John signs off on the armory inventory once a week, so he knows exactly how many Ka-bars, bayonets, and machetes he could put his hands on if he so desired. The knife on his belt is from his personal collection, not the SGC issue, and the last time he was in Colorado he picked up a pair of tactical tomahawks that have the right length and balance to substitute for Athosian sticks. Hell, ninety-eight percent of his command is made up of Marines; smart money says that at least one of them has a Mameluke stashed somewhere.
It still feels like he left the gas on back on Earth.
He knows, intellectually, that for as long as he stays in Pegasus he has about as much use for a hand-and-a-half sword as he does a slingshot. But his sword isn't just a weapon: it was a gift from his teacher. And that's another thing niggling at his mind, the thought that he hasn't spoken to Matthew since he was received his commission. He needs to write him a letter. He probably should have recorded something when they were sending their last messages before the siege, but how was he supposed to have the Air Force deliver it? "This is a message for FBI Agent Matthew McCormick, assuming he hasn't faked his death and assumed a new identity. If he has you ought to be able to reach him care of Cory Raines, just look for a series of bank robberies followed by large charitable donations." That would go over real well under the mountain.
Now that he thinks about it, he really needs to write that letter before Matthew starts trying to track him down. Either he'd get arrested for violating national security or he'd show up with the next personnel delivery on the Daedalus. John's not sure which would be worse.