Stargate SG1 - Roswell (40 page)

Daniel had seen similar sights before, on many—too many—planets across the galaxy. But this was
his
planet, his home, even if it wasn't his time. And it was his fault. Earth was now under attack because he'd left Mitchell and Vala behind. Seeing New York in flames was far more personal, more immediate and therefore palpably more meaningful than the brief hours he'd spent in parallel worlds. No matter how hard he tried to construct that barrier around his emotions, the reality of this happening to his world tore into him.

The jumper headed south at high speed, swerving now and then to avoid boats chugging hard against the swiftly moving Hudson River. Occasionally glancing outside, Daniel followed the route by watching the map on the laptop screen for several miles...until the battery warning light blinked at him. “Oh, great,” he muttered. “We never did get those Ni-cads.”

He glanced across to see that An's unit still seemed to be operational, although it was harder for him to interpret the data because the maps were based on entirely different parameters.

The number of boats they encountered began to increase, as too did the number of passengers they appeared to be carrying. When the jumper rounded the bend where the river narrowed and picked up speed on the approach to Foundry Cove, the source of a huge plume of black smoke they'd seen a few miles back became clear. West Point had been utterly demolished. A section of the embankment had also been blown apart, filling the channel with debris, which had resulted in several larger, deeper draft vessels foundering. Dozens of boats of every shape and size jostled for position behind the wreckage, while captains and pilots attempted to squeeze their vessels through the remaining, narrow channel in the otherwise wide waterway.

Jack slowed the jumper just long enough for Daniel to catch sight of the stricken and bloodied faces of the passengers crammed on the decks, clutching possessions or children. Pressed hard against the gunwales, their faces were turned to the sky with expressions of stark terror.

Along the shoreline, the situation was the same. Endless lines of cars and trucks were traveling along both lanes of roads and freeways, all headed away from New York. On Bear Mountain Bridge, traffic was at a standstill because of a blazing pile-up and people, hundreds and hundreds of people, were trudging along the shoulders of the roads, desperate to escape a nightmare beyond comprehension.

They turned into Haverstraw Bay, just as a fighter plane lacking a wing and most of its tail plummeted out of the sky and crushed into the shallows with a fiery splash and gut-wrenching finality. Debris hit the waters around it, barely missing several boats. Daniel glanced up to a sky pockmarked with WWII lighters—he had no idea what kind of aircraft they were, but he recognized their silhouettes—and death gliders engaged in dogfights. Any vague hope he might have held that the invasion had come via the Stargate alone, was shattered when he saw that most of the death gliders were not 'gate-capable, but the wide-winged ships typically carried aboard Ha'taks. This was a multi-pronged attack. Except for the fact that the battle was centered over New York, he would almost have doubted that the presence of the Stargate mattered.

Teal'c's thoughts must have been along the same lines, because he said, “When invading a planet, capture of the Stargate is considered of primary importance. They will not cease until the Goa'uld entrusted with this invasion is certain the immediate area is secure. Once this has been assured, he will set up a camp near the 'gate, and await the arrival of Ra.”

Here and there, parachutes billowed open. More often than not, the chutes just as quickly evaporated in a puff of flame, and the tiny dark figure beneath plummeted helplessly to the ground. It was becoming increasingly difficult to make out detail, however, because palls of thick black smoke were now reaching hundreds of feet into the sky. The prevailing wind was pushing the bulk of the smoke southwest, but they would soon be in the thick of it.

A streak of fire shot past, then a second, closer this time. They were now well within range of stray weapons' fire, which meant that Jack had to weigh up the odds of the jumper being inadvertently hit versus the benefits of remaining invisible. Once they were spotted, the shields wouldn't last long against concerted attack.

“I have reacquired the signal,” An reported in a voice devoid of emotion. Whatever trauma the Asgard had suffered seemed to be behind him, now. If anything, Daniel suspected that, as much as it was possible for an Asgard, An was simmering over Loki's actions. The entire time he'd been installing the transport into the jumper, he'd been muttering about ungrateful opportunistic students.

The jumper descended further until they were literally skimming the water's surface, weaving in and out between ships filled with passengers desperate to escape New York. Why these boats hadn't fled via the harbor, Daniel had no idea... until a gust of wind cleared a section of smoke long enough to reveal a pair of Al'Kesh hovering over the mangled remains of Tappan Zee Bridge.

Jack muttered an expletive. The Al'Kesh were calmly shooting at ships moving upriver, like fish in a barrel.

This wasn't a battle; it was a massacre.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

A bucket of cold water. Good grief, Cancer Man and his pals had no imagination whatsoever.

The last thing Sam remembered prior to being saturated was
a closed fist coming straight at her, and a shouted warning from Commander Bennett. She'd tried to roll with the punch but must have cracked her head on something—probably one of
the
wooden filing cabinets—on the way down. Either that, or they'd injected her with more drugs because the bitter taste in her mouth was more than just blood.

“I want
answers!”

The voice cracked on the last syllable, but Sam recognized it as Cancer Man's. A couple of goons dragged her to her feet and she realized she was still in the same office, except that the
glass windows had been shattered, filing cabinets were on the floor with papers spilled all over the place, and the air was filled with fine dust, all of which told Sam that something had exploded nearby.

Before she could get her bearings, Cancer Man let fly with a closed fist, but since no one was currently restraining her, she ducked and swung an elbow into his solar plexus, and followed through with a left hook into his nose for good measure. There was no satisfying
crunch
under her balled fist, so she hadn't broken anything, however the grunt of pain following by a wheezing breathlessness more than made up for it. With any luck, he'd be unable to talk for several minutes.

Still unsteady on her feet, she knew she wouldn't get far with half a dozen trained soldiers surrounding her, not to mention a whole room full of... Exactly where was she anyway?

The staff sergeant, who looked about eighteen years old, grabbed her arms again, but there was little real force in it.

“What the hell are you doing, Agent?” yelled a voice from behind her.

Ignoring him, Sam said, “Personally, I really don't give a damn what happens to you, but right now you need to wake up to the fact that I am not lying.”

“Then what the hell is going on? Are you some sort of... alien?”

Sam now recognized the voice from behind as coming from Commander Bennett.

Cancer Man was still struggling for air, grasping the windowsill and staring daggers at her.

“No.” Dragging the young sergeant's hand along with her, she brushed past Cancer Man and pointed through the windows to two...no, three companies of jackal-helmeted Jaffa spanning out and heading in their direction. “But those are. And they're Ra's troops, all right.”

She turned back to the men, and, with her head rapidly clearing, realized that the bullpen was the site of utter pandemonium.

The NID had kept a set of offices on Central Park West, just north of the Museum of Natural History. According to the report she'd read, they'd taken over the location from the State Department soon after WWII.

The fingers of the NID had run deep and far, but it didn't much matter, now, because from the streets below she heard the distinctive, “Jaffa!
Kree!”
followed by the sound of staff blasts.

Running a hand through closely cropped hair, Commander Bennett stood from behind the desk—now cluttered with maps of New York and what looked like cablegrams—pointed out the window and declared. “She's right!” With a telephone receiver still pressed to his ear, he added, “Reports coming in are saying whatever those things are, they ain't human! There's a load of cops down there shooting at them, and the bullets are just bouncing off their chests!”

Sam looked around. The fact that she had not yet been beamed out of there indicated that either the rest of SG-1 had been delayed or something had happened to them. In which case
she may well be stuck here for the duration. Despite the fact that this was an NID stronghold, her choices were clear.

Ignoring the plain-clothed agents, Sam turning to the highest-ranking officer in the room, Commander Bennett, and said, “Tell the police to stop wasting their bullets and manpower and
withdraw. Don't even attempt to engage the Jaffa because they'll show far less mercy than the Germans and Japanese. Standard issue weapons are not going to do more than dent their armor and draw their attention. You need to bring in—” She was about to say P-90s, but they wouldn't be invented for another half century. “You need military personnel with anti-tank guns. At close range, they might bring down some of the death fighters as well but they're going to have to be far more mobile than tanks and armored vehicles, because nothing you currently have can protect you against the blast from a staff weapon. Hand grenades are also effective against the Jaffa.”

The commander started repeating the information on the phone, then pulled the receiver from his ear and mouthing, “General Royall,” handed it to Sam. She took two strides across to the desk, grabbed the receiver, and had just begun to explain what tactics the death gliders generally used when someone grabbed her by the shoulder, jerked her around and snatched the phone from her hand.

“Let her speak,” Bennett ordered Cancer Man. “She's the only one making any sense around here—”

A nearby explosion shook the building, and the sun was momentarily blotted out. Every man in uniform hit the deck, while those in suits stood around looking bewildered.

“Get down, you morons!” Bennett yelled, ducking for cover beneath the desk. “Amateurs,” Sam heard him mutter in the eerie silence that followed.

Beside her, one of the men began to get to his feet when a second and third explosion sent dust and plaster fluttering down from the ceiling.

That had sounded like a blast from an Al'kesh.

Bent in a low crouch, Sam scrambled across the debris to the windows and cautiously lifted her head just high enough to look out. This side of Central Park was now crawling with Jaffa, which meant that hundreds, possibly thousands of troops were coming through the 'gate. But that still didn't explain... “Oh, crap.”

The last of the drugs in her system vanished under a new onslaught of adrenaline-fuelled dread.

One of her captors had crawled up beside her—the young staff sergeant, whose eyes were bulging in disbelief. She turned around and yelled, “Commander, inform General Royall to get everything they can into the air.” She thought for a moment, trying to recall what aircraft were available. “Panthers and Banshees preferably—to target the larger vessels, the Al'kesh.”

“Hey, Miss? Those planes...” Bennett gave her an odd look. “They're...they're still being built. Hell, the Navy only ordered the Banshees from McDonnell in May.”

Sam winced.
Dammit!
“Okay, fine. The Al'kesh—the triangular looking ships—they're troop carriers and they'll be coming in from orbit, which means your pilots and navigators are going to have to keep their eyes peeled. Al'kesh move fast and are incredibly destructive, but they're not normally shielded so any decent strike on them—concentrated fire from .50 caliber machine guns won't do it but cannon fire from an Airacobra or Airacomet—might just be enough to bring one down.”