What Makes a Dreary World Seem Bright?

 I was a young captain stationed at Ft Hood when Desert Shield began and the Army began to send troops into Kuwait. I was supervising a group doing some training of lieutenants and sergeants from various units. I still recall the faces of those young people as I explained that we were, to all intents and purposes, at war and released them back to their units. This is probably my most vivid memory of that time.

The Iraqui Army was equipped with Soviet equipment. The cold war had only just ended, and we would be facing the stuff we had been notionally been training against for years. Soviet equipment was supposed to be formidable. The Iraqui soldiers we were facing were supposed to be formidable. Initial casualty projections potentially exceeded Viet Nam. 

Ft Hood deployed one entire Army division and a brigde from the remaining division as well as various other units. My unit did not deploy, although we assisted others in deploying. Despite the expectation that many of those deploying would not be returning home, the professionalism of the soldiers was unwavering. They were doing what we were trained to do. They weren't eager to fight, but they would do their duty and do it well.

The local community was amazing in ther support. Every single convoy that left Ft Hood was greeted with people lining the overpasses with signs and flags seeing them off. Every single one.

Me, I cried for every convoy (in the privacy of my car-captains don't cry in public).

We were lucky during that conflict. It turned out that Soviet equipment wasn't the threat we thought it would be and that most of the soldiers we were fighting didn't want to be fighting us. Casualties were surprisingly low. That doesn't detract one bit from the bravery of the men and women who deployed and answered the call of duty.

On this Veterans Day, I'm thinking of them.

Title: Mistaken Identity
Fandoms: Strike Back, Spooks (MI5)
Rating: PG
Length: about 2200
Summary: “Seriously, John, you don’t want to shoot me. We’re friends.” “Still not John. You’re going to have to come with me.”

Author's note: This is a scene that popped into my head during the Identity challenge. I wanted to put it into a story I was working on, but it didn't really fit. The basic setup is this: John Porter (Strike Back) is missing. Among the people looking for him is CIA agent Elizabeth Martin. While in London coordinating the search, she runs into Lucas North (MI5). Confusion ensues.

( Story )

It seemed appropriate to start this journal off with a small fic. John and Rodney, about 700 words.


Improbable and Inevitable

“I think that's far enough for now. How about you drop your weapon and come out where I can see you?”

The voice was female. As he stepped into the open area, John could see her standing behind an outcropping of rock and holding a gun like Ronon's. Damn, he wanted one of those guns.

“You know, most fellows have the courtesy to look me in the eye as opposed to staring at my...gun.”

John's eyes traveled upward to steady hazel eyes holding caution and not a little amusement.

John lowered his P90 with relief. Women were generally much easier to deal with than men. Women liked him. He smiled charmingly. “Sorry. I really like your gun. You don't happen to have an extra laying around anywhere, do you?"

She didn't answer, so he kept talking.

"You know, I don't understand why all the beautiful women I meet seem to end up pointing guns at me. I'm really a very nice fellow.” He cocked an eyebrow at her and was rewarded with a faint crook of her lips. She was a cute little thing, so turning up the charm was no great hardship.

“I'm John,” he said, holding out his hand. He didn't expect her to take it, and she didn't, but her hold on the gun seemed to loosen a bit.

“Jess,” she answered. “So, John, what brings you to my little outpost?”

“I honestly don't know. I was walking through my city, there was a flash of light and poof - I was here. I don't mean you people any harm. I just need to figure out how to get back to – where I came from. Maybe we could put down the guns and discuss it?”

Of course, that was the moment Rodney chose to charge around the corner. “Colonel, the energy field is interfering with both the lifesign detector and the data pad. I can't get any kind of...oh.”

“Rodney,” John drawled, “let me introduce you with the pretty lady with the gun. Jess, Rodney; Rodney, Jess.”

Rodney stuck out his hand. “Dr. Rodney McKay.”

Jess didn't take his hand. Instead, she started laughing, a loud braying laugh. Rodney's eyes narrowed. “Excuse me, did I say something funny? I realize I'm not as Kirky as the flyboy over there, but –”

Jess stopped laughing, but it looked like an effort. “I'm sorry, Dr. McKay. I'm not laughing at you, just the situation.” She turned to John. “If he's Dr. McKay, I assume you're Colonel Sheppard?”

She didn't wait for an answer, but spoke into a radio. “Em, I need you to get out here. There are some people you need to meet, right away.”

“Do you want to tell me what the hell's going on?” John asked, starting forward.

Jess raised her eyebrow at him and motioned him back with her gun. “Just hold on for a minute, and you'll see.”

Another woman, this one a blonde armed with a datapad, stepped out of the corridor behind Jess. “You do understand that I'm trying to identify and align wildly fluctuating energy fields and determine the extent of the current incident?” she snapped. “I don't have time to come ogle your latest batch of pretty boys.”

“Em, let me introduce Dr. Rodney McKay and Colonel John Sheppard. ”

“Like I care who they are. Unless they can – wait, did you say-” The blonde looked stunned.

“Yep. Just remember, you're the one who called them pretty.” Jess looked smug.

“Huh.” The blonde looked back and forth between John and Rodney.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Rodney said. “There's no way. The energy requirements alone would – huh.”

“Exactly,” said the blonde.

Jess stated laughing again.

John was feeling left out and getting downright angry. “Somebody tell me what the HELL is going on here. Now.”

“They're us, or at least some version of us, Colonel.”

“How can they be us, McKay? In case you didn't notice, they're women!”

"I noticed. And I noticed that you noticed. You know, I figured this was bound to happen some day." Rodney was almost dancing with glee. "Wait till I tell Ronon and Teyla how you were flirting with yourself!"

Title: Silent Treatment
Characters: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay
Length: 600ish words
Author's Notes: Warning - this is a Halloween story, expect creepy things. Many, many thanks to kimberlyfdr for her thorough and speedy beta job. Any remaining errors are all mine.
Summary: After spending a few years stranded with only each other for company, the cracks are beginning to show.

( Silent Treatment )

Title: Wishing and Dreaming
Author: Skeddy_kat
Word Count: About 1000
Rating: G
Summary: Ronon and the team escape the fairytale ending. Sheer silliness.

( A wondrous treasure, indeed. )

Title: Taking Arms Against a Sea of Troubles
Author: skeddy_kat
Pairing : None. Gen.
Warnings/Spoilers: Set after “This Mortal Coil” with spoilers for that episode. Characters die, but they are dead in canon.
Word count: About 1200
Summary: What if one of the duplicates survived the jumper crash?

( 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wish'd' )

This is the sequel to Mail Call. Thank you to Diluvian for the beta work. Any remaining mistakes were probably added once she was done with it.

Title: Mail Call 2
Pairing: none
Rating: G
Summary: John opens his mother's letter.

( Read the story )

Title: Mail Call
Pairing: None
Rating: G
Summary: John gets a letter from a woman he's never met.

( Dear Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard )

There Came Things In My Path Which Are No More (Written for the sga_flashfic Amnesty/Darkness Challenge)
Rating: PG
Spoilers: The Defiant One
Summary: Rodney has an unanticipated reaction to Gall’s death.

( It’s not Gall waiting for you in the darkness )

Stargate Atlantis. 190 words on John's hands.

John Sheppard sits in his dimly lit room staring at his hands. They’re human again, but otherwise unremarkable. In a crowd, they won’t stand out. Not like Rodney’s. Rodney has beautiful hands—long fingered, expressive, animated. Rodney’s hands are open and honest, revealing everything. John loves watching those hands punctuating Rodney’s conversations or flying over a keyboard. They’re the hands of an artist or maybe a pianist. He wonders if Rodney had ever put brush to canvas or played the piano. Rodney’s hands don’t or can’t lie; John’s not sure which. He envies Rodney’s hands.

John’s hands aren’t honest. Like John himself, they become whatever is needed. His hands are competent killers; they no longer tremble at the prospect. Those same steady hands have traced paths of pleasure on sweaty bodies in darkened rooms; lovers, strangers, and some in between. John’s hands manage the cyclic of a helicopter and a guitar pick with equal skill. They can disassemble and assemble a P90 blindfolded. Here in Atlantis they make things come alive. He looks at his hands and no longer knows who they’re supposed to be, who he’s supposed to be.