Jo Graham - Homecoming

“Yes, sir,” Diaz said, and a corporal repeated the order on the unit’s combat frequency.

“Do we still control the gate field?”

“Not really. We’re holding our positions, but — we had to pull back into cover, and we can’t get to the DHD.” Diaz peeked through the periscope again, and Sheppard moved to join him, peering carefully through the empty window frame. The binoculars gave him a skewed view of the gate field, the gate itself shimmering blue — the Wraith were holding the connection, standard practice, and even as he watched another string of Darts shot from the gate like bullets from a gun. Three of them pulled straight up, wheeling to make a pass at the field, and Diaz gave him an anguished glance.

“Permission to join them, Colonel?”

“Go.” Sheppard bit his lip, wanting to go with him, wanting to shoot back, and tightened his hands on the binoculars instead. There was another burst of fire, this from the the Genii, and a Dart pitched over, tumbling past the gate to land in the woods beyond the field. He took a deep breath, trying to get the picture straight in his mind — the Wraith here, at the gate, Marines and Genii and Levannans each in their positions, ready to spring Valless’s trap — and ducked again at an explosion close at hand.

“Dart down in the city,” Ronon said.

Sheppard touched his earpiece. “Teyla. Report.”

“I am at the Institute with Rodney.” Her answer was instantaneous, and in spite of everything Sheppard gave a sigh of relief. “We have seen two Darts crash in the city, but there are no fires yet. They are still avoiding the balloons.”

“Good.” Sheppard leveled the binoculars again. Not much longer, he thought. The Wraith weren’t going to keep sending Darts to Cull—

The gate shimmered again, releasing another flight of Darts, and behind them rolled four, no, five metal spheres that crackled with blue lightning.

“Diaz!”

The radio was filled with shouts of warning, and the spheres blew with a rippling crack, a force field sheeting like a hammer across the open space. Behind them came the drones, weapons lowered, energy already crackling from the staffs, and Sheppard touched his earpiece again. “Diaz, Culpepper, fall back. Fall back to position B.”

“Culpepper’s down, sir. This is Morgan.” A pause. “Falling back.”

“Roger that,” Sheppard said.

“We can hold them here,” a Genii voice protested, from Ronon’s radio, and Sheppard grabbed the microphone from the Satedan’s hand.

“That was not the plan. We’re not trying to hold the gate. Fall back!”

“Sir—”

“Fall back,” Sheppard said again, and put the mic aside. “Ronon, make sure they do it.”

He leaned back against the wall as the first of the Marines tumbled in, lifted his P90 to provide cover if they needed it. So far, it was all going according to plan—

“Colonel Sheppard,” Teyla said. “The Wraith have decided the balloons are not a threat. They are trying to cut them loose.”

“Damn it,” Sheppard said, under his breath, added, more loudly, “Roger that.” He stepped to the window again just in time to see a Dart sweep past, the rags of a balloon shredding from nose and wing. Even as he recognized it, the fabric fell free, and the Dart wheeled upward, scrambling for height. Sheppard fired at it, saw a tracer round ping home against the underbelly, but the Dart was gone again before he could get a decent aim.

He touched his earpiece again, adjusting channels. “General Valless! We’re losing air cover.”

“We see it.” Valless’s voice was surprisingly calm. “Colonel, I believe — yes, they are dropping drones behind our position. I’m sending Laecat’s men to meet them. Be ready.”

Where there was one, there would be more. Sheppard caught his lower lip in his teeth, wishing he knew the city better — but then, the Wraith didn’t know it, either. Nobody had that advantage here except the Levannans. He hit his own command frequency again. “We are commencing plan B. I repeat, we are now in Plan B.”

Ronon grinned at him over the radio, across a room suddenly full of noise and Marines. One of the older sergeants had things in hand, doling out ammunition with one hand, pointing for a corpsman to deal with wounded with the other, and Sheppard took a breath. The Wraith would be dropping more drones, trying to take them from both sides; Valless and the Satedans were waiting for that, and his job was to get his own people and the Genii to the hot spots, where their superior firepower would have the greatest effect—

“Landing in grid A5,” Ronon reported. His voice carried easily over the noise. “And grid J7, grid C6, and C5.”

“Ignore J7.” That was Valless’ voice, sharp and strong even in the unfamiliar medium. “That’s a decoy, they’re trying to draw us out. Colonel Sheppard, General Kolbyr has grid C5, please move up in support. Colonel Faber, please support General Chacier in grid A5.”

“Roger that,” Sheppard said. The Science Institute was in grid C3, and he was guiltily glad they’d been assigned that direction. “Diaz, Cul — Morgan, each of you take a squad. Third squad’s with me. Ronon, you have the reserve.”

He’d expected at least a token protest at that, but the Satedan just nodded.

“Right,” Sheppard said. “Move out.”

They left in staggered waves, first Diaz, then Morgan, and finally Sheppard, dodging through the narrow streets. It was easy to figure out where the Wraith were to start with: follow the sound of the Levannan muskets, a roll of fire punctuated by deeper booms that Sheppard guessed were the pepper pots. The Darts screamed overhead, forcing them to stay close to the walls and out of sight. There were a few balloons still flying, and Sheppard caught a glimpse of one tower crew trying to drag a replacement onto its rings, but they were swept away in a Culling beam, and the balloon sagged lop-sided against the tower’s edge, held by a tangle of lines.

And then they rounded a corner into a sudden sparkle of air, and Sheppard brought up his P90 just as a squad of Wraith materialized. The rest of the Marines fired with him, and the Wraith were held upright for a moment by the volume of fire. And then they collapsed, a dozen drones and a white-haired male, and Sheppard caught his breath.

“Nice work. Keep moving.”

After that, it was a confusion of house-to-house fighting, dodging from shelter to shelter, hoping to spot the Wraith before the Wraith spotted them. One of the Marines, a kid maybe nineteen, fell behind and was fed upon, shriveling to ninety in a second before the kid’s squadmate brought down the drone. Sheppard didn’t look back to see whether the kid was still alive; it was too late, regardless, and he waved the others forward. A while later he saw the squadmate back in the lead, streaks of sweat like tears on his dirty face.

They cleared the area around the Institute building, but the Darts kept coming, and the radio reported still more Wraith moving through the gate. The Genii were falling back, selling the ground dear, but they were almost back to the city wall, and if they got trapped there… Valless sent the Satedans in support, and Sheppard leaned against the arch of a doorway, trying to make sense of what was going on. There were too many Wraith in the city; they were spending too much time, too many men, to keep them under control. Somebody handed him a water bottle and he drank without thinking, handed it back half empty. The balloons had been a good idea, but the tethering points were too exposed, you couldn’t replace them under fire. Missiles would have been a great idea, but they didn’t have any—

He blinked hard, touched his radio. “Rodney. Are you there?”

“Of course I’m here. Where else would I be? Oh, and we’ve been attacked by the Wraith, too, and a very nice lady scientist got fed on—”