Maj. Gen. Jack O’Neill still had cold sweat every time he remembered that night. Rationalization was never EVER his forte, but somehow he doubted that Daniel or Sam could deal with it better. Even several months later, the vision still haunted him terribly. It had seemed to vanish a month or two after he first encountered it, to the point that he thought it gone. However, starting last week it was coming back with an unholy vengeance that was not going away. New corpses appeared to supplement the old victims: Harry the old weasel, Janet (even though she was, well, dead), and various members of SGC. And most terrible of all, his unseen tormenter telling that one of them would be the one to kill them all.
It drove him crazy, going nights without sleep to try to block out the sinister voice in his head. But even he had his breaking points. And a flight from his office in Washington DC to Colorado Springs was not the most relaxing thing. However, it was an important thing.
Year after year for several years SGC had been searching for members of the “Great Alliance” of the Asgard, the Nox, the Ancients, and the Furlings. Slowly, bit by bit, they had accounted for all of them save the Furlings. However, that was soon to change, as apparently SGA-1 in the Pegasus Galaxy had walked out of a Wraith trap right into an ambush by an unknown species. Fortunately, they had told them that they were the Tau’ri, after which the creatures claimed to be the Furlings. Naturally, there was pushing for an alliance by the SGC, but the Furlings were wary. They had heard about SG-1 through god-knows-what, and they wanted to see them at the signing to “make sure.” Apparently, they also demanded a Jack O’Neill be present as well. Apparently the Galactic grapevine had treated him and his exploits well.
And THAT was why he was on a Northwest Airlines flight from DC to Colorado Springs. In a way there was a slight sense of nostalgia; he was coming back to one of the only two places he felt home, and with the latest rash of nightmares at DC and his cabin in Minnesota, the one place he could feel safe, and thus he likely would have went back to visit anyway had he not been ordered back.
It also meant seeing Sam again. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than he began to feel queasy; he had fought it, and was largely successful for about six years of trying to convince himself that he was NOT interested in his 2IC in THAT way. It was a fight he lost. However, he also had very little doubt in his mind that she did not return his love in THAT way. For starters, he was several years her senior, and second, he was her CO, and as such, it was sternly forbidden. And thirdly, he doubted that either of them wanted to loose the other as a friend, as over the years they had become best friends, and taking it to the next level but failing could only ruin what they had worked so hard to build up.
No, he did not want to risk the status quo with a move that would likely only sink the boat.
It was several hours into the flight and Jack could not help but feel a growing sense of unease. He was not one to believe that Osama Bin Laden had managed to smuggle himself and 2,000 tons of explosives onto the plane he was on, and he had been in the air long enough to be comfortable to an extent with the way planes handled. No. This was not about the plane he was on. This was about the growing sense of dread he had about the future. What could it hold? How would he deal with it?
Jack needed to collect his nerve. He excused himself to the restroom, less for need to go and more to sort things out in his head.
It apparently was he first and (Jack believed) last time in the history of public aviation that there was no line for the restroom, and so Jack merely slipped into one of the stalls and locked the door.
He splashed cold water on his face to clear his mind, and then he looked up.
The twin strains of age and the military were getting to him, slowly eating away at him. He was in amazingly good shape, but he still noticed several new scars on his skin, and a look of world-weariness. He had a lot on his mind, and he was plagued by a nameless, shapeless dark fear that hung over his thoughts for the future like thick clouds before a storm. What path would he take down the road? He was at the very least glad for the mission to the Furlings, as that at least allowed him a brief exoneration from the road ahead.
Suddenly, and without warning, the plane began to rock back and forth, and Jack was caught up in the worst of it.
He fought to remain standing, but a sudden thrust shattered his resistance. He remembered a split second of looking at the wall before all faded to black.
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China was not a hospitable place in this day and age. Feng Zhao, of all people understood that much. From the old days of Western dominance to the Japanese invasions to the current civil war and constant pressure form the Western Allies in India to be smashed apart, one had to be strong to survive. Thankfully, he was not in existence during the first, and due to his notorious neighbor and rival, he was spared the wrath of the Japanese and of the CCP and KMT, who simply steered clear of his little corner of China near the borders with Tibet and British India.
The dammed redcoated Tommies and their allies were a different matter altogether. The British were determined to solidify their authority over the lawless border region, and between their veteran, well armed soldiers, their superior technology, and the foreign aid and lack of Nationalist or Communist forces, they were doing quite well. Militiamen and mercenaries armed with outdated weapons and pathetic armor support were proving time and again to be no match for elite teams like SAS and the Gurkhas armed with the latest weapons, training, and tactics with extensive Air and armor support.
Even so, the Western Allies were not who he feared most. That position was reserved for the so-called “hermit of the mountain.”
And thus, when he was jostled awake in the dead of night on July 18th 1946 by one of his men saying “Commander, wake up, wake up” in German, he was slow to wake, but when the Austrian mercenary said “It’s HIM. He is using the telegraph wire in the compound right NOW.” The 45 year old warlord and heavy sleeper bolted from his bed and yelled at the Austrian in German whether he was sure. The Austrian replied that the interloper had addressed himself as such and they had no reason to suspect otherwise. “ORDER THE MEN TO FORM A PERIMITER AROUND THE AREA AND SHOOT HIM IF HE TRIES TO ESCAPE!” The words poured out of Zhao’s mouth like water through a broken dam.
It was as if several thousand volts had been pumped into his blood, he ran out of his little hut and found his motley crew of Chinese, Tibetan, British, Japanese. Russian, and German mercenaries stirring from their sleep and being bullied into a perimeter.
His head became filled with excitement, and the adrenaline pumped into his veins like one pumps water into a well. “ORDER THE MEN TO HOLD THE PERIMITER AND TO WAIT FOR HIM TO COME TO US!” He shouted in Chinese, partially to his men, and partially to himself to make sure this was not some wonderful dream. The Hours passed like seconds in his great excitement. However, it was not until dawn that one of the Russians came up to him and told him that he had stopped using the telegram. Zhao could not wait a second more. “FORWARD AND SLAY HIM ON SIGHT!”
Every second of the slow and hidden advance tortured Zhao horribly, as the movement through the tall grass without being seen was dead slow, and he could not wait to sink his bayonet into the throat of this man, if he really was HIM.
He and his men stormed the telegraph office, he felt his heart sink.
The only ones in the office were his own men, two KMT exiles in their slightly modified uniforms, and the Tibetan operator. All hacked with a long sword in various grisly ways.
“WHO LET HIM ESCAPE?” Zhao bellowed to the assembled men.
“Herr Commandant” stammered Günter Schumacher, the second most powerful man in the camp next to Zhao himself “We formed a tight ring around the area, there is no way he could have escaped without one of the guards spotting him” but then the German contradicted himself and said “ But no one saw anything and all the men are accounted for.”
The mercs and militia stepped back, as Zhao was visibly furious. However, than Zhao noticed several papers on the desk near the telegraph.
He walked past his tired and scared men and picked them up.
“My god” was all he could say in his native Chinese. Than he composed himself and said “Günter, come look at these.” The German hurried quickly over to Zhao.
“Look.” Zhao passed the book over to the ex-Wermacht officer. “Do you realize what these are?” Zhao said in a hushed tone.
Günter looked at the Union Jack on the cover and uttered “Mien Gott, these are British Army plans!”
“Yes, and look here.” Zhao motioned over to a map on the table. Once unfolded, it showed a layout of the British Army encampment. “Look here” Zhao said, pointing to the Northwestern flank of the base. A smirk played across his face “Our British friends have made a bad mistake, and I intend to exploit it!” Zhao exclaimed boldly. It was accompanied by arrows that were clearly drawn on with the inscription 07/27/46 on it. “That bastard is preparing to defeat the British and seize their equipment for himself! But he is not ready! He will need over a week to prepare!” Zhao turned to his aide. “What is the status of our force?”
“Our men are rested and well supplied for the current circumstances. We need a day or two to prepare, but if we move quickly enough we should be able to hit them before the Westerners realize their error.”
Zhao’s quarry had eluded him, but it had given him a golden opportunity to astronomically increase his strength in the region and to finally drive the Englishmen out.
Or so it would appear.
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“Sir, are you alright?”
Jack O’Neill stirred on the floor of the bathroom, apparently having been knocked cold from the impact. Jack hastened to his feet and exited, firing apologies and assurances like he was firing a gun blindly from around the corner. He managed to make it to his seat with relatively minimal hassle given the situation, and he sat down and thought about what he had “seen” when he had been out. A batch of armed men hunting down someone, a someone who had left behind vital intelligence.
A someone who had seemingly disappeared into thin air.
Jack shuddered as though wracked by a freezing wind, remembering the encounter that had haunted his dreams for months.
Jack slowly eased into his seat and buckled back up again.
Completely unaware that across the void of space and time, someone was watching.
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' The arrogant fool had taken the bait! The plans were proceeding smoothly. Zhao would run into battle expecting an easy victory.' A smirk grazed the lips of the beast in humanoid form who was recollecting the status of his plot. 'And with him out of the way, there is only the Westerners and Xu to deal with. No, there was someone else to remove. SGC. ' The thing’s smirk widened and sharpened. ' But little do they know what they are getting into. And then it is a matter of waiting until the final part clicked into place.' The being licked its lips and smiled. 'The pieces are in place. It is time for the game to begin.' The creature widened the smile, and eerie red light danced along its eyes. 'SOON THE TIME WILL COME!'
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