group of Nocturnals. Their way back to the gate had been a harrowing journey, that had driven Ronon and Jircanor to the very brink of their abilities. But eventually, after attacks by whole groups of Nocturnals, a near fatal encirclement in the ravine and an exhausting climb up to the plateau, they had reached the gate. Ronon could tell by the sound of the shots that Jircanor’s gun was short of overheating. Whatever knives, throwing knives or other weapons they had had, they had run out of before they even reached the ravine. Ronon could feel the bloody gashes on his back, more than once he had turned his back to the attackers, to protect the friend he carried from further injury. Not that he cared about the gashes, they would heal, right now he cared only for getting out of here.

Jircanor had taken down the last Nocturnal in vicinity and began dialling the gate. Ronon could see him hurriedly tapping the five symbols, that were not an address but unlocked the DHD, it was too dark to tell what address his comrade was dialling, but as long as it was a safe one, they’d be fine. The wormhole flared to live, the gate was open for them. “Hold him close, it will get a little bit painful once we are through.”

Ronon did not need any more explanations, he knew what Jircanor meant. By this words he could even guess the address they were going to as one out of five possible places. Holding Sheppard close, he stepped through the portal.

Rematerializing Ronon found himself nearly shocked, that he did not feel a thing. Somewhere deep down he too expected the searing pain, bringing him down. He could see Jircanor break to his knees, head thrown back in sheer agony. Sheppard’s body was shaken by a short shudder, then went still again. Worried Ronon studied his friend. Was John already down this far, that he did not feel the pain of the field, that had blanked out his transmitter for the next some days?

Jircanor came to his feet, his breathing ragged. “Come along, I know I place where we can hide.”

Ronon nodded silently and followed him. The gate had been in a half ruined room below ground level. Yet those rooms, that had projected the field always were. Ronon had never known how it worked, in fact his time in Atlantis had brought him to the point that he understood, that a type of energy field was projected through those rooms, inferring with any kind of Wraith-tech, blanking out transmitters for a while. It was a painful process and the longer the body was connected with the transmitter the worse it got. Jircanor’s strong reaction was nothing unexpected.

Walking up a long stairwell they got out of the building and Ronon could see where they were. The ruins of a grand city stretched into any direction for miles. High up on a hill above the city he could see the ruins of a palace, still magnificent and beautiful. Broken defence towers, buildings ripped apart by explosions and streets littered with wrecks of armoured vehicles spoke of the battle that had raged here long ago. And it was long ago, there were trees growing on the ruins, and winding flowers creeping up from the cracks between the stones. Ronon knew where they were – he had been here before, if only shortly.

Jircanor led him up on one of the defence towers. The tower was less damaged than the others, the upper levels still intact. The only way up was the narrow stairs, easy to defend even against strong numbers. The room below the platform was clear of rubble or debris, and had probably been used as a camp before.

They bedded Sheppard on their blankets. He did not react in any way, his body was limb, numb and cold. His heartbeat was faint, but steady. “How is he?” Ronon knew the condition firsthand, but had never needed to diagnose it on another.

Jircanor took his small flashlight, and gently opening one of John’s eyes. The ray of light touched the iris, but was lost their, a creeping blackness covered all of Sheppard’s eyes. Jircanor sighed. “He is in deep, his eyes are all clogged up. It will clear up eventually, provided he lives.” He rose. “Keep him warm and wait here. I’ll go and get some provisions.”

Ronon gently wrapped John into the spare blankets and then, sitting down himself, he cradled Sheppard close to him. Beginning to massage John’s back through the blankets. He knew how Sheppard felt, or rather: felt not. The Nocturnal predators had taken all warmth, all warm feelings, every lively spark out of him, and left him in a black, cold nothingness that grew stronger and stronger if it was not fought off. Emotions was what they fed, warmth, everything warm attracted them to feed. Ronon knew that it was imperative to keep John as warm as possible, and let him somehow know, that he wasn’t alone in that nightmarish dark he was wandering now.

It took Jircanor more than three hours to return, night was falling and Ronon had started to worry. Even inside a building, the cool of the night air might be enough to kill John right now. Arching an eyebrow at his friend, Ronon pointed towards the two huge lamplike contraptions Jircanor had carried up the tower. “What’s that?”

“Glowlamps. They were used to keep guardposts warm on long winter watches. They shed light but radiate lots of heat. Your friend will need it.” Jircanor pushed a kind of mag into the lamp and activated it. Softly humming it sprang to live, gracing the room with a soft orange light and a comfortable warmth.

“Good. I havn’t had much success in keeping him warm.” Ronon admitted. John had not gotten colder, but he had not gotten warmer either.

Jircanor sat down. “I guessed as much. He is far too deep in, to wake from a massage, a hot bath or other simple measures.”

“So what can be done?” Ronon asked. He remembered how Cayelan had helped him out, or he remembered parts of it, and wasn’t sure if that solution was applicable here.

Jircanor rested his elbows on his knees and cast a serious glance to Ronon. “That depends on you, and a little on your friend there. I was able to locate a cryogenic storage depot that had not lost power and find some meds that might help him. Or assist in helping him. How easily does your friend fly into a rage?”

Ronon blinked irritated. “Why do you care? He won’t eat us alive for saving his life.”

Jircanor shook his head. “This was not what I meant. When I fell into a nest, as a young soldier, my captain saved me. He brought me back to consciousness with a small shot of stimulants and that put me through the hardest drill I ever had, ridiculing me every step along the way. Until I lost it, flew into a rage and halfway beat him to death. He later told me, that he had intended for me to react this way, the rage burned all the cold, the emptiness away, brought me back from the unfeeling state I was in. Hard but effective.”

Ronon shook his head. “No, John isn’t like that. He…. He internalises his pain, never talks about it, and pretends everything is fine. He puts on a brave face and lets nobody see how bad he truly is. And what your people called ‘mild stimulants’ is considered a illegal drug among nearly all nations.”

Jircanor could not help but wonder where Ronon had gotten so perceptive. The Lanteans had changed him more, than he imagined possible. “Well then,” he suggested. “we best go for the old-fashioned method. Search not for rage but for passion. In his state it will take some time to coax some reaction out of his body, but once it starts you should be right on track, and it will take care of getting him out of the unemotional state as well. Easy, nearly foolproof and blessedly drug-free.” He saw Ronon’s mien and laughed. “Don’t tell me you got all prude among the Atlantians?”

Ronon growled. Sure, the thought came dangerously close to some things he had felt… but this here was different and what mattered most: it was wrong. Not wrong in the sense of morals, but wrong for John. He had already enough done to him, without any control over it, Ronon would not add to this list needlessly. “No.” he said. “it is not me. But John’s society frowns on such things.”

“Lanteans.” Jircanor’s voice showed his disdain clearly. “They were about the worst that could happen to this galaxy.”

“It would be wrong.” Ronon said, he wanted Jircanor to understand this was nothing about any kind of bigotry. “The control about his life has been taken away from him too often already.”

Again Jircanor marvelled when Ronon had found himself growing wise. “Then, this might be the best way.” He extracted a small cylinder from his pack. The needle glittered coldly in the light.

“Drugs again.” Ronon scowled. “What is it, this time?”

“Shivastan, strong shot. It will be extremely painful for him, but get his body back to the living world. Unfortunately the side effects for the mind…”

“Don’t tell me he will turn into an unfeeling zombie, like Ulor did.”

“No, the side effects are, among others: aggression, violence, destructive impulses, extreme Alpha-male behaviour and well – he’ll be rather horny.”

“Is there no other way?” Ronon asked. It seemed that their options were limited between bad and worse. He guessed that the stuff in the cylinder was the next nasty drug, Jircanor’s people had once invented. But if worst came to worst he’d go for this way, at least John would have some decision about what he did.

Jircanor could see that Ronon was not happy with these options. It puzzled him, the Ronon he had known had taken one of the options, and run with it. Consequences be damned. “well, there is another way,” he said after a while. “But it is none I recommend. It is the mind-link. I help you to link directly with John’s mind, and you use your feelings, your rage, your compassion, all your strong memories to coax him out of the darkness. Be warned – you will be probably confronted with some of his darkest memories, with memories of things he is ashamed of. He might not appreciate you knowing what you saw. The same goes for you – you will be unable to control what he sees.”

“You actually can do this? Link our minds?” Ronon asked. Jircanor had never shown any signs of special abilities beyond those of a soldier and runner. And people who had special talents couldn’t help but to show them off.

“How do you think my people have withstood the Lanteans when they showed up here ten thousand years ago?” Jircanor asked. “Yes, I can link you and I can sever the link once this is all over. The choice is yours.”

***

The shrieking of the darts drew closer. O’Neill gestured the group of Athosians to get down between the rocks. The white rays missed them by a good fifty meters, which was fine by him. This was the second group he and Sergeant Myers led back to the jumpers. The Athosians had reverted to their ancient strategy of escaping Wraith attacks: they had scattered making it hard for the Wraith to cull them all, and making it hard for the Atlantians to save them in the process. The moment the darts were past them, O’Neill gestured the group to get up and on they went. The intervals between the darts passing by, swinging around and coming back, were short, but if used well they could make it to the jumper.

“This is team 5, another seven people at point one.” He heard Lieutenant Indriedent’s voice over the radio. So another group of Athosians had made it to the jumpers. Again he gestured the people to get down, as the darts swooped by. When they had passed he led the whole group across the small clearing on their path and they were well under the trees again, when the darts came back. They still had to be careful, to avoid being found by the footpatrols consisting of two to ten drones. Luckily those patrols had not the keen senses and avid watchfulness of the Jaffa, it was quite possible to sneak past them.

When they reached the clearing, he saw Lieutenant Indriedent and his team, consisting of Hawkings and Bates, still there. “Sir, the jumper is heading back.” The Lieutenant reported in low tones. “The other one should be here any minute.”

O’Neill nodded. It might be a hassle to wait for the jumper, but knowing that they already had gotten enough people out, to crowd two of them, was something good. The Athosians did not need instruction to cower down under the fir trees. Through his field glasses O’Neill studied the woods west of them. There were two patrols under the trees, they kept a clear pattern, but went slow. At least there was no other group of Athosians close by, so the drone’s were welcome to play hide and seek in this part of the forest…. O’Neill frowned when he saw a small movement beneath the rocks higher uphill. Maxing out the reach of his glass, he saw a small figure huddled in a crack of the crushing rocks. This couldn’t be. The charges were already set on the other side to bring it down on the Wraith troops, once they got there. O’Neill took down the glass, rubbed his eyes and the looked again. It was no hallucination, a small boy was hidden in that damned crack of the rocks. Somebody must have lifted him up and told him to crawl in the narrow rift. A hideout, but one that would be blown up sooner or later. A cold hand clenched around O’Neill’s heart. This was just a kid, hiding away from those whacked soul-feeding bastards. A kid that would get blown up if he did not get away from there, ASAP. ”Lieutenant, take Myers here, partner him with Hawkins and send them out again as soon as the jumper is in.” O’Neill ordered the astonished young man. “Same goes for you, once the jumper is there, see we get more Athosians out of here.”

“Sir, what…?”

“That’s an order, young man.”

The Lieutenant paled, but nodded. “Aye, Sir.”

Without another word Jack slipped away into the darkness. He would have to sneak past those patrols if he wanted to get to the kid. And he had not much time.