Safe Harbor

Author: Kosh_len <kosh_len[at]>

Disclaimer: All characters belong to their rightful owners... none of which are me, with the execption of Robert Sinclair, who is mine.

Summary: A three hour tour.... A three hour tour......

Warning : Crossovers ahead. (Yes Plural.)

Rating : PG-13 to PG-16; for mild cursing, violence, and demonic horror content... in other words a bit more grown up then the series... but only cause I don't have to suck up to censors, also because I am following the bosses lead.

A special thanks to Tenhawk for letting me play in his mucked up little world. Also thanks to my editor Shollin for all her help in keeping my stuff straight.

Lyrics from the song "Heaved away" by MacKeel, off the Plaid album.

You could see her in the distance
She's a maiden of the sea
And her sails are cast upon the wind
Going nowhere in direction
Yet going somewhere safe to lay
Heaved away, oh, heaved away

"We've got pilots in the water, I repeat, we have pilots in the water," came the call over the radio.

Maria Sanchez sighed and gave the wheel a twist, turning the old PT boat toward the reported location of the downed aviator. With a push of the handle forward on the console, the old boat lurched forward.

"Rupert, we got another one!" she yelled, her eyes quickly glancing across the screens that reported the status of the boat.

"Do we have enough fuel to help?" asked Giles as he entered from the deck.

"Barely. We should be able to make Pearl with fumes to spare. We'd have been done for already if the Ticonderoga hadn't had some spare fuel they could give us," grumbled the captain of PT 579. "And I was so looking forward to the break."

Several weeks of constant fighting had taken their toll on the men and women aboard the boat. With both the fighting and the rescue missions, the haphazard crew of the 579 was just about dead on its feet. Supplies, ammunition, and fuel were running low, and it had been decided that the boat needed to run to safe harbor. Xander had ordered them away from Avalon, based on the fact that a good portion of the necessary supplies weren't available on the island.

"This is PT 579, we are en route to the area of the downed pilot, I repeat, this is PT 579, we are en route," Sanchez radioed to the other vessels in the combat zone.

"We hear you PT 579, we have helos inbound as well," a voice came back over the radio. "Be advised, we have reports of enemy contacts in the area."

"Roger that, PT 579 out," Maria said with a shake of her head. She keyed over to the onboard intercom and closed her eyes. "Now hear this, we got pilots in the water and bandits in the air, everyone to your battle stations! The shoreleave will have to wait, boys and girls."

She pressed a button on the console and a klaxon alarm sounded, beckoning the off-duty crew. Maria and Giles both heard the rushing of footsteps from outside the cabin as the crew scurried to their positions. With a nod to the Watcher, Maria scanned the consoles as she turned the boat toward the battle zone.

"Madre de Dios," she muttered as she drove the old warship toward the glowing horizon and the storm of war that loomed ahead.

She has seen the toils of treasure
Through the eyes of a hurricane
That for so long had never lost its gale
As he rocked her back and forward
Pelting hard with wind and rain
Heaved away, oh, heaved away

"Good Lord," said Giles as the boat sailed into the war zone. Plane wreckage and burning oil floated around the ships with thick layers of smoke rolling high up into the air. High above, the crew of the 579 could make out the sounds of combat as the pilots engaged the enemy once more.

"Anyone see anything?" Maria asked from the cabin. "The transponder reading says he should be around here somewhere."

"Man, I can't see shit through this smoke," one voice responded from the port side of the craft.

"Ditto on this side, we could drive right over him and never spot him," came another voice.

With a curse Maria looked around the cabin until she laid eyes on two men near the stairs. Giles nodded and headed for the door, turning only once to make sure the second man was following.

"Looks like we're up," said Robert Sinclair as he shrugged out of his jacket and headed onto the deck.

The two mages looked out at the rolling smoke and shook their heads. Taking up places on each side of the cabin, the two men began to chant in an old tongue, their eyes closed and their hands moving slightly. The rest of the crew held their breath, having seen this done time and time again. Time seemed to stand still until finally Robert opened his eyes.

"Got him, 200 yards that way," said the mage, pointing off into the distance.

The crew sprang to life as Maria started the engines moving again. With a careful turn, she angled the boat in the direction Robert pointed, his arm moving almost like a compass, turning as the PT did.

Eyes attempted to pierce the smoke, each man and woman searching to spot the downed pilot. Minutes passed like hours until finally one of the men let out a cry and a whoop.

"Got him, Maria, 2 degrees to the port and slow her down!" yelled Jacks as she hopped down from her position in the radar rigging.

The crew moved with a practiced ease as they pulled the downed pilot out of the water and onboard PT 579. Quickly the man was bundled in a warm blanket and was about to be moved below deck where the medics could check him over, when he stopped the men helping him below.

"I wanted to thank you and your crew, Captain. When I went into the drink I figured I was a goner," said the man. "I was starting to think no one was going to find me and I sure as hell never expected to be picked up by the Ghost."

"Ghost?" asked Maria, a frown clearly written on her face.

The pilot nodded and smiled.

"Lot of the men and women you guys picked up keep telling stories about this old WWII ghost ship sailing these waters saving lost pilots. Claim you guys just sail out of nowhere and save pilots and bring'em back to safety. Never thought I'd catch a ride on her, though. Thanks."

With that, the pilot turned and let the men lead him below deck.

"Ghost ship, eh?" smiled Robert.

Maria just shook her head, which only made the mage chuckle more.

"All right, boys and girls, enough standing around, let's go find ourselves another lost sheep!" yelled Maria as she started the boat again, aiming it at the next transponder signal.

Above the boat, the battle raged on.

Another night of hell begins
Another fight that she can't win
Her main mast broken with the wind
And God knows when this will all end

Darkness had fallen, making the search for more pilots even harder as Maria navigated the 579 around the smoke and flaming wreckage. The sounds of battle above them had slowly begun to die down, but the crew still watched the heavens, hoping and praying the battle wouldn't come down to them.

"Anything?" asked Giles as he watched Maria work the controls on the console.

"Nope, you two have any luck finding him?" Sanchez asked as she turned to regard the Watcher.

Giles shook his head and peered out into the darkness. He hated it when they couldn't find the pilots they had raced to rescue. Sometimes it was merely a matter of a rescue helicopter finding the pilot, other times it was other rescue vessels, or even Rescue One finding them. It was the times when no one found the missing pilot that weighed the heaviest on the crew. Though everyone knew they couldn't save everyone, the men and women onboard the 579 had committed themselves to at least trying.

A whining noise filled the air, and the crew let out a scream as a Goa'uld death glider suddenly passed over the boat. A second fighter, then a third, followed it, the whine of their engines filling the night.

"Oh shit!" yelled Maria as the boat suddenly turned and picked up speed. "Man your battle stations!"

The crew of the PT boat exploded into motion as the men and women moved with precision to their assigned spots. Everyone held their breath and waited, each person wondering if they had been spotted. Their wondering ceased when they heard the return of the gliders as they banked in on an assault run.

The night air filled with the sound of gunfire as the 579 opened up on the lead fighter. The pilot tried to brake as it realized the tiny boat in the water was armed to the death, but it exploded as the thunderbolt system opened up, filling the air with hundreds of 20mm rounds.

The second and third glider broke off, trying hard to evade the onslaught that had erupted from the water. With a hard banking action, each of the gliders re-angled its attack run, coming at the PT boat from different directions. The crew scrambled to track the fighters, tracer rounds lighting up the night sky.

"This is PT 579, we are under attack, I repeat, we are under attack. We need assistance as soon as possible," yelled Maria into the radio as she banked the boat, trying to evade the weapons fire from the death glider.

His lightning flashed with fury
His thunder rolled like a drum
And her cries for mercy came unheard
A battered rig from bow to stern
With a gasp of air she prayed
Heaved away, oh, heaved away

The boat rocked back and forth as the glider made a second pass overhead, its gun spitting out destruction as it flew by. Several men had already been badly wounded as the fighters had continued their attack. The fast-moving vessels had become hard targets to hit in the dark, even with the advanced radar Xander had put on the boat.

"Son of a bitch!" cried Sinclair as he dove for the deck, explosions ripping up the decking where he had been standing. "These assholes are really starting to piss me off."

Crawling across the deck, he made his way to a downed mercenary, grabbing the unconscious man before he could slide off the deck and into the rolling waters.

"Come get some, you bleeding wankers!" yelled Giles as he chased the glider with the 20mm Oerlikon he had taken over after the mercenary had gone down.

Tracer rounds lit up the night as they exploded from the machine gun and toward the Goa'uld fighter. It looked like the shielding was going to hold up to the onslaught from the PT's weapons when suddenly a lightning bolt impacted. The shielding flickered for a moment and then faded out completely, and the death glider erupted into flames as the machine-gun fire overtook it.

"Thanks!" Giles yelled to Sinclair, who was kneeling over the body of one of the mercenaries who had come with Dragan. "How is he?"

"You're welcome, but I'm just about out of steam," responded Sinclair. "I've got to get him below deck. He'll make it, but they rang his bell but good. I'm just surprised the gun survived intact. He barely did."

"They're swinging back around!" cried one of the men near the rear of the boat.

Giles heard Maria let out a curse and the old boat lurched hard, driving hard to avoid the incoming fire. The staccato of heavy gunfire erupted as the gunners unloaded on the incoming death glider.

Like a bizarre fireworks show, the 579 filled the air with light and sound in a vain attempt to save the old boat and her crew. The ship rocked again as the death glider scored another hit on the hull. There was a loud explosion, then silence as the thunderbolt system went suddenly silent. Smoke rolled out of the rear of the once-proud boat as the engines sputtered and then there was nothing.

"Well, this is it!" said Maria with a resigned sigh as she watched the glider angling in to finish off the boat, a bandage pressed up against her forehead. "Everyone get ready to abandon…"

The death glider, which had been banking back in to finish off the struggling ships, suddenly exploded as a hail of gunfire appeared from the smoke. The crew of the 579 let out a yell as a Navy cruiser sailed out of the smoke, her guns blazing. As quickly as they had come, the fighters broke off their attack, sweeping away from the large warship.

"Attention PT 579. This is the USN Port Royal. We heard you had a small pest problem. Can we be of assistance?"

She was bound but was not broken
With some courage made it free
Now here she lies, cast upon the wind
With her main sail setting forward
In hopes to steer her clear
Heaved away, oh, heaved away

"So what are her chances, doc?" asked Sinclair as he peered over Maria's shoulder and into the engine compartment.

"Poor. I might be able to limp her back to Avalon, but the 579 is out of the fight for the moment," responded the Captain. "How are the wounded?"

"We offloaded everyone onto the Port Royal, the Doc on board said everyone should make a full recovery. They're being flown back to Pearl as we speak," replied the mage.

Maria stood and wiped her hands on a rag. She glanced back at the engines and shook her head. Her boat had taken a beating but survived, as had the crew. If the Navy hadn't shown up when they had, it would have been over, but the Fates had stood on their side for a change.

"What are your orders, Captain?" asked one of the mercenaries.

"We're heading for Avalon, boys; the boss wants us back ASAP. He's got some wild plan up his ass," she said with a shrug. "Let's head for the bay and some safe harbor of our own. Lord knows we need it."


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