David Wilson - Brimstone

Gravel and Verdino knelt back to back and opened up on the remaining dart, the others busy holding off Wraith ground troops. There were only scouts so far, and they were holding back. Lorne concentrated. He took aim again, focusing on the first dart. The Wraith ship fired back; the shots glanced off of the trees behind them and sent a hail of bark into the air.

The dart swept overhead again and another round rained down on them. The air filled with the acrid scent of burning foliage and melting sand. Lorne fired again. He squeezed off two carefully aimed bursts, and the front stabilizer spun off through the air and the pilot lost control. The dart spun and crashed in the woods behind them. Lorne smiled grimly and turned toward the second ship.

Behind him, someone screamed. One of his men, a grizzled veteran named Simon, had been hit. He was rolling around on the ground and holding his shoulder. Smoke drifted up from his partially melted shirt and his face was a study in agony. Another man rushed in, grabbed him under his good arm and hauled him to the relative safety of the deeper woods.

The remaining dart whipped around and bore down on the group, spinning into position to pin them between its line of fire and the encroaching ground troops.

Lorne waved his arms furiously, firing as he spoke. “Fall back! Fall back! Take deeper cover.”

They backpedaled into the woods, still firing. There were more darts now, and behind them a small fire had ignited, devouring the dead leaves and spiraling smoke up into the air.

Lorne’s headset crackled, and he flinched. He hadn’t been watching the time. Reports were scheduled every twenty minutes. Woolsey must have opened the gate to get a signal through. The commander’s voice came across, a bit shrill.

“What in God’s name is going on over there?”

Lorne thought about ignoring the call. He knew Woolsey was likely to order them back, but he wasn’t ready to give up on Sheppard. He fired another burst.

“We’re under attack, sir. I know we’re scheduled for a report, but you need to close that gate. We’re under fire from Wraith darts. There’s a hive ship about a mile from here.”

“You aren’t equipped or manned to do battle on that scale. Get your team back to the gate. That’s an order, Major.”

Lorne fired off a few well-placed shots but they had no effect other than to cause the probe to momentarily veer off course. “With all due respect, Sir, there’s no way. We’re currently cut off from the gate, and even if we weren’t, we haven’t spotted Colonel Sheppard’s team.”

“It won’t do Sheppard and the others any good if you die before they come through the gate.”

“It won’t do them any good if we tuck our tails and run — they’ll be walking into an ambush. And Colonel Sheppard can’t come through if you don’t close the gate.”

Behind him, someone else screamed.

The one remaining dart was firing on them from overhead. It had blasted a hole through the trees and was firing straight through it. From where it hovered, none of the men would get a clear shot. Lorne stepped out of the woods, standing in the open and planting his feet firmly in the grass. He knew he was risking being taken by the dart’s culling beam, but he needed a shot.

He fired a single shot at the dart, and it zipped past, wheeling to turn on him. The Wraith pilot dropped a bit lower. Its culling beam activated, and it swooped straight at them. Lorne wasted no time. He blasted the thing with it everything he had. Someone stepped up beside him and also opened fire. It was Gravel. She stood her ground unflinchingly, and despite the danger of the moment, Lorne grinned.

The dart withstood their fire for a few seconds and showed no sign of damage. Lorne and Gravel continued firing, and eventually the constant barrage of shots chipped away at the craft’s outer plating, opening a hole in its inner housing. Something leaked from the hole and the dart started to shift sideways as it passed, zigging and zagging closer to Lorne’s position. The pilot could have turned away and tried to make it back to the hive ship, but instead he drove straight at Lorne, still firing.

The dart’s final shot struck the ground at Lorne’s feet, and he staggered back, grabbing Gravel by the arm and pulling her to safety. As he backed away, he continued to fire from his hip. He watched as the dart spun out of control. Apparently the pilot was finally attempting to flee the scene and escape to the safety of the hive ship. Then very suddenly the nose dipped, the ship whirled like a top and crashed into several treetops. About forty meters away, it hit the ground and exploded.

A cheer rose from the embattled team and Lorne sprinted to where the two injured men rested against the trees.

Verdino and Gravel helped the injured men back through the trees, concealing his position as well as possible. The rest of the team covered them, scanning the jungle for any lingering Wraith. The gate stood dormant.

“Okay, Sheppard,” he muttered. “Any time now. Any time.”

Woolsey sat and stared at his console in frustration; he hated waiting. He hated not knowing what was going on. He hated that there was nothing more he could do to help.

A young man tapped him on the shoulder, and he spun. “What is it?”

“Mr. Woolsey, the Daedelus is hailing us.”

“Patch them through,” he said, grateful for the distraction. “Colonel Caldwell, I have to tell you — I could really use some good news.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have good news, Woolsey. We can’t reach Admah in time. I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do.”

Woolsey bit into his lip and slumped further. “Damn!” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Is there any way you can reach M3T-842? We have a team there waiting for Sheppard and his people to come through the gate. They might need some backup.”

Caldwell’s voice was muffled as he spoke to his people. “We’re close,” he said. “And we’re on our way. Caldwell out.”

Woolsey shut down the console and stood up again. At least help was on the way for Lorne and his team.

“If that gate opens, send for me immediately,” he said. Then stiffly, as if he’d been through a fight, he walked from the room.

Rodney clung to the reins, doing his best to help support Teyla, who was weak and having trouble remaining upright with one injured leg. The mechanical horse flew up the stairs as if it was climbing a gentle grassy slope. There was no hesitation, and there was no drop in speed, despite the steep incline and the tricky footing. All pursuit fell away behind them, and he knew if he could just keep them both mounted long enough to reach the upper level there was no way those coming up from behind could catch them

He also noticed that it was hot. Very hot. The adrenalin of the initial charge was giving way to a queasy, sweaty haze that fogged his vision and slicked his hands. It was more difficult to grip the reins and his strength grew less with every passing moment. He wished he’d taken the time to find a drink, but back in the chamber, just off the arena, the heat hadn’t been as obvious. It had been warmer, but now they were approaching the surface of Admah. Nothing stood between them and the approaching sun but a steadily thinning atmosphere.

The horse climbed the final few steps and leveled out.

“Oh thank God,” Rodney said.

He turned the horse toward the control room and the gardens beyond. The colorful posters on the wall that had fascinated the team on their way in mocked him. He watched them as he passed, but they blurred into a surreal wash of colors and shadows. He turned past the control room and wondered if there was anything he was forgetting, something he should do to the computer system, but by the time the thoughts were fully formed they’d already moved past and into the great hall leading to the gardens and the gates of the city.