James Swallow: Halcyon

Gingerly, the adjutant ventured a question. "Highness, what would you have us do in this engagement? The troops await your orders."

His commander remained silent for a long moment, observing the unfolding fray in the village through a bulky brass monocular. When the answer came, it was another question. "Who are these people? Their livery and wargear is of no manufacture I can place, not from the homeworld or a vassal planet."

"I suspect they are Genii," offered the adjutant.

The commander made a negative noise. "I know those skulks, and these people do not wage war like them." The exchange of fire became furious, reaching them in the cover of the tree line. "Genii warriors would run. These ones stand and fight. They have zeal."

"Highness," said the man, "if you would forgive my temerity to say so, but their zeal will give them little support against such numbers of Wraith. The second group of the predators we observed even now approach from the far side of the village. These people, whomever they give allegiance to, will perish if we do not intervene. Is that your wish?"

The commander snapped the monocular shut and met his gaze. "That would be poor form, don't you think? It would be impolite of us, to say the least."

"Your will, Highness." The adjutant nodded and turned to his troops. "Charge your guns, gentlemen, and ready the horns."

Sheppard and Hill met Mason and the other men at the edge of the township. White fire from Wraith guns sizzled down after them, flaring off the snow. Private Bishop had Corporal Clarke on his shoulder, helping his comrade scramble away. Mason was low behind them, spraying bullets from his L85 rifle. Sheppard and Hill fell against cover either side of the alleyway and set up corridors of gunfire, covering the retreating men. Bishop and Clarke scrambled past them, and the colonel saw the corporal's face slack and numb along the left-hand side, like a stroke victim.

"He got clipped by a stunner," said Bishop, by way of explanation.

"Bathtahds," lisped Clarke, `worz thun been drung,"

"Fall back," snapped Sheppard, "we got you covered."

Mason came after them, ducking low. "Reloading!" he shouted, ejecting the clip on the bullpup assault rifle.

Sheppard and Hill kept up the pressure, taking down Wraith warriors with careful aimed shots to the torso. Mason joined in as the colonel's own weapon ran dry. He dropped behind a wooden barrel and levered off the empty magazine.

"Sheppard!" Ronon's voice crackled from his radio. "Teyla found a place we can use as a strongpoint, west of you, a conical building."

"Copy that, we're on our way." Sheppard called out to Mason. "You get that, Staff Sergeant?"

"Clear as a bell, sir,"

"Then let's go!"

Moving and firing, the five of them made their way back into the village in an overwatch formation, two men covering the others as they dropped away from the Wraith advance. They turned the corner and sprinted the last few meters to the building Dex had described, half-dragging the injured corporal with them.

Teyla was at the heavy wooden door, her P90 primed and ready. "Did you bring any guests?" she asked dryly.

Sheppard nodded. "Afraid so. And they all want dinner." He cast a look around inside. The building was circular, with only one door but a number of slatted hatches in the walls. The air smelt of mould. "What is this place?"

"A granary," said Teyla. "We are lucky it is summer. In winter this would have been full."

"Summer?" echoed McKay. "That's summer out there?"

Ronon crouched and gave Clarke a look over. "Don't worry, the pain will pass. Can you hold a weapon?"

"Yeh," managed the soldier, his head lolling. "Jus' point me atta door."

Mason directed the other men to firing positions at the slats and Dex approached the colonel. "So, how we going play this, Sheppard? You let them bottle us up, and-"

"I'm working on it," he replied, cutting Ronon off. "We miss our call-in and Atlantis will send out Lorne and a rescue team."

"That's not much of a plan."

"Hey, I'm making this up as I go."

Rodney snorted. "No change from normal there, then."

"I see one," said Bishop. "End of the street, he's scoping us.

"They won't try to wait us out," said Dex, "that's not how they do it. They'll rush us." He sneered. "Wraith like the direct approach."

"Couldn't be more than a dozen of them clowns out there," noted Hill, "even counting those we put down."

Sheppard looked around. "Ammo check. Anyone low?" He got a chorus of negatives from everyone except Teyla. The Athosian woman was stock still, sighting down the length of her gun. "Teyla, you with us?"

She shuddered, and he saw the distant, fearful look in her eyes that he knew meant trouble. "John. There are more Wraith out there. A lot more. They know-"

Teyla's words were drowned out in a howling chorus of blaster bolts as the aliens opened up on the stone building from all sides.

"Return fire!" barked Sheppard. "Targets of opportunity!"

Hot flares of muzzle flash stabbed out into the night, reaching toward the Wraith advance; but they were coming like a snarling tide, shrugging off glancing hits, furious in their attacks.

Rodney unloaded his pistol into the enemy advance, firing off the whole magazine in what seemed like seconds. He felt a momentary surge of elation as one of the Wraith warriors went down, but then realized that the gun was empty. He fumbled desperately at a fresh clip, ducking behind Ronon as the Satedan ex-soldier sent shot after shot into the enemy attack. I should get a laser gun, too, he told himself, none of this stupid reloading stuff with those space blasters.

The Wraith shots rang the granary like a bell, sending rains of powdery snow and wood fragments falling from the support beams. The breech of the Beretta pistol finally snapped shut and he brought it up to firing position, fighting off the trembling in his hands. "I am not going to die cold and scared," he whispered. "I am going to die of old age surrounded by nubile graduate students and my many Nobel Prizes." It had become a kind of mantra for McKay, a quiet little prayer he relied upon whenever things took a turn for the worst… And that seemed to be a regular occurrence these days. The first part changed depending on the circumstances; "cold and scared" had previously been "as Wraith snack food", "of suffocation", "in a nuclear fireball" and so on. So far, it seemed to have worked. So far.

He started squeezing the trigger; and then he heard the reveille of a brass section. That's it, he realized, I've gone mad with the fear

"What the bloody hell is that racket?" shouted Bishop.

Something that sounded like a cross between a set of bagpipes and a trumpet was blaring out a clarion call across the snowbound valley, echoing back and forth over the village; then moments later it was joined by a crashing, thunderous fusillade of gunshots.

"We got fire support," said Hill.

"But from where?" asked Ronon.

McKay craned over Dex's shoulder. "That's not Major Lorne…"

Sheppard's face creased in unease. "Sounds almost like… Muskets, or a blunderbuss."

"There!" Rodney pointed. Figures in heavy black greatcoats were rushing down from the tree line. Brocade and filigree on their clothing glittered in the moonlight, and thin wisps of steam trailed from packs on their backs. They wore high hats with dark face masks. Some carried long rifles, others bright spotlights with stark yellow beams, and a couple-well, a couple of them were playing long brass trombone-like contraptions.

The new arrivals had the Wraith caught unawares, and the aliens broke off their assault on the granary, scrambling to regroup to meet the larger force. Mason and the others took the advantage and pressed forward out of the doorway, striking at the enemy as they disengaged.