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Pfluger began to operate the tractor and began to clear the forest around the village. Eule, Wright and Larkin worked with chainsaws; Bjornson swung an axe. McClendon directed the villagers to help clear the trees that they cut. Any wood was fair game. The tractor made easy work of felling several medium sized trees in under five minutes. Larkin was impressed with the quick work the tractor made. If he and his team and the villagers and to clear the forest by hand it would have taken days—days that they didn’t have with this Goa’uld’s shadow looming over the village. But Larkin was grateful for what they had.
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Larkin reached into a nearby cooler for a Gatorade. Taking a sip of the cool liquid, he watched Pfluger working on the tractor. He wondered if the Texan needed something to drink. He grabbed a bottle from the cooler and went over to the tractor. Larkin held out the bottle and Pfluger took it, taking a long drink.
“That thing sure does a day's work!” Larkin exclaimed over the noise of the tractor.
“Dang ol’ easier’n mowin’ the lawn, man—tell ya what,” Pluger replied. “Thank you, Colonel.”
Bjornson swung his axe like a true Norwegian. His movements were smooth and graceful; there was not a waste of energy from him. Bjornson’s chops were accurate, though he would occasionally miss the mark. The girls back in Nasmos would call him a kjekkas. That would make him blush and they would giggle.
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