Casualties of war

Chapter fifteen

Elizabeth felt the clinging dampness in the air almost 'before she fully awoke. As she became aware of the heavy canvas tent above her, and the bedroll beneath her, she was struck by a sharp, visceral memory of a camping trip to Vermont. She'd been eleven years old, and her father had dragged her out of a sound sleep to watch the sunrise over the mountains. She'd been enthralled by the colors, the whole world so still and yet more alive than she'd ever imagined. Dad had chuckled at her slack-faced wonder and remarked that everyday problems seemed insignificant next to such a view.

Waking up on another world, in the midst of an army marching to battle, it was Elizabeth who seemed insignificant.

Diplomacy required its participants to see through the eyes of others, to find the issues that mattered most to each side and approach them on a level accessible to all parties. She'd done her best-perhaps more than might have been advisable-to bridge the gap between the Falnori and Nistra, but the actions of the Cadre had not created the cultural divide, merely inflamed it. As for the effects of the adarite, only a direct comparison test would provide the kind of empirical evidence that might convince Galven, and it was simply too late for that now.

"Dr. Weir?"

She pushed herself up to a sitting position and tugged her fingers through sleep-tangled hair. "Morning, Major."

Lorne folded back one of the tent flaps and crouched to look through the opening. "Thought you'd want to know," he began. "Governor Cestan sent a warrior regiment ahead last night. They had numbers this time, and the scouts just reported back that they were able to take the gate hill."

"I suppose I should be pleased to hear that." Elizabeth rolled her shoulders to work out some of the kinks caused by sleeping on the ground. "They've been gracious hosts."

"They're also more likely than the Nistra to let us use the gate at this point." Reaching into his jacket, the Major withdrew a cloth-wrapped bundle. "Some bread. It's pretty good."

She accepted the bundle with a smile of thanks. "I'd like to think that exposing the Cadre for what they are and shielding the gates on this planet would do a lot to improve the state of affairs. I'm just not sure how we'll manage to accomplish either one in the middle of a battle."

"If you want my opinion, ma'am…"

That was one aspect of military protocol she'd never quite gotten used to. With the exception of John, sometimes they needed a little encouragement to speak their minds. "Of course I do."

Lorne met her gaze squarely. "I think we should bail out of here ASAP, before the fighting around the gate really gets going. We can come back through the other gate in a cloaked jumper to reassess the situation." The longtime Stargate program veteran spoke pragmatically, something she'd always appreciated. "The circumstances have changed since Dr. Beckett left and the Colonel went hunting for a DHD. If we stay here and wait for an opportunity to talk either side down, we'll be taking a big personal risk, and I'm not supposed to let you do that."

He was right, of course, and she didn't dispute a word. What he didn't say-but must have been thinking-was that they were at risk simply by being here.

"Fair enough," she said, gathering her bedroll. "Let's go see if Cestan has a moment to listen to a request."

When she emerged from the borrowed tent, she found the encampment surprisingly active. Although the sun hadn't yet broken free of the horizon, tents were being packed up and fires doused.

Walking through the camp, Lorne a half-step behind, she could see the distinction between the whip-warriors and the larger population of infantry soldiers. The soldiers, mostly men, were strapping thick leather armor over their torsos and affixing swords or crossbows to their backs. Some moved with a sense of vigor, others with apprehension. The warriors, by contrast, wore lighter garments-presumably for agility-and displayed little emotion. Nevertheless, it was clear that all were prepared for what lay ahead.

She found the interaction between the different groups striking in its normalcy. Warriors and soldiers conversed and assisted each other with no apparent class disparity. If she had needed reassurance that the Falnori didn't believe gene-bearers to be inherently superior to others-which ought to include the Nistra-that example told her volumes.

Cestan stood in the center of a small group of advisors while aides disassembled the large tent behind him. The robes he'd worn throughout the treaty negotiations had been replaced by more practical clothing: the tunic and pants worn by the warriors and the leather breastplate worn by the soldiers. The group disbanded shortly before the governor caught sight of his off-world guests.

"Day's greetings," he said at Elizabeth's approach. "I apologize for the haste, but we must move quickly. When Galven learns that his hunters at the gate have been overpowered, he will accelerate the bulk of his force. We must reach the gate and bolster our unit there before the Nistra can mount an offensive."

"I understand," Elizabeth replied. "In fact, Major Lorne and I would like to make use of the gate before that happens, if possible."

Cestan's lips thinned. "That may be difficult," he admitted. "The Nistra have the advantages of numbers and time-we believe they began their march hours before their strike group took the gate from your guards."

"If your force is smaller, you should be able to cover more ground," Lorne pointed out.

"That is true, and fortunately we have a shorter distance to traverse as well. Once in the forest, our army will divide itself and close in on the gate from multiple sides. If you travel with my western division, which will have the shortest path, you may be able to reach the gate without interference."

'Interference'-what an innocuous euphemism. Elizabeth nodded. "Thank you. I'm sure our needs aren't at the top of your priority list right now."

The Falnori leader surprised her by reaching out to briefly place a hand on her shoulder. "Your efforts here deserve better than this," he said, conveying sincere regret. "I am truly sorry."

She quashed a flare of irrational resentment. On Earth, she had been dismissed more than once by foreign leaders, generally older men who didn't see her as an equal, and she had an instinctual defensive reaction to the concept. Cestan hadn't shown her that same condescension, so it would be unfair of her to interpret his attitude as the typical `poor girl; you tried your best.' Still, the comment helped to renew her determination. "Governor, I recognize the difficult situation you're in, and I won't try to talk you into laying down your arms when it's clear the Nistra won't do likewise. I will ask you, though, to please bear in mind that my people are continuing to explore alternatives. If I can bring you proof that the raiders are not Nistra and protect the gates from their attacks, will you consider a ceasefire?"

"If you can achieve those aims, and convince Galven besides, you will have my support as well as my admiration." The note of cynical reservation in Cestan's voice came as no great shock.

"Unfortunately, Minister Galven has as much reason to be skeptical as you, if not more. I've asked him to give up control of his biggest commodity." A sudden thought occurred to Elizabeth. "You accepted our claim that adarite is harmful to those without the gene-the ability. Did you do so because your people would benefit if the Nistra relinquished the mines? Or do you believe what we've said?"

"In truth, I do believe it," responded Cestan. His gaze became distant. "You see, as a child I was fascinated by the craftsmen who fashioned the adarite whips. I had hopes of learning the trade myself and was apprenticed to one of the capital's finest masters. I struggled for a long year to improve my skills, never to succeed. The master would repeat his lessons, and I would still be unable to put them into practice. Many of us failed at the craft. Although the ability has never measured one's station in life, some of us came to believe that one might be born to a.. purpose of sorts." A hint of a smile crossed his features. "From what you have said, it is possible that we were not wholly wrong."

"Maybe that's true," she allowed. "Maybe you were meant instead to lead your people to a new understanding, and a lasting peace."

It was a bold remark, the wisdom of which she reconsidered almost immediately. To her relief, he seemed to take no offense. "I would like nothing more than for that to be true."

His chief warrior-Kellec, she'd been told at some point- interrupted to inform them that the columns were prepared to depart. Elizabeth and Lorne were escorted to join the division that would proceed to the gate by way of the western woods.

The hike was no different from its mirror image the night before: just over an hour long and conducted under partial daylight. Elizabeth fended off a chill that had little to do with the temperature and everything to do with her utter ignorance about what they would find ahead of them.

Relief nearly overwhelmed her when the hill appeared beyond the trees and only Falnori warriors could be seen in the vicinity. They'd succeeded in outpacing the Nistra army. For better or worse, the more Falnori troops that arrived, the more difficult it would be for anyone to take the hill from them. For now, at least, they had the gate. Trading a smile with Lorne, she climbed the slope alongside the commander of the incoming warriors and moved decisively toward the DHD.

She didn't identify the sudden rush of wind past her face as the flight of an arrow until the projectile had driven itself into the shoulder of the warrior to her left.

This time she threw herself to the ground even before Lorne could pull her down. The Major grabbed her anyway and hustled her down the south side of the hill, away from the handful of arrows that followed.

"Low-tech version of snipers," Lorne summed up, breathing heavily. "They're not shooting at the other warriors up there standing guard, just us. Guess some of the Nistra stuck around to make sure no one could use the gate.

Elizabeth leaned back against the incline and did her best to keep her fear from gaining any foothold. If they couldn't escape through the gate, all her earlier attempts to stay neutral had been for nothing. They were about to be in the middle of this war whether they liked it or not.

Word spread quickly through the Nistra ranks about the Falnori's pre-dawn strike on the hill. The news served to stoke already high-running emotions. Some of the hunters wanted to charge ahead and retake the hill right away. They were talked down by their comrades, and the entire group picked up its pace.

Ronon didn't bother to guess at his and Teyla's chances of making it to the gate. The hill area was shaping up to be the central battlefield of this conflict. They'd have to do the best they could to stay on the edge of the fighting and wait for Sheppard and McKay to come back in a jumper.

And their teammates would come back. Ronon had never expected such loyalty from his adopted people, had never felt he had the right, but their actions on Sateda not long ago had made their convictions plain.

He and Teyla could, of course, leave the group completely, try to find their way to the second gate, and wait for a pickup. Neither of them had entertained that option for long. For one thing, finding that gate would mean venturing close to the ore-rich mountains, and Ronon had no wish to cloud his mind like that ever again.

Just as important, at least in his view, were the hunters who had taken him in-twice now. Maybe that didn't obligate him to fight alongside them, but it did mean that he couldn't abandon them and still be able to sleep at night.

He walked next to Dantir for the better part of two hours before finally speaking up. "Where'd you get that?" he asked, tipping his head toward the whip on the boy's belt.

As much as Dantir obviously wanted to act the part of a battle-ready soldier, the question drew a glimmer of youthful pride out of him. "These have not been used for many years. They are an honor given only to the hunters, and I am now a hunter."

Ronon had noticed the whips hanging from many of the hunters' belts. He could see rough, uneven threads of adarite running along their falls and recalled the Falnori woman's description of the skill required to craft a goodquality whip. If these people had no one with the gene, it was almost certain that their whips were poor imitations.

Just as the whip-warriors were the select corps of the Falnori army, it seemed the hunters were attempting to fill the elite role for the Nistra. The rest of the crowd mostly carried picks and blunt tools-miners, Ronon assumed, likely to be passable soldiers at best thanks to their work. The hunters would be better, having spent less time in direct contact with adarite.

The Falnori warriors, though, were practiced with whips and unaffected by the adarite. If the hunters went into battle with inferior weapons that they couldn't skillfully use, the result would be very lopsided-and it would only get worse for the Nistra once the adarite began to affect them.

"A real honor," he echoed. "Can I give you some advice? When you use that thing, don't use the power. Just leave it off."

If he'd been looking to dim the boy's admiration, that had probably done it. Dantir stopped for a beat to stare at him. Almost immediately he started walking again, hurt quickly hardening into defensiveness. "I'm old enough to hunt, and I'm old enough to fight."

"No, you're not." The Satedan military had accepted young men, but not this young. Ronon matched his stride without difficulty. "Even so, this has nothing to do with age. The whips are dangerous."

"They're meant to be. They're weapons."

"What Ronon means," said Teyla, joining them, "is that the adarite inside the whip can make people ill. It influences the wielder as well as the victim."

"We've felt it," Ronon asserted. "It's not fun. You start to become unsure about what's happening around you. It's… confusing. In a combat situation it could be deadly."

Shaking his head, Dantir continued on, his steps certain. "If that were true, the whips would not be so esteemed. And the Falnori would not go to such lengths to get adarite for their own."

"The Falnori are different-at least some of them are. It's because of the Ancestors…" Ronon scrubbed a hand over his face as he searched for a better strategy. Telling them that the Falnori possessed an ability they lacked would only offend them. "Look, you're good with your bow. Stick to what you know, and keep your head down."

He could feel Teyla watching him for some time after that. Maybe his frustration was showing too much, or maybe she just understood him too well by now. He wasn't like her, equally good with words and actions. When he glanced over at her, though, her expression was more commiserating than pitying. She didn't have any better ideas to persuade these people, apparently.

If actions were all he had at his disposal, he would act. And if he couldn't stop this senseless conflict, he would at least protect one of its innocents.

The Nistra army approached the hill head-on, rather than sending some of its number through the forests on either side. Ronon wasn't sure it was the wisest plan, but he could see how the types of troops they employed might be better suited to open-field tactics. At the least, it would be easier for the leaders to keep their masses of untrained soldiers together this way.

Speaking of leaders…

He moved closer to Ilar and asked, "Is there a field commander? Someone to tell us what to do?"

"We all understand the goal. Reclaim the hill, and defeat the aggressors." The hunter gazed at the Stargate in the distance, assessing it. "So this is what the ring is meant to be," she mused. "I think I expected something more impressive.

"It's pretty impressive when you step into it and end up on another world." Ronon eased his hand toward his holster. A low buzz of voices hummed all around them: miners and hunters alike preparing themselves for what was to come.

Although little could be seen of the Falnori army, it was a certainty that a great number lay in wait just beyond the start of the trees, which formed a three-sided pocket around the gate. Even if they avoided the area surrounding the Hall of Tribute, directly behind the hill from Ronon's position, the Falnori could easily move personnel in from both the east and west sides of the hill, creating a strong line of defense. Could they be flushed out preemptively without sending too many Nistra into that pocket?

A wordless cry from someone half a mile down the line drew his attention to a handful of Nistra who didn't seem interested in a nuanced plan. The small group charged toward the hill, followed shortly by the surrounding ranks, all shouting with a fervor that betrayed their inexperience.

In moments, Ronon's suspicions were confirmed, as two units of Falnori warriors and soldiers poured out of the forest on either side of the hill to meet them.

Swearing under his breath, he looked at Teyla and found her just as dismayed.

"The Nistra have numbers," she said quietly, almost too low to be heard through the growing roar of battle. "But still they will be slaughtered."

Still more Falnori appeared over the crest of the hill with bows, aiming at the Nistra front lines. Some of them were picked off by arrows from elsewhere-had the hunters who'd been run off the gate earlier taken up positions in the trees? Regardless, those who held the hill held the high-ground advantage, and at present both belonged to the Falnori.

"We can try to even the odds a little." He drew his gun and fired a few stun bolts into the approaching line of Falnori warriors. Looking reluctant, Teyla did the same. It was only slightly more effective than trying to collect a rainstorm in a bucket, but they couldn't just stand there.

The skill Ronon had admired from the whip-warriors in practice was even more extraordinary in actual conflict. Although the majority of the Falnori force consisted of common soldiers wielding swords or bows, the field was dotted with searing, sizzling threads of light. Any Nistra who came close to the incline was cut down without hesitation or mercy. The lucky ones lost only a hand, the heat of the whip sealing such wounds instantly; the less fortunate took a blow to the torso and were nearly vaporized.

One small point of hope: Dantir had taken Ronon's advice to heart and stayed back, using his bow rather than diving into the close-quarters fight. Ronon kept an eye on the area directly surrounding the boy, stunning any Falnori swordsman who came near.

It wasn't long, however, before the clash spread to envelop them as well, and he had to worry about defending himself as much as Dantir. After dodging the upward swing of a sword, he shifted his gun to his left hand and drew his own blade with his right. Killing a Falnori would bring him no satisfaction, but he would be of no use to anyone if he became another of the nameless dead.

From one side he heard the hiss-crack of a whip only a few paces away, and he moved as best he could through the throng to distance himself from the energy discharge. The last thing he needed at a time like this was to lose focus.

Teyla had one of her staffs in her hand, which Ronon thought brave of her, as it wasn't his idea of a deadly weapon. Then again, she moved as though the staff was an extension of her body, easily deflecting the sword of an oncoming assailant and laying him out flat with a blast from her stun pistol.

The first wave of the Nistra attack didn't appear to be gaining any traction. The hill remained solidly under Falnori control as the ground at its base was beginning to clutter with fallen soldiers. "We should fall back and regroup," Ronon shouted over the din. It was hardly a useful observation, because they had no authority or ability to enact a mass retreat. Teyla glanced back and nodded helplessly, taking aim at another warrior to prevent him from activating his whip again.

Before long, though, the main thrust of the Nistra army seemed to falter, the central group that had pushed toward the hill now beginning to withdraw. The Falnori looked content to let them go, at least for the moment, since few attempted to follow. Those who did were quickly targeted by hunters, giving the rest of the Nistra the opportunity to close their ranks in a position very near to where they'd started.

Ronon scanned the lines. Injured soldiers leaned on comrades or slumped in the grass while their wounds were tended by mostly unskilled hands. Others huddled in groups to relate their experiences in the fight. The vigor that had punctuated the early assault had evaporated, leaving utter confusion in its wake.

He trailed Dantir through the crowd until they found liar sitting on a rock, struggling to bind her own bleeding shoulder. A step behind them, Teyla hurried forward and took over for her.

"Where are your commanders?" Ronon asked again. "Shouldn't someone be leading this army?"

When she raised her eyes to him, the vagueness there made him suspect that she had already been strongly affected by the adarite. "We have no leader but Minister Galven, and this place is too dangerous for someone of his importance."

"Is there no one to provide guidance on your strategy and objectives, then?" Teyla secured the bandage.

"Objectives…" Ear seemed to need all her concentration to answer. "Our objective is to drive the Falnori back and retake the hill."

So she'd said before. Ronon stifled the urge to pound his fist against something. These people knew nothing of battle tactics. They were little better than a gigantic mob, not even organized enough to divide into regiments.

Unbelievably, though, the atmosphere of chaos around them was shifting, becoming more determined. The casualties were being transferred to the rear as others readied their weapons.

Ancestors help them they're going to try again.

When liar attempted to get to her feet, Ronon went to assist, sliding an arm under her shoulders. He took the opportunity to stealthily detach the whip from her belt and toss it behind the rock. Even if her shoulder wouldn't allow her much use of her bow, the dagger she carried would serve her better. In fact, being unarmed would serve her better than that cursed whip.

"Ronon," murmured Teyla urgently, drawing his attention. Dantir clearly hadn't lost his zeal; he'd joined one of the front-line groups as it moved back out into the fray.

Biting back a vicious epithet, Ronon pushed through the swarm of soldiers heading onto the battlefield. If he lost track of Dantir now, he'd never find him again. The boy's dirty blond head bobbed in the crowd, still driving forward, even as the Falnori fortified their line in front of the hill.

Tendrils of energy crackled in the air, becoming a constant hum in the background. Ronon ducked a hail of arrows and continued his pursuit of Dantir. Seizing his arm, Teyla yanked him out of the path of an incoming whip. He whirled to stun the aggressor, only to be struck by a stumbling Nistra soldier. Knocked off-balance, Ronon watched the soldier crumple, one leg missing from the mid-thigh down.

The scene was madness, pure and simple. He couldn't control it, guide it, or even slow its inevitable descent into a massacre. All he could do was save one well-meaning kid…

…who'd just lashed out at someone in front of him with a fitfully sparking whip.

Ronon dove forward to finally close the distance between himself and Dantir. The boy had managed to use the whip correctly, at least. By the looks of him, though, he'd been using it for some time now, and the effects were making themselves known. He blinked at a body lying on the ground a few feet away, then stared at the hill with only the barest hint of comprehension.

A Falnori soldier stalked toward him with sword raised, likely thinking he'd found easy prey. Unhesitating, Ronon lunged, grabbing two handfuls of the man's thick leather vest and hauling him backward. The soldier recovered quickly, lashing out with a foot that caught Ronon behind the knee. They both tumbled to the ground.

Someone stepped on Ronon's arm, causing him to lose his grip on his weapon. The gun slid free and was quickly lost from sight in the anarchy of pounding feet. When the soldier rolled to his knees and swung his sword in Dantir's direction, Ronon reacted on instinct and drew one of his knives. He flung it upward, catching the soldier in the neck, just above his protective vest.

As the soldier crashed to the ground, Teyla stunned a group of nearby fighters and used the brief lull to duck low and search the immediate area. At last she came up with the lost gun and tossed it to Ronon.

"Thanks," he said, catching his breath. Dantir looked at him, glassy-eyed, and he tugged the whip from the boy's slack hand. "I told you not to use this!"

"We have drawn too much attention," Teyla warned, pointing to their left. Ronon followed her gaze and noticed the tight knot of warriors carving a path through the crowd with their whips. Where everyone else appeared to be adhering to a basic north-south range of movement, this squad looked to be focused on a specific area-the one occupied by the off-worlders in their midst.

Thinking quickly, Ronon shoved Dantir toward Teyla. "Take him and head for the rear. I'll go a different way. They'll have to split up or choose one of us to follow."

Surely Teyla knew that he would be the easier one to track, standing so much taller than the Nistra. Although her indecision showed in her expression, she replied with a sharp, decisive nod. "Good luck."

Then she was gone, vanishing into the crowd with Dantir. She wouldn't be able to stun anyone now without giving away her position, but Ronon had faith that she would find other advantages if needed.

He stooped low and moved through the fighting, trying to evade the relentless warriors. But they gained ground faster than he could, narrowing the gap until he finally was forced to take the offensive.

Only two warriors fell under his spray of stun blasts before an unpowered whip snaked out to rip the gun from his hands. Another coiled around his wrists, instantly binding them. A rough jerk on the whip pitched him forward, and he landed hard on his knees.

"I would not struggle if I were you," said a cold, familiar voice. "All I need do is tighten my grip. Your hands will be severed, your arms withered and useless."

Ronon had been planning to knock over the person in front of him and tear loose the handle of the whip that ensnared him, but that warning made him reconsider. When he looked up, Cestan's chief warrior stood over him.

"This is a grave disappointment," Kellec continued, his weathered features stony. "Now we see what our trust is worth to your people." He turned to his associates. "We will bring him. The governor needs to know the true nature of these so-called friends."

"We're not trying to take sides." It was a weak statement, particularly now, but Ronon didn't have much else to offer. "All I wanted to do was protect one kid until someone could make you people see reason and stop this pointless battle."

"I can't say I admire your method of maintaining neutrality." Kellec pulled on the whip, and Ronon staggered to his feet to avoid falling face-first in the dirt. "You have spilled Falnori blood, which makes you either a common enemy or a traitor. Which label you receive matters only in the sense that it may influence the likelihood of your execution."