At The Sign Of The Happy Helg

Chapter 11

The mothers and children had gone home, escorted by Tam with his large gun.

"We came armed, Tam," had said Grella, drawing a heavy-looking pistol out of her skirt pocket. John had thought it would make a good club, even if it didn't fire.

"You've a lot of little'uns with you," Tam had replied. "I wouldn't feel easy letting you go off with the grenza about, so I'm coming whether you want me or no."

Tam had departed, Lil had set out lunch for John and Teyla and then returned to the kitchen, to prepare a feast for the returning hunters.

John wandered out into the kitchen garden. It wasn't raining, for a change, although the ground was wet underfoot and the scurrying strips of low cloud against a grey-white sky suggested the rain wouldn't hold off for long. John thought about the morning he had spent with the women and children. He had felt awkward at first and uncomfortable about their avid interest in himself, and their very open and direct way of discussing the details of their own lives. He had gradually relaxed, however, in the atmosphere of easy acceptance, and particularly when Ellet had sat in his lap, studying him with huge-eyed fascination, but entirely without judgement. She had dribbled and blown a tiny, experimental Bronx cheer; he had copied (not the dribbling) and the basis of a friendship was laid down.

As John automatically scanned the treeline and checked for the presence of his Beretta (he had stuck it down the back of his BDUs, safety very definitely on, when the children had arrived), he reflected that although he spent his life protecting people, he very rarely got to enjoy the company of the ordinary civilians that he was prepared to give his life for. To simply observe normal lives, full of the everyday challenges of glorious mundanity, was a privilege.

John reached the outhouse, lit the candle and shut the door. He sat on the throne of chilly solitude and closed his eyes. Carson had been right; he did feel better after resting. His arm was still sore, but not too bad. He'd be able to fire a P90 if he had to. His throat didn't feel as angry either. And Teyla had made a good agreement, which would hopefully be mutually acceptable to the locals and Atlantis. John made a decision; once Ronon and Rodney had returned, they would quit while they were ahead. Gard could deal with that guy, Smeadon, whatever he was up to. John was taking his team home, mission completed, with minimal injuries.

He stood up, blew out the candle and stepped outside; it was raining again. The kitchen door burst open and the maid, Tirren came out and immediately flattened herself against the wall. She looked very distressed. John hurried over.

"Colonel! Some men came!" She was nearly incoherent with fear. "I thought they were traders. They hurt Lil!"

John threw off his sling and drew his sidearm. "Where are they?

"In the bar."

He heard a crash coming from inside and a male cry of pain. Teyla was in trouble.

"Are they armed?" Tirren merely stood, shocked, unspeaking. "Tirren, did they have weapons, guns?"

"I don't know... some did."

John turned and ran round the side of the building to the front, noting the presence of a large armoured vehicle, and crouched down below the window. He raised his head just enough to see in. A heap on the floor next to the bar was Lil. There were six men, two holding Teyla, who was drooping as if dazed. A third looked like he might be questioning her and suddenly stepped forward, gripped her face, forced her head up and held a handgun pressed into her cheek. John raised his gun and fired through the glass at the remaining three men. He got off several shots and definitely hit two of them before the man doing the questioning, who seemed to be the leader, began to fire back.