Reporting as Ordered

Posted on Fri Nov 7th, 2025 @ 2:13pm by Major General Richard Lockhart (Raynor) & Major (майо́р) Lyudmila "Mila" Sorokova
Edited on on Tue Jan 20th, 2026 @ 4:54pm

Mission: Echoes of the Fallen
Location: General Lockhart's Office - Stargate Command
Timeline: 1050 hrs - Mission Day 1
2919 words - 5.8 OF Standard Post Measure

[ON]

The hallway outside the general’s office smelled of metal, recycled air, and the stale scent of coffee that seemed to permeate every duty station she had inhabited. It would appear that this place, assuredly not Russian in design, shared that at least. The trip had been long, and Major Lyudmila Sorokina's uniform showed it in small ways — the knees slightly creased from transport, the elbow fabric beginning to lose its press. Her sleeves were rolled once for practicality, not presentation, and her boots bore the faint scuffing of recent field movement. Visibly there were better impressions to be had.

Lyudmila, or 'Mila' as many called her, paused at the door, raised her hand, and rapped twice. A muffled voice acknowledged her from the inside and only then did she step through the threshold. Stepping forward, Mila stopped at the regulation distance from his desk and came to attention. Her posture was iron-straight. Her hair was still pulled back into its severe bun, but a few stray wisps from travel had broken strict symmetry.

General Lockhart looked up from the last of the mission files spread across his desk when the knock came, two precise, deliberate taps that fit the reputation attached to the name on the new transfer orders.

“Enter,” he called, his voice clipped but steady.

When Major Sorokina stepped in, he noted the fatigue hidden under the precision of her uniform... travel-worn but disciplined. The kind of soldier who’d been in the field long enough to know that a pressed crease mattered less than a steady hand. She introduced herself, handed over the folder, and stood as if carved from stone.

“General. I am Major Lyudmila Sorokina,” she announced, her accent thick, the vowels ironed flat in the way of northern Russian speech. “Reporting to duty as ordered, sir.” She handed over a rigid brown file folder, secured with a heavy-duty clasp. The folder looked traveled: edges worn slightly at the corners, but immaculately organized and sealed. She extended it forward with both hands, shoulders squared — not placing it on the desk, but holding it until the general physically accepted it, as was customary when a Russian officer transferred mission-clearance documentation to a superior of another command structure. “Clearance packet, sir,” she said quietly. “Full service history, current medical readiness, weapons proficiency logs, and psychological recert from Murmansk facility. Certified and notarized.”

Lockhart accepted the folder. He noting the weight, the sealed tabs, the Russian notary mark and gave a short nod. “At ease, Major.”

He glanced toward the wall chrono. In twenty minutes, the first two teams were stepping through the gate the first off-world operations since the Antarctic site opened to explore outsid of their own interests. Leadership upstairs had decided, in their infinite caution, that a third team would follow as support. He didn’t argue, not openly, but he wasn’t sure sending anyone else through until they had baseline telemetry from the first two was wise. Still, orders were orders.

“I’ll be honest with you, Major,” he said finally, setting the folder down but not opening it yet. “You’re walking in right as the clock runs out. Command wants another team through says it’s precaution, I say it’s nerves. Either way, you’re it.”

He leaned back slightly, studying her over the top of his glasses. “Your record’s impressive, some of it, frankly, reads like science fiction. But then again, I am the commander of a highly classified alien transportation device, so I don't have much room to talk. I’ve still got questions for you before I sign off on your trip thru my gate but…” He exhaled through his nose, the smallest trace of a weary smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I know you didn’t come all this way to sit in a hallway.”

He gestured toward the chair opposite his desk. “Sit, Major. Let’s go over what you’re walking into and what I need to know before I put your name on a gate roster. First of, tell me about yourself."

Mila sat as instructed — her posture straight in spite of her fatigue. “Sir, I was born in Udachny. A settlement that only exists because of the diamond mind. It is a harsh climate and with limited prospects. You leave young or you stay forever.” She gave a small nod after her statement, matter-of-fact.

“My father died when I was thirteen...we were close. After that, I focused on science — physics was my way out. Moscow Institute of Physics and Technology took me. The scholarship was military-backed, so…” a faint shrug of one shoulder, dry but not unkind, “…the military got me.” There was no bitterness — only cause and effect.

“I was recruited not for infantry, but due to may rather...unique technical aptitude. Field physics, systems diagnostics, anomalous telemetry — I identify what is wrong before command realizes something is wrong. KSSO pulled me because they needed someone who could work forward positions and still understand the data coming in.”

“My role here is similar? Yes? You have technology you do not yet understand, under conditions no one trained for. I am here to prevent… unpleasant surprises.”

Another small nod, respectful. Measured. Professional. “That is the short version, General,” she finished.

General Lockhart leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers steepled, eyes fixed on her as she spoke. He didn’t interrupt — just listened, expression unreadable save for the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth when she said “the military got me.”

When she finished, the silence stretched for a few seconds before he finally nodded, slow and deliberate.

“Major, I think ‘unpleasant surprises’ is the most diplomatic way I’ve ever heard someone describe what we deal with here,” he said dryly, a flicker of wry humor softening his tone. “And you’re not wrong, half of what we touch still argues with the laws of physics, and the other half argues with us.”

He picked up her clearance packet again, flipping it open this time. Though it was clear he’d already been briefed. “You’re right about one thing, too. We’ve had over a decade to learn, reverse-engineer Goa’uld tech, crack their language, build our own toys out of what they left behind. We even pretend we understand how the gate really works.” He paused, glancing at her over the file. “But then the universe has this funny way of reminding us we’re still the amateurs in the room.”

He set the folder down and folded his hands across his chair. “That’s where you come in. You may not be the first physicist we’ve brought into this program, Major, but your background? Your ability to interpret real-time field anomalies? That’s not something we can fake or train overnight. And if I’m reading this right...” he tapped the corner of her file “...you’ve been in places where guessing wrong wasn’t an option.”

“You could say that, sir…” Mila replied, voice low and even. “In my line of work - guesses end with someone's family getting a folded Russian flag and canned apologies because there was nothing to bring home, so,” she finished, matter-of-fact, “I try not to guess.”

There was a slight pause as the general looked her over before nodding. "Understandable, but under my command, that is not our goal at all. I expect to see every man and woman to return back safely. But there are times I know some may not come back."

Mila’s eyes lowered for a brief second — not evasive, but acknowledging the weight of what he’d said. “Da… I understand,” she replied quietly. “No commander wants to lose their people.” She drew in a slow breath, shoulders easing just a fraction — not relaxing exactly, but somehow now less armored.

“I don’t like losing people either, General. I want the same outcome you do — I just know how easily it can slip away.” She paused, choosing her wording carefully. “That’s why I over-prepare. Most of the time, I am looking for trouble before anyone knows it exists… because by the time you see the threat, it’s already too late to fix it.” It wasn't bravado. It wasn't fatalism, either. Just honesty — a glimpse of the woman behind the resume finally showing through.

Lockhart studied her for a long moment, the kind of look that didn’t pry but weighed, quietly, what kind of soldier sat in front of him. Then he nodded once, slowly, the edge of something like understanding behind his eyes.

“Over-preparing,” he said, his tone gentler now, “is the only reason half of us are still breathing in this line of work. Especially after all that we have gone through the past decade.”

The faintest trace of a smile ghosted across his face, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ve got the right mindset, Major. Just remember, sometimes even the best plan goes sideways. That’s when you lean on your team.”

He straightened slightly, the command presence slipping back into place but not coldly, more like a father setting boundaries than a general enforcing them. “You can stand at ease, Major,” he said finally. “You’ve earned that much, at least in this office. Do you have any questions for me?”

Mila shifted her stance as ordered, shoulders easing just enough to signal compliance without losing the innate discipline etched into her posture. The rigidity in her spine softened slightly; she let out a quiet breath through her nose. Her eyes flicked once to the folder on his desk, then to the faint hum of the wall monitors displaying mission data. She was assembling fragments — the timing, the number of teams, the General’s tone — and the pattern that formed wasn’t reassuring. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and measured.

“Sir,” she began, the faint trace of her accent sharpening the consonants, “you’ve told me just enough to know there’s more you haven’t.”

She let that sit — not accusation, just fact — before continuing. “So, before I brief my people, I have to ask…” A brief pause.

“What am we walking into? It makes difference between olive branch and..." Her voice halted and a brief expression of frustration graced her and she gesticulated with her hand in a circular motion, "ah...forgive me...Высокоточный удар (Vysokotochnyy udar)? Strike which is pointed...sharp."

Lockhart leaned back slightly, the chair giving a quiet creak as his eyes fixed on her assessing her. He let a breath out through his nose before speaking.

“You’re right, Major,” he began evenly. “There’s always more than what’s said out loud. You’ve been in this long enough to recognize when something doesn’t add up.”

He paused, thumb idly tracing the edge of a folder on his desk. “The truth is, this wasn’t our idea. The Russian government requested your inclusion — insisted on it, really. The order came down less than eighteen hours ago. They weren’t pleased about being left out of the Abydos operation, especially after everything that’s happened with the United Earth Organization accords. Can’t say I blame them.”

Lockhart leaned forward, forearms resting on the desk now. “You already know how the politics work. The Russians still have their Stargate, under their jurisdiction. The only reason it’s offline is because of the UEO agreement. They didn’t have to honor it, but they did, because it was supposed to be for the good of everyone. Now that the program’s expanding again, they want a seat at the table. And this,” he gestured toward the mission file, “is their way of reminding us they still have leverage.”

He let that hang for a moment before continuing, tone softening slightly. “This isn’t punishment, Major. It’s diplomacy messy, last-minute diplomacy. They want representation. You and the other Russian soldiers are it.. And frankly, I’d rather have someone like you out there than a political plant who’s never set foot in the field.”

Lockhart’s gaze steadied on hers. “So, no you’re not walking into a precision strike. You’re walking into a joint operation under more scrutiny than most. Your job’s the same as it’s always been: keep your team alive, keep the tech stable, and make sure this thing doesn’t turn into another international incident.”

A faint hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re good at reading between the lines, Major. Just remember, for this mission, it’s not about who got left out. It’s about proving that no one has to be. But just because you are a Russian solder, you are under Homeworld Command's jurisdiction, and that of my command and responsibility. So I expect your loyalty to me over country. No one here is for country, but for the Earth as a whole."

Mila took in the general’s words — the admission of politics, of uneasy alliances, of loyalty re-framed — with the same sharp, assessing gaze she'd carried since she walked through the door. But something shifted behind her eyes now — not distrust, but the candid, unguarded spark of a soldier trained to see the 'clearest' way forward.

“When the military came for me, General, they didn’t ask if I wanted to fight. They asked if I wanted to understand. Science was the language they used to recruit me — equations, unknowns, risk. They promised me environments no classroom could simulate — and they kept that promise.” A breath. Soft, controlled. “This is bigger than one flag, one nation, yes? I was trained to succeed in whatever mission was handed to me; to keep people alive when the math says they shouldn’t be. I am here to do the same job. The only difference is—” her eyes flicked briefly toward the glass window that overlooked where the Stargate was housed, although it wasn't visible from her current position, “—the variables are bigger now.”

She leaned back just a fraction, as much as her posture ever allowed — and when she spoke, her voice had lost its crisp edge. This wasn’t the polished operative anymore. This was the person underneath. “You want loyalty,” she said, not unkindly. “Fair enough.” A beat. “I’ve watched people die because someone in a clean, warm office was loyal to the wrong thing. So you’ll forgive me if I’ve stopped worshiping flags and started trusting things like math, duct tape, and those watching my six.”

She gave the faintest shrug — a gesture more honest than anything she'd said so far.

“So yes. You have my loyalty. But not because of the paperwork.” She glanced over to the folder once, meaningfully. “Because you’ve got a gate that bends space-time, a problem no sane person understands, and apparently someone thinks I might keep it from eating us alive.” A razor-thin smile touched her lips. “That’s my idea of a good time.”

She let the words hang for a moment, then added with quiet finality: “And honestly? If this kills me, at least it won’t be boring.”

Lockhart watched her in silence for several long seconds, the faintest ghost of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Her words weren’t rehearsed, they came from somewhere real, the kind of raw honesty he’d come to respect in soldiers who’d long since burned through idealism and learned to operate on grit and purpose instead.

“Well, Major,” he said finally, leaning back in his chair with a low exhale, “if there’s one thing I’ve learned in this command, it’s that boredom’s a luxury I doubt we will get much of. You’ll fit right in.”

He closed her folder and set it aside. “And you’re right. This is bigger than one nation. The whole world’s got skin in the game now, whether they like it or not. Moscow wasn’t exactly thrilled when the first two SG teams went through without their flag on the roster, so command and the UEO agreed to a correction.”

Lockhart rose from his chair, smoothing his uniform jacket as he did. “Effective immediately, you’ll be leading three other Russian military personnel to support SG-1 and SG-2 on Abydos. Master Sergeant Chambers will accompany your team to join up with you and SG-1.”

He gave her a steady look of approval, tempered by the weight of command. “Get your people ready, Major. You step through that gate in one hour.”

Sorokova’s composure didn’t waver as she stood in response, but the hint of a weary smile played at the corner of her mouth — the kind of expression you wear when life has officially crossed into absurdity, and the only proper response is dignity... with a splash of resignation. She gave Lockhart a respectful nod before speaking.

“Well, sir,” Mila began, tone clear and disciplined, “in Russia, we would at least be offered a cup of tea before being sent to...to lay a path.” Her mouth pulled into a dissatisfied moue - sometimes things didn't translate right.

“But I understand." She continued. "The universe does not wait for tea.” There was a sobering pause. “My team will be ready, General."

[OFF]




Richard Lockhart, Maj. General
Commander, SGC
(SPNC)

&

Major Lyudmila Sorokova
SG-1 Member, SGC