Clear as Mud

Posted on Wed Oct 21st, 2026 @ 3:47pm by Colonel Jonathon Raynor & Major (майо́р) Lyudmila "Mila" Sorokova

Mission: Echoes of the Fallen (Joint Mission SG-1 & SG-2)
Location: Raynor's Office -SGC
Timeline: Before Mission
2220 words - 4.4 OF Standard Post Measure

/// ON ///

Raynor’s office was quiet except for the low hum of the ventilation system and the occasional tap of keys as another report disappeared into the growing abyss of Stargate Command paperwork.

The mission to Abydos had officially ended hours ago, but the administrative aftermath was still alive and well.

He sat behind his desk in rolled sleeves, half reading an operations update while holding a sandwich in one hand. A small bag of chips sat torn open beside a stack of mission folders, crumbs already scattered across a classified briefing packet he had stopped pretending to care about twenty minutes ago.

Another email appeared on the monitor.

Then another.

Raynor stared at the screen for a long moment before muttering, “Amazing. We travel across the galaxy and somehow the paperwork still beats us home.”

He took another bite of the sandwich just as a knock sounded against the already open office door.

Raynor looked up.

Major Mila Sorokova stood in the doorway, still carrying herself with that same controlled posture she had shown on Abydos, though without the field gear and desert dust she somehow looked even more official. The Russian officer paused just inside the threshold, one hand resting lightly against the frame.

Raynor swallowed his bite and leaned back slightly in his chair.

“Well,” he said dryly, glancing once toward the door, “either this is a social visit or Moscow finally sent someone to assassinate me for my comments about Russian field support.”

She allowed the corner of her mouth to soften slightly - a soft, barely there smile - and stepped into his office. "I hope...damage control?"

"We have saying - I hope it...translates..."Птичка на хвосте принесла," (Ptichka na khvoste prinesla) "A little bird brought it on it's tail that my superior officer is...introducing herself." Mila did not continue but instead looked behind her out of Raynor's office doorway. Satisfied, she shut his office door before turning to face him again. "I do hope that her...strategies do not cast any shadows on my 'teams'' performance or commitment to this mission."

"You mean that Colonel that made a big fit at that conference meeting going over a monthly status report? Pretty sure that was a big meeting too. Had leadership from Homeworld Command," John smirked and shook his head. "Talk about causing a temper tantrum."

Mila's expression, if anything, became even more carefully neutral. She folded her hands behind her back and stood near the closed office door for a moment, considering his words before finally answering.

"Da. That would be her. The problem is that people outside our organization often assume her actions and behaviors represents the rest of us."

Raynor took another bite of his sandwich and pointed it vaguely in her direction before setting it down.

"Major, if your team's performance on Abydos had been affected by your colonel's behavior, we'd be having a very different conversation right now." He leaned back in his chair. "From where I was standing, you and the rest of the Russian contingent did your jobs. You followed orders, integrated with the teams, and handled yourselves professionally. That's what I care about."

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Trust me, nobody is judging an entire country based on one colonel deciding to pick a fight with half the senior leadership of Homeworld Command," Raynor shook his head and reached for a chip.

"That is...reassuring." Mila responded as she rubbed her palm once against the thigh of her uniform trousers before moving toward one of the chairs opposite his desk. The motion was subtle, but it betrayed a degree of discomfort that her otherwise disciplined bearing concealed well. Sitting alone in a closed office with a foreign officer was not a situation she seemed entirely at ease with. She lowered herself into the chair with military precision, back straight, hands settling on her knees.

Her grey eyes fixed on him...well after a moment anyway. Mila's eyes tracked to the sandwich first...Боже мой (Bozhe moy - my God), it looked delicious. She made an internal promise to herself to go to the mess hall and get something hot to eat, and focused her attention back to Raynor.

"I had the shot, Colonel Raynor." The statement arrived without preamble. "I was rather... confused when your order to execute a Goa'uld System Lord did not come. From my perspective, Sir, Zeus represented an enemy commander responsible for countless deaths. He was exposed. Vulnerable and within range." A slight pause. "The opportunity appeared... ideal."

Mila's fingers tightened slightly against the fabric of her trousers. "However..." The word lingered. "My comments after Zeus' exfiltration were not supportive of the chain of command. They were critical of your orders and impolite." A faint trace of embarrassment crossed her features. A very faint trace.

Raynor stared at her for a moment before reaching for another chip.

"Major, if I had a dollar for every time someone wanted to shoot a Goa'uld, I'd have enough money to retire somewhere warm," he replied as a faint grin crossed his face before fading. "But honestly, the whole thing didn't sit right. Zeus had every advantage. Armed warriors, superior numbers, and a Stargate at his back. If he wanted us dead, we'd have been dead."

He folded his arms.

"Instead, every shot missed. Deliberately. His people were trying to control the room, not kill anyone," Raynor shrugged. "That doesn't make him a friend. He's still a Goa'uld. But if I'd ordered the shot, we might have killed the one System Lord who wasn't looking for a fight.

"Besides, every person who went through that gate came home alive. That's usually a pretty good sign," he paused as he pointed a chip at her. "Besides, if Zeus turns out to be a problem later, we'll still have you and your miracle shot waiting in reserve."

Mila gave a small shake of her head. "No such thing as miracle In Soviet military. What you call miracle was the product of a ridiculous amount of training…and far too many hours implementing it.” Mila’s gaze drifted for a moment—not toward Raynor, but somewhere beyond the office walls for a moment before continuing.

"My superiors are not going to be amused that I did not take the same opportunity with Zeus." She met Raynor's eyes steadily. There was no anxiety in her voice—only the matter-of-fact acceptance of an officer anticipating a difficult debrief. "Your explanation—that Zeus possessed every tactical advantage, yet deliberately chose not to escalate the engagement—is one they may not agree with."

Raynor shrugged and reached for the last chip in the bag. "Major, with all due respect, I don't lose sleep over what your government thinks of my decisions."

He pointed the chip toward her for emphasis. "My responsibility is bringing my people home. That day, every member of SG 1, SG 2, and your Russian security team walked back through the gate alive. That's the metric I judge myself by."

He popped the chip into his mouth. "If Moscow disagrees, they're welcome to. But until they start signing my evaluation reports, I'll keep making the calls I think are right."

Mila was quiet for several seconds. Her eyes settled on the open chip bag for a moment before lifting back to Raynor. "I envy the simplicity of your position, Colonel." Her words were spoken without sarcasm.

"You answer to one chain of command. You are afforded the...luxury...of judging a situation solely by what unfolds before you." Her words came out haltingly - as if she were not only fighting translation but even whether they should even be uttered. "Not every officer enjoys that clarity." She let the thought linger before continuing. "and sometimes, sometimes there are...expectations..."

The colonel studied her for a moment before sliding the open bag of chips across the desk. Leaning back in his chair, he folded his arms. "We've got expectations too, Major. Rules, regulations, politics. Believe me, they find their way into this program more often than I'd like." A faint smile crossed his face.

"But once that gate opens, all of that stays on the other side as far as I'm concerned," He tapped a finger lightly on his desk. "Out there, I don't care whose flag is on your shoulder or what politicians expect when we get home. I care whether the person next to me knows their job, has my back, and comes back through the gate alive."

Raynor met her eyes.

"If someone wants to second guess my decisions after reading an after action report from the comfort of an office, they're welcome to it. They weren't the ones standing in front of a Goa'uld System Lord trying to figure out whether the next second meant a firefight or a conversation."

He gave a small shrug. "That's the difference between commanding from a desk and commanding through the gate."

Mila smiled at this response. It was a gentle smile, and an impossibly sad one. Her grey eyes remained on Raynor for a long moment before drifting toward the closed office door.

He doesn't understand. Of course he didn't. How could he? To him, a chain of command was exactly that—a line of authority that began with a superior officer and ended when the mission was over. One could disagree, argue, even defend a decision, and expect to be judged on its merits.

How...extraordinary.

For Mila, that chain never truly ended. There was always another audience. Another report. Another interpretation. Another pair of unseen eyes asking why an opportunity had been allowed to slip away and debriefings that did not seek understanding, only accountability.

She could not tell him that, however. Not because Colonel Raynor lacked discretion, but because some truths simply were not spoken. Not in uniform. Not behind a closed door...Not anywhere.

Her smile deepened by the smallest fraction. This is a fine Russian tragedy, she thought. To find an ally who might understand...if only I were free enough to tell him.

Instead, she inclined her head, her smile fading into its customary reserve.

"A fortunate philosophy, Colonel," she said quietly. "I hope...it remains true for you."

Raynor watched her for a moment. The smile had been brief, but he caught the sadness behind it, along with the way her eyes had drifted toward the closed door. There was something she was not saying.

"That sounded less like agreement and more like a warning, Major."

He leaned back, studying her carefully.

"I get the feeling there's a hell of a lot more behind that than you're willing to tell me." Raynor let the silence sit for a moment before shrugging. "You don't have to explain it. Not here, anyway."

His eyes flicked toward the door before returning to her.

"But if you're ever standing next to me through that gate, I need you to know you can speak your mind. I may not always agree with you, but I'd rather hear the truth from the person beside me than find out later what they were afraid to say," he paused as he shrugged his shoulders and offered a simple smirk. "Plus, my office isn't bugged. We may have certain people that like to be nosey on other people but we take precautions."

Mila stared at him. In her world, a closed door did not mean privacy. It meant someone had closed the door.

A conversation--in her world--did not disappear simply because the participants lowered their voices. There were always reports. Transcripts. Informants. Interpretations. Someone listening. Someone asking later what had been said and, more importantly, why it had been said.

An officer did not simply invite another officer to speak freely. Not unless there was a reason. Not unless someone wanted something. Not unless there was a trap somewhere...And yet Raynor had said it so casually.

You can speak your mind. As though he genuinely believed them.

Mila studied him. Was he really this naïve, or was this some peculiar American form of confidence she had never encountered before?

“I will...consider what you have said, Colonel.” She answered neutrally, not willing to risk saying anything else. As it was this would going to be an 'interesting' report to write. "Shall I leave you to your lunch?"

Raynor gave a small shake of his head and gestured toward the chip bag.

"You're fine, Major. And don't worry about the lunch. I've got plenty of paperwork to keep me company."

He offered her a small smile.

"Get some rest. You earned it on Abydos," he paused one moment before waving her off. "Also, so we are clear. You are on my team and that makes you my second-in-command."

Mila's brows rose - that was...unexpected...and given what she had tried to tell him? Hell. “Well. I suppose I should be more careful with my opinions now, Colonel. It would be unfortunate..."

She paused reigning in the sarcasm for once. “...Your second.”

Mila straightened slightly and gave him a solemn nod.

“Da, Colonel. I would be honored.”

"I'll see ya at the next team briefing. We head out on our next mission tomorrow.

/// OFF ///