Alphabet Soup

"Colonel, you walk a fine line."

George Hammond remembered telling O'Neill that, in a tone of almost fond exasperation. But Jack O'Neill's regular dance along the line of insubordination was nothing compared to the tightrope that George found himself walking every day.

He had to follow orders. He had to keep his people safe. He had to do his duty to the oaths he took, the uniform he wore, the country he served, the planet he protected.

But he also had to question ethical directives, struggle with the pressure to justify any means, cope with the uncanny and bizarre on a regular basis, and deal with a seething morass of military and civilian and alien, forging it all into a coherent, working whole.

There were days when it seemed that those conflicting demands couldn't possibly coexist.

He teetered on the edge of that line, sometimes. There were occasions when he'd missed a step: the decision to strip-mine trinium behind the Salish's backs, the willingness to bow to pressure from above and sign a treaty with a nation bent on genocide. There were times when he risked being shoved off the line by those with their own agenda: his willing debasement in Kinsey's office, his defiance of orders to personally go after his people, the personal threat to his grandchildren. For the most part, though, George maneuvered his way through the minefield of command with deft precision, juggling the need to pacify the Pentagon and the Oval Office with the even greater necessity of protecting the men and women under his command.

It was a dangerously fine line that demanded a constant weighing of options and choices.

He could only pray that he never slipped and fell.