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Code Ragnarok: Battlefront

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This story is No. 2 in the series "Code Ragnarok". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: And in those days of darkness a brave few stood against the wave of evil. Some fell, others were broken, a few triumphed. All were heroes. This is their story.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Stargate > General > Theme: Multi-CrossoversHMaxMarius + 19 othersFR18324512,925121096353,29418 Dec 126 Nov 14No

Relief at Council House One

Code Ragnarok: Battlefront

A/N: This is the second multi-author story of the Code Ragnarok Universe. Those authors who write a piece for 'Stand and Be Counted' will be added to the allowed authors list for this story. This story will focus on the battles of the teams introduced in the first story. Disclaimer: All included characters and universes (particularly Buffy and Stargate SG-1 or the Iron Eagle franchise) are the property of their respective creators. No actual vampires were harmed in the making of this story

Synopsis: And in those days of darkness a brave few stood against the wave of evil. Some fell, others were broken, a few triumphed. All were heroes. This is their story.

Relief at Council House One

SGC Infirmary

The tall, gray haired officer stood beside the younger man with thinning brown hair. Both sets of shoulders slumped as if the weight born by Atlas himself had been transferred there ten-fold. General and Watcher, before them on an infirmary cot; severely wounded, unconscious and near death lay one of the worlds greatest heroes, for all that she was virtually unknown outside a very select group. Blood and ichor matted her hair and caked the clothing the doctors had cut from her body to get at her injuries.

Buffy Summers lay in the SGC's Infirmary lost in the depths of her body's desperate attempt to heal from the massive damage it had sustained.

Laying his hand on the Watcher's shoulder the General squeezed gently. “Janet can work miracles with her needles Mr. Giles.”

With a heavy sigh, the Chief Watcher of the ISWC nodded.

“She bought us time, now it's my turn. We should pull your people back to regroup.”

Giles shook his head, clearing the cobwebs of worry momentarily. “That would probably be the first, worst mistake we could make General O'Neill.”

Jack turned to look the Watcher in the eyes.

“Demons don't think of a battle like the military does. To accomplish their objectives a demon army will continue to throw all of their forces at any point of resistance until it is eliminated. If we disengage, the demons will disperse.”

“So you're saying that we currently have a meeting engagement, and so long as we can maintain sufficient contact we can control the battlefield's location.”

Giles sank into a chair by the Golden Slayer's bedside. “For now, at least until the demon numbers become so large that they can no longer get into the immediate fight. I fear that at the rate they are flowing out of the Hellmouth we only have a day or so before that point is reached.”

“So I have at most twenty-four hours to throw together a containment force.”

Eastern Outskirts of Cleveland – Joyce Summer's School for the Gifted

The Anya Jenkins Dorm had been reduced to a pile of ruble and the Jenny Calendar Building was engulfed in flames. Faith swung herself up to the top of the ten foot tall seated great-dane statue that stood at the center of the school quad's fountain.

“Sorry Scoob,” she patted the great stone head. “Need to be able to see what's coming.”

Hefting the binoculars to her eyes she looked past the destruction to the breech in the east wall.

“FAITH!” Dawn's yell drew her eyes to the table that had been set up between the still standing Jessie McNalley Watcher's Dorm and Tara MacClay Arcane Studies Building. "The Mayor just asked for more time. The evacuation is not going well.”

Tossing a wave of acknowledgment she turned to look again at the breech. She could see the big Jaffa Teal'c, SG-1's permanent Slayer Cassandra Frasier, and Kennedy's squad of Brazilian slayers probing forward under the watchful cover of SG-3's Marines. All of the resident Cleveland Slayers were either dead or evacuated to the infirmaries of the ODYSSEY or KOROLEV. The same was true for half of the SG-Slayer team that had deployed with SG-1, but between them they had managed to push the first wave beyond the walls of the school. Reports from regular army units mentioned 70% casualties while the hastily mobilized and deployed Ohio National Guard combat units were dropping off the grid as soon as they reported contact, if not before doing so.

Movement in the darkness and smoke drew her focus. She shook her head and checked the sun position. How could it be so dark with the sun high in the sky. It was like the demon forces were cloaking themselves in the stink of evil cliché.

She keyed her tactical radio. “Kennedy. Ambush position inside the breech. SG-3, fire-sack at the break.”


“SAM! SECOND WAVE!” Faith shouted down to the tables as she leaped from the statue head.

“Damn!” The Lieutenant Colonel scrambled for her radio. “Firebase, SG-1. Please tell me you're up.”

“Negative SG-1. First cannon is deploying now. Ten minutes to firing point.”

“Crap.” Fumbling at the knobs of the field radio pack on the table she switched to the general frequency. “This is SG-1, grid 37 hash 14. Large hostile force approaching from the east. Request immediate support.”

“SG-1, Zeus. Vectoring Archer Flight to your position. Contact on 4773 dot 6.”

“Archer Flight, 4773 dot 6 affirmative. SG-1 out.”

Two hundred miles south the radar operator on the circling AWACS directed a pair of A-10 Warthogs in to support the threatened ground force while attempting to diagnose an intermittent error that had been plaguing the grid 37 and 38 sections of his monitor for several minutes.

“SG-1, Archer Flight. One minute out, pop smoke.”

Sam grabbed the tactical radio at her collar. “All units, Finger of God! Pop smoke!” Fitting action to words she pulled a canister free of her web gear, pulled the pin and tossed it ten feet down-wind. All across the compound SG and Slayer teams did the same Green smoke billowing forth.

“Visual visual! SG-1 we have your position.” The whine of jet engines climbed from the south. “Damn, those are some fugly targets. Tally Ho, beginning attack run.”

Above the smoke and flames the pair of dark green jets rolled into their attack pattern. Their long straight wings and twin tails looking like aircraft from sixty years earlier. Of course, the Warthog, ugly as it was, was a beautiful piece of engineering. It's entire purpose being to make the GAU-30 anti-tank cannon fly. Something it did with aplomb.

As the two planes rolled in on the targets outside the wall all noise on the battlefield was erased.


Twin lines of death walked the mass of demons attempting to breech the school's walls.

“WAY TO GO AIR SCOUTS!” One of SG-3's Marine's shouted.

Standing at her command post, Lt. Colonel Carter smiled as the pair of Air Force planes turned to make their third pass. High above, the radar operator's intermittent errors flapped pairs of monstrous wings. A piecing screech, like that of an eagle crossed with the screaming roar of a monster truck engine wiped the smile from Sam's face. Looking up a brace of dots grew impossibly large, diving on the two jets.

“DRAGONS!” Dawn's piercing screech sent Sam diving for the radio.

“Archer flight! Vampire Vampire! Inbound three high! Break off! Break OFF!”

The lead Warthog stood on its right wingtip as raw flame splashed down the length of the plane. The diving dragon flashing past the maneuvering jet. Her wingman was not so lucky. A moment late in his reaction, his wing rose between the legs of the diving reptiloid demon. Hopelessly tangled the plane and dragon tumbled through the sky, the pilot ejecting west of the school in what was hopefully still friendly controlled territory.

The remaining plane found itself surrounded by a dozen flying demons, each with the rage of the mad in their eyes and the fires of hell streaming from their mouths. Any other aircraft in the modern Air Force inventory would have been in major trouble in a turning, low-speed, close-quarters dogfight. Not so the Warthog. It was built like a tank and flew like a crop-duster. Still, the Major at the controls was literally in the frying pan as flames continued to lick at her craft.

A snap-roll gave her a brief firing solution and the 30 millimeter cannon burped its death-cry into one of the beasts, which tumbled from the sky with its wings shredded.

Tracers suddenly sketched across her nose from left to right, followed by the distinctive shape of a Lockheed P-38 Lightning, a Supermarine Spitfire with British Roundel markings holding the wingman position and keeping it clear.

“Warthog, break left in 3 – 2 – 1! Banzai!”

The Major snapped her wings over and yanked the stick into her lap. An equally ancient A6M Zero with rising sun meatball markings flashed across her nose, twenty-millimeter cannon flashing in front of the cockpit as the dragon on her tail took the shots down its throat and belly tumbling from the sky. As with the Spitfire, a German marked BF-109 paced the Zero's wingman position.

“Warthog, this is General Sinclair. Break vertical and form up with Iron Eagle flight. I need a new pair of gator skin boots and I think these critters' hides are just the thing.”

Pulling the jet straight up she firewalled the throttle. Rolling out at ten thousand feet she tucked in on the P-38's left wing, opposite the Spitfire. On the southern horizon she could see odd shapes at the head of contrails dropping from extreme high altitudes. With a malicious grin she tucked in as the General rolled his bird back onto an attack vector. So the backup was old, she had some payback to extract, and dammit, how many pilots could boast of having Dragon-Skin boots. Hell, maybe she'd get a nice skirt and jacket out of it too.

“Warthog, take the lead. Modified finger four. Allies right, Axis left. Watch each other's backs. Let's go get my boots!”

At her Command Post, Carter looked out over the battlefield. Archer Flight had done some damage, but not enough. The surviving demons were reforming and beginning to move forward again. With the dragons overhead, attempting to bring in close air support was virtually impossible, and she still had five minutes before Firebase would have their cannon up.

“All SG and ISWC units prepare to pull back to position bravo.”

….. ….. ….. ….. ….. …..

Faith's head popped up, looking around suspiciously before focusing westward. “You hear somethin'?”

Samantha glanced around at the others crowding the table. They all shook their heads. Overhead, the relics and the remainder of Archer Flight turned on the flying reptiles with a vengeance. The sound of their combat soon drowning out whatever it was Faith heard as she turned back to the table.

Outside the wall, the demon army was advancing again. There was no way she could hold here. Not without support.

A flight of four AH-64 Apache's chose that moment to roar overhead, coming to a quick hover over the school and unleashing full pods of hellfire missiles and 20 millimeter ammo into the demon hoard. Once more freezing the attack in place. As one the three of the four helicopters turned south, running hard. The fourth dropped to a low hover in the clear space just south of the MacClay building.

As a pair of dragons dove after the retreating Apache's, their flight leader yanked his bird up behind them, unleashing the two pods of hellfires and all of his remaining 20 mike mike up their tails. Both dragon's tumbled to the Earth as the last chopper charged away between the trees.

tromp tromp tromp tromp tromp tromp

This time it was Daniel who looked up. Outside the west wall, where the campus drive had its gate the noise grew louder.

Tromp Tromp Tromp Tromp Tromp Tromp

Overhead, the number of dragons had doubled from its original dozen, in spite of the losses inflicted by Archer, Iron Eagle and the Apache. To the south another sound was building. One Sam once feared above all others.

Today that sound was a blessing unlike any she had ever received. Their aerospace engines screaming, two dozen Free Jaffa death-gliders came to defend the embattled Tau'ri ground force, joining the swirling mass of confusion above with heavy-staff blasts, even as reinforcing waves of dragons swept in from the hellmouth.


The radio on the table crackled to life as the first line of Jaffa rounded through the gate, staff weapons at their shoulders, armor gleaming. “SG-1, Master Bra'tak extends his greetings and places the arriving Free Jaffa forces at your disposal.


“And to think, I once had nightmares involving that sound,” Daniel stared at the passing force, tears on his cheeks.

Sam shook her head and quickly organized the Jaffa into a defensive line behind SG-3.

“SLAYERS DOWN!” Carter shouted over the radio.

As one, the team at the breach flattened on the ground as two hundred Jaffa leveled their staff weapons and opened fire.

“SG-1 Firebase.” The radio crackled to life. “We're hot, cocked and ready to rock.”

And just like that Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter, United States Airforce, commander of SG-1, bane of the Goa'uld, remembered how to breathe.
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