SG8 - Lost [ Serra/Mosley }
David Valentine
Walking abreast of Serra, Mosley’s permanent scowl was noticeably deeper as the two made their way through the bowels of the King George IV. He was dressed in ABUs; every inch of his fatigues mute testimony to his rigid adherence to Air Force Instruction 36-2903. His ugly mug was shaved, as well as his smooth and shiny scalp. As taciturn as he was, he couldn’t stand it and finally voiced his concern to SG8’s newest CO walking beside him.
“Captain,” he started, his voice deep and gravelly, “I’m not liking this Buck Rogers shit. We’re on a space ship...a goddamned space ship, in outer fuckin’ space. I’m feeling way outta my comfort zone here.” It was true for Mosley’s stature was stiffer that usual, his scowl deeper, and his massive hands clenched and unclenched with a nervousness that belied his usual calm demeanor.
They couldn't have been any more opposite if they tried. Keiko, petite at the best of times, looked even smaller next to Mose's bulk. And while he was all nervousness, she was practically skipping with excitement next to him. It was a space ship! Just about the coolest thing ever really and such a shame she couldn't tell her dad, he'd be so jealous. "It's not that bad Mose," she grinned at the scowling man next to her, "surely half the stuff we've done through the Gate is worse than this."
“Beg to differ, Cap,” Mosley growled, feeling his skin itch. “Go to an airlock, step outside this oversized Spam can and take a deep breath. Let’s see where that gets you. Me, ah love to breathe. By the way, just where the hell are you taking me?”
"So being in space freaks you out but being hurled through a wormhole at speed is A-OK? Good to know. We're going to the briefing...oh." She stopped and glanced down the corridor the were walking along then frowned. "Except it's back that way. About face," she headed back the way they came then turned left along the corridor she'd missed. "So, how are you doing? After the attack and everything, you doing okay?"
The attack that had nearly wiped out SGC and his role in defending it was something he would never, ever forget. The eye-stinging, lung-choking smoke, the darkness, the ever constant rattle of gunfire, the body-jarring explosions, shouts and screams under the mountain...all would stay with him forever. He had been cut off from Serra and the others of SG8, lost in the chaos, blasting away with the USAS-12 automatic shotgun he had grabbed from an airman tossing out weapons from an armory. He had used grenades, his pistol, his knife ‘Baby Trey,’ even his fists at one point. If he could have, Mosley would have thrown the kitchen sink at them.
It was a near run thing and he had survived. And that was all that mattered, he thought. Mosley shot a glance at Serra. They never had a chance to talk about what happened that day, not that he was inclined to talk. It was not his way. Though saddened by the losses, some forty odd of their own dead, he had silently thanked God when he saw Serra alive and kicking though he would not ever show it.
“I’m right as rain,” was all Mosley would say on the matter as his eyes swept across yet another hallway they had turned into. He realized he had no clue where he was and his anxiety level was back on the rise. “Do you need a map? Do we need a gawddamn map to find out way around this whistlin’ shitcan?”
"Language, language," she chided lightly but placed a soothing hand on his arm for the briefest of seconds. She understood his fear, she'd flown rescue missions where her passengers had never been up in the air before, let alone in a helicopter. Their reactions had swung anywhere from silent awe to full blown panic attacks and screaming. Thankfully Mose wasn't quite there yet.
"We're almost there," she said with a smile and nodded down another anonymous corridor. "Have you seen anyone else since you arrived? Any idea who else is on board?" Inane questions but she hoped they would help distract him until they got to where they were going.
“Nope, everyone else from Eight is AWOL as far I I know,” Trey growled, the muscles in his jaws flexing. “‘Course I almost didn’t make it myself,” he confessed, remembering how the call came in right in the middle of a conjugal liaison at a bed & breakfast, a get-together long arranged by his wife. Needless to say, duty won over sex by a hair’s margin and Valerie had been pissed, giving him a few choice words and the ol’ stink-eye as he hustled out on her. Trey knew if and when he came back, he would have to grovel at Valerie’s feet. God, how he hated to grovel!
“Dammit, Cap,” Trey growled suddenly, “just where the f...where are we?”
"Almost there, I'm positive this time." Keiko lied with a big smile on her face, realising she'd managed to get them hopelessly lost. Then she heard them, familiar voices! "Oh thank goodness," she swung down a corridor and saw Howard and Malone standing talking and she all but sighed in relief. "Well, at least we've found more from the mountain. Who'll hopefully know where we're going."
Trey spotted the other two as well and even though his scowl was hopelessly and permanently etched into his face, his features softened somewhat. He was glad to see another member of Eight, even if Howard was new to the team. He knew she was a veteran SGC member and it helped she was Air Force. On the other hand, he had no love for ‘Buzz’ Malone for two reasons. One, Malone was Army. Two, he was a joker and Trey had no use for jokers.
Bet they don’t know anymore than we do, Trey thought as the two approached Howard and Malone. “The more the merrier,” he replied without conviction.
Captain Keiko Serra
CO
SG8
MSgt Trey Mosley
Special Tactics Airman
SG8 ‘The Mighty Eigth”