**** Warning - WIP ****

02/11/2007

Title: One-Legged Man In An Ass Kicking Contest^©

Wordsmith: mor_tru

Email: mor_tru@yahoo.com

Category: Gen/Angst/HC/AA/Humor

Archived: www.oocities.org/mor_ag2001/

Linked: Only to our website for now.

Status: WIP - Episode 2 of the Black Ops Series

Pairings: None

Spoilers: None

Season: Sequel to Episode 1

Rating: R

Content Warning: Language, violence.

Summary: It all started when the Tok’Ra knowingly dropped Jack’s ass into a hot zone. Pissed-off happened when Daniel disappeared on the same planet and Jack had to go back there and find him.

Author’s Notes:

Beta: It will be by the time it’s done.

Link to Episode 1: www.oocities.org/mor_ag2001/Black_Ops_Redefining_Outnumbered_GEN.htm

Disclaimers: The character of Colonel Jack O’Neill belongs to ‘them’, but the imagination behind this story is totally ours.

Date: WIP

Black Ops Episode 2:

One-Legged Man in an Ass-Kicking Contest^©

mor_tru

~~~~oOo~~~~

Four months later...

Ooh ya!

So there he was, alone, and back on PX5-039 once again. Only this time out Colonel Jack O’Neill was about to kick some Tok’Ra ass.

He’d been tracking the target for days. On the move constantly with little to no sleep - burning energy he didn’t have just trying to narrow the distance before they reached the Stargate. When he finally caught up with them, the afternoon’s light had already slipped into dusk. He was up in the tree line, heading down the leeward side of the slope, dogging them, watching them from a distance. They were heading out across an all too familiar meadow, cutting through the long grass and leaving a trail behind them like the proverbial road to Oz.

It had taken him an hour to crawl over the rough terrain to the one place where he needed to be. To insert into a position where he could see them but they couldn’t see him. Because high above his six, the planet’s twin suns were sinking behind the edge of the distant mountain range, spreading an array of bright light down across the valley to flood the meadow below. Their blinding backdrop provided him with a tentative canopy of camouflage – keeping him safe from any hostile eyes sweeping back across the slopes in his direction.

O’Neill bellied to the ground, ignoring the sting from sharp-edged rocks digging into his hips as he smoothed his way across the earth to become part of the scenery. Concealing himself beneath a brush-covered hide, he’d become insignificant to the landscape, giving him time to assess the scene playing out in the clearing just a quarter mile ahead.

There were six figures clustered together, three facing towards him and three turned away. Off to one side the circle of the Stargate had caught the evening’s fire - the naquida ring reflecting the rays from the setting suns. Soon, one of the six would douse it with the gate-address O’Neill needed to know, but first he had to endure the wait – unsettled, because he was gambling with the life of the one person that he was there to save.

Then a lone figure peeled away from the group and headed towards the DHD. O’Neill trailed the man with the scope of his rifle, watching him punch in the gate address - a combination of symbols that were not familiar, but then again, they never were. Seconds passed before the Stargate finally engaged, and through the scope, O’Neill could almost feel the wash of it as it billowed outward and resettled.

But in the small world of O’Neill and his rifle, every noise got filtered. The wind whistling across the ridge behind him, the birds calling from overhead as they swooped and darted chasing that last evening meal, the rustle in the grass off to his left as something small moved on by, the hollow click of a pebble dislodged, the whisper of leaves as they caught the wave of a breeze. Because in the small world of his absolute commitment, the only sound O’Neill ever heard was that of his own life, hushed with respect.

The time was now.

So he inhaled a long slow deep breath, focused all his senses down through the length of the barrel and adjusted the sight up one more notch, capturing the one face he had been looking for. In the circle of his scope, the image changed instantly from blurred anonymity to sharp recognition, and with it came a knot in his gut and a series of harsh memories.

Because it had been four months since his heated discussion with Jacob Carter and those words still echoed as though spoken yesterday, leaving him sick with cold confirmation as to the full extent of the Tok’Ra betrayal. If he could have chosen the most likely candidate to lead their we’re-fucking-you-over-just-one-more-time committee, then his instincts had been right along about the head currently framed in his sight. As far as Colonel Jack O’Neill was concerned, all he saw was just another two-faced image of treachery with no way to isolate the snake-headed entity hidden within from the host center to the crosshairs.

But it was the knife being held at Daniel’s throat that corroborated this particular Tok’Ra’s intent and dictated just how this scene had to play out.

So O’Neill willed his body to water, zeroed all his senses down to one finger, an eye, and squeezed the trigger.

~~~~~oOo~~~~~

TBC...

mor_tru 2007^©

For Humpty.