Jo Graham - Homecoming

“Rodney,” Sheppard said, and there was silence. “Do you have any flares, fireworks, anything like that?”

“Why would we—” Rodney stopped. “They make the signal flares here. Why—”

“Can you shoot them at the Wraith?”

“Are you kidding?”

In spite of everything, Sheppard grinned. He could hear the indignation, could almost see Rodney’s glare.

“One, we can’t exactly aim them, they’re not like guns or missiles or even fireworks, they don’t have stabilizers. And, two, even if we could aim them, they’re not exactly going to damage a Dart—”

“I just want to scare them,” Sheppard said. “Clear the air over the city even temporarily. Can you get together a bunch of flares—”

“A ‘bunch’?”

“As many as possible. As many as you can shoot off at once. And keep shooting them until you run out.”

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait. I think — yes. I see what you want. Yes, we can do it. Give me, give me fifteen minutes—”

“Make it ten,” Sheppard said. He thumbed the radio to Valless’s channel. “Sheppard here. I’ve got an idea.”

There was a little silence when he had finished, and then he could have sworn Valless laughed softly. “The Wraith are concentrating on the Genii positions. It seems they believe if they can overrun them, they’ll have the city at their mercy. And they may be right.” He paused. “I’ll send Kolbyr’s men and Chacier’s to their support, but not until you set off your — distraction. If we time it right—” He didn’t bother finishing the sentence. “When will you be ready?”

“Ten minutes,” Sheppard said, and suppressed the urge to cross his fingers.

“I will order my men to move when they see the flares,” Valless said. “Not before.”

“Yes, sir,” Sheppard said, and leaned out of the sheltering doorway. “Diaz! Morgan! Change of plan.”

They huddled in the archway together, Diaz dabbing gingerly at a shallow cut on his jaw, Morgan methodically fitting a fresh clip into his P90.

“OK,” Sheppard said. “The Wraith have got the Genii pinned against the city wall. General Valless is sending men to get them out, and with any luck drive the Wraith back to the gate. Morgan, you’re going to join them.”

“What about the Wraith in the city?” Diaz asked.

“Dr. McKay and the other scientists are arranging a distraction,” Sheppard said, “that should keep the Darts from dropping any more drones. I want you to wait for the signal, and then take out any Darts you can. After that, mop up any Wraith still behind the main lines. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Morgan said, and Diaz echoed him a heartbeat later.

“What kind of distraction, sir?”

Sheppard smiled. “You won’t be able to miss it.” He stood. “Give me five men, then head out. Don’t attack until the flares go off. Anything else?”

Morgan shook his head, and Diaz said, “No, sir.” He pointed, telling off men. “Smith, Alvarez, Rey, Nguyen, Jeleniewsi. You’re with Colonel Sheppard. The rest of you, follow me.”

Sheppard watched them jog off, touched his earpiece. “Teyla. You want to let us in?”

The Institute was quiet and dim, and smelled of the lamp oil that was the only light. All the windows were shuttered close, fastened with heavy iron bars, and the main door was sealed with a similar wedge that took two Marines to hoist back into place.

“I take it the Wraith didn’t get in that way?” Sheppard asked, and she shook her head.

“They came from the roof.” Teyla nodded to the young man who had accompanied her, one of the Satedan Guard. “Tarl spotted them, or we would have lost more people.”

Sheppard grimaced, but there was nothing to say to that. He followed her to the second floor workrooms, where McKay was stalking back and forth among bags of what looked like badly-made firecrackers. Sheppard winced at the sight — a spark, any spark, was clearly a very bad idea — and McKay glared at him.

“Well, this may work. Maybe. If we’re lucky. And this is the place they make the flares, not the flare guns—”

“Can you do it?” Sheppard asked.

“We can,” Teyla said, firmly.

“Then let’s go.” Sheppard reached for the closest bag, and McKay slapped his hand.

“We’ll do that. You need to make sure the roof is clear.”

“Don’t hit me,” Sheppard said, but his heart wasn’t in it. He looked at the Marines. “Follow me.”

They took the stairs two at a time, pausing in cover to check for Wraith, but the stairwell and the upper floors were empty. The roof was clear as well, and Sheppard touched his radio. “Teyla. You can bring Rodney up.”

“We are on our way,” she answered, and Sheppard gestured for the Marines to find what cover they could on the crowded rooftop. It had been used as an observatory, or at least that was what Sheppard assumed went in the odd turret by the edge of the stone rail, but at least the various projections offered some shelter. A Dart wheeled in the distance, but it didn’t seem to have spotted them yet.

The door opened again, and McKay dodged out, two bags of flares in his hands, shoulders hunched as he began jamming sticks and metal rods into the cracked stonework.

“Hey,” Sheppard began, and Rodney shook his head.

“You wanted fireworks, Sheppard, you’re going to get fireworks.”

“I wanted flares,” Sheppard said, under his breath. Several of the scientists had followed McKay, were fitting flares into weird, wide-barrelled pistols. “Actually, I wanted missiles…”

“You got flares,” McKay said. He finished fastening the last flare to a stick, took a spool of cord from one of the scientists. “This is quick-match, right?”

“Yes.” The man didn’t look up from his own work, tying together the strands of cord that ran from each of the flares.

“All right,” McKay said. In the waning afternoon light, he looked unexpectedly pale. “If you want them all to go off at once, you’re going to have to shoot some of them, too.”

Sheppard nodded to the Marines, who accepted flare pistols from the scientists. “OK.”

“We’re ready,” McKay said simply, and Sheppard nodded again.

“Do it.”

McKay put a lighter to the trailing fuse. The spark leaped along the lines of cords, faster than anything Sheppard had seen before, and the flares ignited in a ragged fusillade. A second later, Marines and scientists fired the flare pistols as well, and the sky above them boiled with multi-colored light. A Dart swooped toward them, obviously blinded, and Sheppard flung aside the flare pistol and brought up his P90. Beside him, a Marine and Teyla did the same. The Dart staggered and fell off sideways, smoke trailing from a wing. The pilot tried to correct, but the machine nosed over, went down in a crump of flame behind a nearby building. A second Dart wheeled toward them, and Sheppard fired again, saw it swirl away, heading for the gate. Another followed, and then another.

“They’re running,” he said.

“From this?” McKay had a singed spot on his jacket, and a smudge of smoke on his nose. “These are flares, they can’t do any damage—”

“They don’t know that,” Sheppard said. He reached for his binoculars, tried to find the Genii, but there were too many buildings in the way.

“You mean to tell me this was a complete bluff—” McKay began, and Ronon’s voice cut through.

“Sheppard. The Genii held. The Wraith are heading for the gate.”

Sheppard took a deep breath, let it out again.

“Let them go,” General Valless said. “We’ve won.”

“You were bluffing,” McKay said again. “You never bluff. It’s why you’re so lousy at poker.”

Behind him, Teyla was smiling. It was the same smile, relief and guilty release, that Sheppard could feel on his own face, and he met her eyes deliberately. She dipped her head, and Sheppard felt his smile widen. The team was all right, that was the first thing, the main thing; the team was all right and they’d actually won.