“Listen,” Sheppard added, making short, firm gestures for emphasis. “The Wraith have absolutely no intention of killing anyone — at least not at the outset. They’re interested only in harvesting live food, preferably in good condition.”
“Still, to go unprotected—”
“Not unprotected. This is where we concentrate all the warriors, and anyone else who can: A, fit into that chest armor; B, wield those nets and bolas your men carry around; and,” he added, glancing around at the Dalerans, “C, take orders. The idea is not to engage in hand-to-hand combat, but to set up a trap. The Wraith will see a bunch of people, presumably villagers, running around trying to get to the undefended bridge near Quickweed Lake. They’ll also see that the EM fields aren’t covering much of the wall, especially in the area of North Bridge.”
Ford was nodding, warming to the plan. “When the Wraith get close enough, we activate an EM field to disable their stun rifles, and then counterattack with nets, driving them either into the flames or the lake.”
“This is a good strategy,” Teyla said, placing a gentle hand on Ushat’s arm. “I will go with you and stand by your side as we fight the Wraith.”
Rodney was watching Ushat’s eyes. The engineers were crowding in behind, pointing to the map and suggesting refinements to the plan. They were buying it. He had to admit, it wasn’t a bad idea, even if he did so say himself.
“If we have to withdraw, we retreat to this village.” Sheppard’s fingers moved to a small hamlet about half a mile northwest. “From there we can use a transport to escape back into the Citadel. Then the rest of the North Channel can be set on fire. The winds will still blow most of the smoke away from the Citadel. Again, the Wraith will be unable to see. Hopefully a few more will end up in Quickweed Lake.”
“How can one set an entire river ablaze?” Teyla wondered.
“It’s been done before — not deliberately, but it happened several times to the Cuyahoga River,” Rodney said.
“Then how is it that you intend to contain the blaze to this section, between North Bridge and the eastern end of the Citadel, and not have it spread back up the entire length of North Channel and thence to the river?”
“We can do that with little difficulty,” another engineer said, stepping forward. “The stone bridges that span the channels into the Citadel also have weirs. When blackwater flows in the spring melt, we raise the weirs. This allows only clean water to travel down the channels through submerged tunnels, which can be opened or closed at will.”
“While the oil pools on the surface behind it. Excellent!” Rodney was a little surprised at the engineering skills demonstrated by such an archaic society. Still, he mused, the principles of weirs and canal locks had been used throughout Europe for hundreds, if not thousands of years.
“The system is not perfect,” the engineer continued. “Especially now, at the peak of the spring melt, some blackwater finds its way through. This is why we cut the flow of water to public fountains, and why Nemst must supply us with drinking water at this time of year.”
“I believe we can achieve more,” another man said. “Past the Citadel, where the North and South Channels rejoin, there is a dam. The southwestern bank of the river is a high cliff at this point, while the northeastern shore is low. We sometimes force the level of the water to greater heights, flooding the eastern fields, in order to grow certain crops. My men can control the flow so that the fields can be flooded with blackwater, while the freshwater is allowed to drain through the pipes beneath the dam.”
The Dalerans gripped each other’s arms in a fraternal gesture, their murmurs growing stronger and more confident. For the first time, Rodney was certain they’d hit upon a plan that could work. “If the fire jumps upstream, the smoke coming off it will still be driven away from the city.”
“Either way,” Sheppard reasoned, “the Wraith are going to be stumbling around blind. They’ll have to withdraw and regroup in order to attack from another direction, presumably with a number of their comrades doing a good impression of a woolly mammoth.”
“I doubt they would reattack, Major,” said Teyla. “The Wraith are unaccustomed to defeat. Once they see that they will not have such easy access to the Citadel as they assume, I believe they will withdraw entirely. There are other worlds out there whose inhabitants will be easier to cull.”
“If we timed it just right,” he replied with a dark grin, “we could wait until they’re climbing the walls and toast a few.”
Rodney closed his eyes. As if he hadn’t already seen enough trauma-inducing things to last a lifetime. “Thank you, Major. I really needed the image of a greenish marshmallow with bad hair forever etched in my mind.”
“Once again, it was your idea, Rodney. Even if it doesn’t kill them, it’s sure gonna make a mess of their attack plan.”
“Just one question, sir,” Ford began.
“Only one, Lieutenant?”
“How can you be certain you’ll be able to release enough oil?”
One of the engineers fielded the query. “The people of Nemst have had long battles to prevent the blackwater from flowing into the river. Even what little escapes during the spring melt finds its ways to the hands of those who sell it in the market.”
“Which reduces their profit,” said another. “Each year the Nemst engineers shore up the cliffs of Black Hill, praying to Dalera that little will escape. And when it does, the Chosen…” He paused and corrected himself. “Gat and the leaders of the Citadel told us that it was the Chosen who demanded that Nemst deliver fresh water to the city, until the blackwater passes. The villagers of Nemst are embittered by this demand. There has been much talk amongst them of releasing the fortifications that hold the blackwater in place.”
Rodney exchanged a glance with the Major, who tilted his head fractionally toward him, seemingly asking for one last confirmation. Upon receiving a brief nod, Sheppard crossed his arms. “Okay, folks, I think we have ourselves a plan. Now all we have to do is carry it out.” He glanced at his watch. “In a little under ten hours.”
Chapter Thirteen
Their arrival in Nemst was met with panic, which wasn’t surprising. Over the past few hours the townspeople had weathered the Wraith ghosts and then the Darts’ deadly harvest. The remaining populace was now desperate to be evacuated into the Citadel.
Rodney stepped out of the transport and directly into a throng of people shoving back and forth. A claustrophobic’s nightmare, he instantly classified the situation. Sheppard, an engineer, and a couple of warriors had accompanied him on this bound-to-be-fun expedition, but already he was losing sight of them in the crowd.
“Save us. We beg of you!”
“Everybody calm down!” the Major shouted, rather ineffectually. A sharp whistle through his fingers produced the desired result. Rodney blinked. If Sheppard could do that, why had he instead fired his weapon when they’d showed up on this damned planet in the first place? God, but he hated questions without answers.
“We can take you to the Citadel, but we need a few of your engineers and blackwater collectors to help us mount a defense against the Wraith.”
Voices rose from the crowd. “It is not safe here. We must leave at once.”
“If we don’t get the blackwater flowing, no one’s going to be safe, in the Citadel or anywhere else!” Rodney watched the villagers hesitate. Then one stabbed a finger in the direction of his Shield.
“He is of the Chosen.”
“For the forty-eighth and final time, we’re not Chosen. We’re…” I don’t believe I’m about to say this. “Genes. We can use the Shields to repel the Wraith attacks, and all I need are a few people to show me the fortifications you’ve built against the blackwater leak.”
After a moment, a man made his way to the front, with three more following him. “We will assist.”