The Sweat - Part 9 of 'An Education'
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. I have written this story for entertainment purposes only and no money whatsoever has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author(s).
Daniel struggled to breathe. Now was not the time to pass out.
Cassie had turned away from him, her concentration intent on the pilot at the front of
the craft, the hand device raised in threat. She stumbled slightly as the chopper
dipped sideways and Daniel took the opportunity to take her down.
He flung himself at her legs, using his weight to hold down the slight girl. A hand
grabbed her arm forcing the weapon to the deck. She struggled, but even with the
strength of a Goa'uld, she had no purchase, no leverage. She snarled in frustration.
The pilot must have been injured, because the helicopter suddenly tipped sideways,
causing Daniel to lose his position. As he fell into a bulkhead, he gripped Cassie with
his arms, and tangled her in his legs. She screamed at him.
Movement in the corner of his eye distracted him and he turned just in time to see
Jack roll helplessly towards the gaping hole next to him. Oh, god. Shoving Cassie to
the deck, he reached out and grabbed one of Jack's flailing limbs.
He caught an ankle.
Bones moved under Daniel's hand, he could feel the grinding, but his pressure slowed
Jack's momentum, pivoting him, and he was able to grab the edge of the hole and
wrap his hands around the bulkhead. His body moved, curling in on itself as it
regained its balance. Daniel let go of his foot, and turned his attention back to Cassie.
She spat in his face.
"Pathetic, Tau'ri. You really are pathetic."
He ignored her, and forced her harder into the deck, his knee at her back. Reaching
over, he dug into the medical supplies cabinet and found some strong elastic bandage.
He wrested the hand device from her wrist, and bound her hand and foot as quickly as
he could, doing his best not to focus on who she really was.
"Uncle Danny? Wha...what are you doing?!"
He wasn't going to listen.
He did too. On the inside. The Tok'ra would help. They had too.
The chopper continued to wobble, and through the hole he could see the ground was
closer than before. The pilot needed help. Jack needed help.
They all needed help.
Once she was secure, and the bullet wound in her arm wrapped tightly, he bundled her
up, and strapped her onto Jack's empty stretcher.
He turned back to the man huddled by the gash in the bulkhead.
Jack was not doing well. But he was alive.
A tap on his shoulder and he looked up to find a worried Daniel hovering over him.
He shook his head. The throb of the rotors and the howl of the wind required him to
yell to be heard, and he didn't really have the energy. Besides the pilot was more
important. A fact punctuated by a sudden drop as the helicopter dipped even closer to
the ground. Daniel disappeared in the direction of the front of the cabin.
Jack stared down at the roofs of the houses of his own town. Red, green, grey, even
an odd pale blue one, they all flew past beneath him. He could not see in the direction
he was going, but he could see where he had been. They were heading towards the
mountain. To Cheyenne. His second home.
The view was suddenly interrupted by sleek grey. An F-15 took up pace beside their
faltering chopper. He stared at it dazedly. There should be two of them. He could
see the pilot, he was that close, and he wondered if the chopper would be shot down if
they veered off course.
He wasn't thinking straight.
Someone grabbed his shoulder.
He flinched, his body attempting to turn in defence. He almost lost his grip on the
bulkhead, but two strong arms caught him and dragged him to further safety inside.
There was pain.
A pair of blue eyes appeared in front of his face. Where were Danny's glasses?
"Jack!" He was shaken gently, and the chopper suddenly shuddered. Metal groaned.
"Jack, the pilot needs our help."
"He's been hurt, Jack. I need your help."
Arms lifted him. More pain. Oh, god. He didn't know if he could take anymore. No
"I'm sorry, Jack." Daniel's voice broke in his ear, but suddenly Jack was sitting
upright, pain shooting up and down his legs as Daniel shifted them as gently as he
could. Wind tossed his hair more strongly.
There was a mountain coming.
With the cold air in his face came clarity, and something was shoved hard up against
his back to provide support. There were controls.
He turned to the left and was confronted by a sight that shook clear whatever remains
of fog there were in his brain.
The pilot, a Captain Kennedy by his name badge and rank, was canted sideways, his
grip on the helicopter controls white knuckled. A chunk of metal was punctured
through his gut. Blood dribbled down his chin. He smiled weakly at Jack, the
knowledge that he obviously wasn't going to be the one to land this bird, plain on his
Jack stared at the second set of controls in front of him. He'd flown a chopper before,
but not recently. His eyes skipped across them, noting the familiar and the not so.
Wind buffeted his face as his eyes fell on the pedals. He swallowed, refusing to
"Daniel!" He had to yell above the roar of the wind. "I'm going to need your help."
The pilot suddenly coughed, and the craft tipped sideways as his hands twitched on
Jack grabbed the collective at the side of his seat and the cyclic in front of him, the
controls halting the downward slide and pulling the chopper into a more stable climb,
his injured side complaining all the way. A glance at Kennedy told him the poor man
was losing his fight to stay conscious.
The chopper began to turn of its own volition.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
Without the control of the tail rotor, the chopper would plunge into a fatal spin. The
foot pedals shouted at him. His ankles throbbed in response.
Daniel's head appeared at his call, but there was no time.
The mountain loomed.
Jack eased his feet over as fast as he could. He put pressure on the pedals.
He tried not to scream, but the pain bubbled forth. Black dots buzzed in his vision.
Someone shook his shoulder and from somewhere he could hear his name being
The shadow of the mountain cut off the sun and he snapped to awareness. Fire shot
up and down his legs with each movement, bones ground, but it was pain or death.
His hands, white knuckled, shook on the controls.
Wilderness and the odd house. A winding road. A familiar winding road.
He whimpered, blood running down his chin as he bit his lip in two.
He could do it.
His foot slipped in its own blood.
The tail rotor canted sideways and the chopper spun to a new heading, its occupants
thrown hard to the right.
Jack screamed in defiance, agony, he no longer knew which, and forced the machine
down in the direction of the parking lot he knew was below. Blood throbbed in his
He was going to pass out. He could feel it overtaking him. No time. No time.
He found it. Dark grey asphalt, the polka dots of many coloured cars.
He came in low and fast. He screamed to Daniel, praying the man could hang on to
Metal hit concrete.
The chopper slid sideways, the tail rotor catching on a fence. Sparks flew. A god
awful screeching rent the air.
Jack, suddenly aware that he had taken out the General's car, abruptly found himself
airborne, as the chopper slowed and he didn't.
He was flying.
If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to