• SPOILERS: None
• SUMMARY: O'Neill is asked to do another black ops mission, in order to save some old colleagues. In the end, his friends are needed to save him
• RATING: R [A][D][Hc][V]

SG-1, the first off world exploration team of the SGC, was gathered in the lab. Dr. Daniel Jackson, SG-1's only civilian, was studying some artifacts the team had brought back from PXR-692 a week ago. The archaeologist was well known amongst his friends and colleagues for being unable to rest, eat or sleep until he'd finished his work. The only thing he didn't forget was pouring some coffee into his mug once in a while, the caffeine keeping him alert and awake.

"Come on, Daniel. Leave it alone will ya? When was the last time you slept anyway?" Colonel O'Neill, the Commanding Officer of the team, unsuccessfully tried to take his friend's mind off the task.

Daniel's eyes didn't stray from the artifact in front of him on the table as he absently waved his hand. "No, Jack. I need to finish this. Almost done, I think."

The Colonel sighed. He knew there were only two ways to get Daniel to rest. He could either let him finish or forcefully drag him away from it. He decided to go with the first option this time. 

Bored, O'Neill looked at Teal'c, the team's only non-human. He knew they weren't due to go on another mission for at least two days and he was looking for something to do. "Yo, Teal'c.  Let's go to the gym and work on those boxing techniques."

The huge Jaffa nodded. "Very well, O'Neill. I understand your need for excitement."

Major Samantha Carter laughed. She knew the Colonel all too well. He could never stay focused on what he considered a dull task, such as examining objects or translating alien scripts, this completely opposite to Daniel and her. She was glad that Teal'c was on the team. At least he provided some entertainment for her CO, when he was looking for something to do.

O'Neill was about to comment on Teal'c's statement when an airman stepped into the lab, saluting sharply and precisely at the Colonel.

"Colonel O'Neill, Sir. The General wants to see you in his office."

Jack looked surprised.  "Thank you, Sergeant."

The young airman turned on his heel and left the room.

"Well, kids. Looks like you're on your own. Behave yourselves until I get back, okay?" Without waiting for any comments, he left the lab and headed for the General's office.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Jack knocked on Hammond's door, opened it at the sound of a 'come in' and stepped inside. He stopped abruptly, when he noticed the visitor seated in a chair opposite to the General.

"Hi, Jack. You look great," the man greeted him.

Jack slowly turned to close the door behind him and faced the man. "Thank you, Sir," he said shortly. His mind was racing. What was Colonel Bayfield doing here?

"Colonel O'Neill," the General started. "I reckon you remember Colonel Bayfield?"

O'Neill nodded. "I do, Sir." How could he forget his former CO, from Special Forces?

The General pointed at the only empty chair in the room. "Sit down, Jack. Colonel Bayfield is here with a special request. I think you need to hear him out."

Jack took the offered seat, sensing trouble before Bayfield even started his story. He turned towards his former CO. "So, who's missing, Sir?"

A weary smile appeared on Bayfield's face. "Always straight forward, aren't you, Jack?" Bayfield wasn't surprised by the blunt question, he knew the man in front of him all too well for that. Watching the other man shrug, he let out a heavy sigh. "Major Crook, along with three members of his team." He carefully watched the reaction on O'Neill's face, knowing how close the two had been.

"Where?" The question was sharp and short.

"Tyberia," Bayfield said. He hated to be the one to tell O'Neill and he hated even more to have to turn to him for help, but he had no other options left. He took in the tightened lips, the dark expression that shone through his eyes and the slightly trembling hand that absently ran through the short silver gray hair. All of a sudden, he wasn't so sure anymore that turning to O'Neill was such a good idea. But there was no turning back.

"Look, Jack, I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I have to tell you this," he paused for a second, thinking how to proceed. "It's just… that I need your help on this one."

O'Neill stared at him, lost in his memories for a while, thinking about the missions he'd been a part of for a long time. He blinked his eyes in an attempt to wipe the memories away. "What happened?"

"The team had to retrieve an object that had crashed in the mountains somewhere north of the capital city. They flew to Turkey and started the mission from there. Marc deliberately fanned out to the East first, entering the area from the other side."

Jack nodded approvingly.

"The last report we received from him was that he had retrieved the object and was packing up to come home. Our contacts have not seen or heard from the team since…" Bayfield paused, wondering how he should continue. He opened his briefcase and gathered some satellite photos.

"I've set up some posts for inquiry, we've contacted every mole we know. Soon, the rumor reached us that the Tyberian Elite force has captured them. We dug a little deeper and this is what we came up with." He handed the photos to O'Neill.

O'Neill looked at the pictures, one by one. A grim expression appeared on his face. "Camp Ockeloen," he said bitterly. "Are you sure?"

Colonel Bayfield bit on his lip and nodded slowly. "Yeah. That's where they are." He leaned forward, his right arm stretched to point at something on the upper photo. "My best guess is that they're being held in this building. What do you think?"

O'Neill stared at the photo. "That's a possibility," he said and then pointed out another building on the opposite side of the camp. "Or they're here. There are some dungeons under this building where they used to hold prisoners."

Hammond had been listening to the conversation in surprise. He wasn't unaware of the Colonel's past, but wasn't privy to all its details either. He looked from the Special Ops Colonel to his Second, frowning deeply. "Have you been to this camp before, Colonel?"

O'Neill looked up shortly. "Oh, yeah. Been a guest for a short period. I wouldn't recommend the place to anybody, Sir. Their hospitality sucks."

Hammond exchanged a concerned look with their guest. He didn't like this one bit. "What is it exactly that you want, Colonel Bayfield?"

Bayfield shifted uncomfortably in his chair. This whole thing had been a bad idea to start with. "Well," he started uncertainly.

"You want me to get them out," O'Neill interrupted.

Bayfield nodded. "You and Cromwell were the only ones to know the area very well. My best teams are out in the field; and won’t be back until the end of next week. Somehow I don't think Marc would appreciate it if we let him wait that long…"

O'Neill stared at the wall. "What about Crane?"

"He's somewhere in the jungle, Jack. Colombia."

"And Conners?"

"North-Vietnam. He's supposed to report back to base next week." Bayfield helplessly threw his hands in the air.

"Damn. What have you got left?" This time, Jack hooked his eyes on his former CO.

Bayfield didn't bat an eye. "They're not experienced enough, yet, Jack. I can send them to… well, you know where. But not the Middle East. Not this region. You know that."

Jack sighed. He owed it to Marc. Marc had pulled him out of trouble on a couple of occasions and it wouldn't be fair to leave him hanging, especially not in a place like this. He remembered how desperately he'd hoped for someone to break him out of that place but nobody had come. In the end, he'd saved himself. He couldn’t leave Marc there, he decided. "Okay. I'm going to need some stuff."

General Hammond stared at his Second, assessing him, wondering what was going on inside his head. "Hold it, people. Colonel Bayfield? I need a private word with Colonel O'Neill before this goes any further, so if you don't mind…" Hammond pointed at the door.

Bayfield understood. He rose to his feet and left the office.

Hammond looked at O'Neill. "Colonel? I don't know what's going on here, but if you don't want to do this, you don't have to."

O'Neill placed the photos on the desk and sighed. "I don't have a choice, Sir. As much as I hate to admit it, Bayfield is right. I KNOW that place. I'm familiar with this part of the Middle East like nobody else. I know how those people think, how they hunt, how they operate. I know every tactic, every trick and every foul play they can think of. Bayfield doesn't have another team ready to go before sometime next week. I don't think Major Crook has that long, Sir. Not there, not in that place…"

Hammond took in the deathly serious expression on O'Neill's face. He could only imagine what the man had experienced during his time with Special Forces. "What happened when you were there? Were you captured?"

O'Neill's eyes were hooked on the wall. "The Elite forces surrounded us somewhere in the mountains, but I found a way to break through. Got my team to safety…" he didn't finish his sentence and left the General guessing.

"How long were you in there?" Hammond asked.

O'Neill shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "I managed to mislead them for a couple of days with false information. Before they started acting really ugly, I decided it was time to leave…"

Hammond made a mental note to request the post-mission reports of that particular mission. "So you're going. Who do you need with you?"

Jack shook his head resolutely. "Nobody, Sir. I'm not risking anybody out there. There are mines, traps… I can't operate if I have to worry about somebody else as well. I'm going alone. Colonel Bayfield will provide me with everything I need."

Hammond didn't like it at all, but taking in the determination in the Colonel's features he knew his objections wouldn't make any difference. He admired the Colonel's fierce loyalty and feeling of responsibility but he hoped that those good qualities weren't going to get him killed some day. "What if you need backup?" he asked.

"I don’t think Bayfield is going to risk another team." O'Neill stated shortly. He stood straight, then moved towards the door ready to call Bayfield back, but he turned before he reached it. "If I don't return, I'd like to recommend Carter to get command over SG-1, Sir." He opened the door and let Bayfield back in.

"Colonel Bayfield, I hereby allow Colonel O'Neill to assist you regarding the rescue of your team in Tyberia," Hammond acknowledged.

Bayfield's face lit up. "Thank you, Sir."

"Don't thank me. Thank him," the General motioned.

O'Neill glared hard at Bayfield. "When I don't report back in time… you'd better start getting creative. If you abandon me one more time, I'm coming back to personally break your lovely neck, understood?"

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

SG-1 was called to attend to a sudden briefing.

Daniel reluctantly let go of the artifact and followed Sam and Teal'c through the corridors, wondering what this was all about. "They didn’t say why there's a sudden briefing?" he asked.

Carter shook her head. "No, Daniel. I don't know any more than you do."

"Geez, I hope we don’t need to go on another mission… I'm not finished with the material we brought back from PXR-692 yet." He thought of the interesting things that he'd discovered to date.

They reached the briefing room, entered then sat down. Colonel O'Neill was already present, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, an unfamiliar serious expression on his face. He greeted them with a slight nod of his head.

Daniel exchanged looks with Carter and a sudden unnerving feeling crept over him. Whenever Jack looked that way, if he'd ever done that, it meant trouble. He took a seat and fumbled with a pencil until General Hammond entered the room.

"I bet you're all wondering why we're having this briefing," Hammond started, all while taking his seat at the head of the table.

Teal'c and Major Carter sat next to Daniel and the Colonel was still standing, not uttering a sound.

"Uh, yes, Sir," Sam broke the silence.

"SG-1 will be on stand down until further notice. Colonel O'Neill is leaving the base for a while and you won't be sent on missions until he returns. I will consider letting you participate in other missions with one of the other teams, if the need arises." Hammond looked up and saw the three other members of SG-1 stare at their CO.

Daniel's mind raced. Would it be something personal? Had something happened in the Colonel's family that he had to leave? By the way his friend looked, it must be serious. He looked back at the General, who wasn't attempting to give more information at that moment. "Err, Jack? Where are you going?" Daniel decided to just ask the obvious question.

O'Neill's hands didn't leave his pockets. He glanced over at Daniel, then his eyes locked on a spot on the floor. "The Middle East."

"The Middle East? Why?" Daniel wasn't going to let him off the hook easily.

This time, Jack removed his hands from his pockets and sat down. "A friend of mine is… stuck there. I'm going to help him out."

Sam frowned. "Stuck, Sir?" What could he have meant by that? She took in the expression on his face and quickly came to the conclusion. "As in taken prisoner, Sir?"

The way he looked at her told her she'd guessed it right.

"Uh, yeah," he said shortly.

Daniel's mouth fell open. "You are going on a rescue mission to the Middle East? With whom? Who is this friend anyway and who has taken him prisoner?"

Jack looked at his team and realized he had some things to explain. His team didn't deserve to be lied to. He only hoped he could keep it as brief as possible. "His name is Major Crook. He's an old buddy of mine; we did some missions together. He was sent on a mission to Tyberia with his team and never returned. With the information from intel we have determined where the Tyberian Elite forces are keeping them."

Carter inhaled sharply. She knew a little about the aggressive nature of the people of Tyberia and the hostilities amongst the civilians and the government as well. "Why you, Sir?" Special Forces obviously had come to him but she wondered why.

"Because I'm familiar with that country, plus I know the camp where they're being held in pretty well…" Jack tried to give them enough to keep them satisfied and hoped they wouldn't ask more questions.

"So?" Daniel asked, tapping on the table with his pencil. He didn't like this a bit. "I'm sure the Forces have enough well trained people to take care of their own business. You don't work for them anymore. Give them any information they might need and let them handle it…"

It sounded reasonable. Sam nodded approvingly; Daniel had stated exactly what she'd been thinking.

"Their best teams are out of the country. The best they can do is having a team ready by the end of next week. I can't leave Marc in that place for that long…" O'Neill's voice faded and his eyes darkened.

Teal'c spoke up for the first time. "I will accompany you, O'Neill."

O'Neill eyed his Jaffa friend. "Thanks, Teal'c. But no, I'll have to do this alone."

"Who's coming with you?" asked Daniel, realizing Jack hadn't answered that particular question.

"Nobody."

"Sir!" Sam protested, raising her hands helplessly.

"You can't do that, Jack!" Daniel spoke up, getting slightly irritated. His friend wasn't really thinking about going to rescue the missing team all by himself, now was he?

"Yes, I can. I know the area, I know the country, and I know the people. Four people are missing already and I'm not risking any more lives. That's final." He hated to do this, to cut them off that brutally when they were worried about him, but he just had to. There was no way he would allow any one of them to get caught by the Elite troops.

Carter determinedly looked at Hammond. "General, Sir. With all due respect, we cannot let him do this?"

Hammond sighed. He didn't like it either, but he could understand the Colonel's reasoning and respected it. "The decision has been made, Major. The Colonel is leaving within the hour. Colonel O'Neill," he faced his Second, "good luck. You damn well better get back here soon, however. I have no intention of giving command of SG-1 to somebody else, is that understood?"

O'Neill smiled. "Yes, Sir."

The General left the briefing room, leaving the team to say their goodbyes.

Teal'c stood and bowed his head, his hands resting on his back. "I wish you would allow me to join you, O'Neill. Be safe, my friend."

O'Neill smiled at those words. "Thanks, Teal'c. You just keep your eye on Daniel for me, will yah?"

Daniel hit the table with his fist. "Damnit, Jack! Don't say that! Who's gonna keep an eye on you? Why are you doing this anyway? I don't like this at all."

Jack made a face. "Oh, come on, Daniel. I'll be back before you know it. You know I can't ask you guys to risk your lives for an old friend of mine. I would never forgive myself if anything would happen to one of you, you know that."

"I wish you would let us decide if we were willing to risk our lives for a friend of yours, Sir," Sam stated, knowing it would make no difference. When the Colonel set his mind on something, nothing could get him off it.

"Well, yeah… I appreciate it…" Jack felt uncomfortable with the situation and stared at the wall.

"Good luck then, Sir. Come back to us," Carter said, silently adding 'safely' to her last sentence.

"Thanks, Carter. Daniel, finish studying that rock so we can go fishing when I come back, okay?"

Daniel didn't even bother correcting him, hearing Jack call the artifact a rock. He just nodded. "I'll take you up on that, Jack. Take care of yourself."

With that they said goodbye, leaving O'Neill to pack his gear.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Only two hours later, O'Neill arrived at the main base of Special Forces. He had another meeting with Colonel Bayfield to go through the details of the mission.

"So, how do you plan to get in?" Bayfield started.

"Well, I need a flight to Incirlik, I'll start there."

Bayfield nodded. With the non-flying zone above Tyberia and Iraq he had expected that Jack would fly to Turkey first and the Airbase in Adana was a good place to start. Major Crook had done exactly the same thing.

"I'll be moving east, using some of my contacts. Did Marc use them as well?"

Bayfield shook his head. "No, Marc had his own transportation. We arranged that. I've dug this up for you, however. Abdul Radzir is still available and willing to help us. I gather you remember him?" He handed O'Neill a piece of paper.

Jack took it, reading what was on it. "That's perfect. He still owes me. He can take me in. We'll move south, the first part via jeep, I think. Then I'll hike the last part on my own. That will take me at least a day, maybe two. It's rough terrain. You've got my gear ready?"

"Yes, your backpack is stuffed, everything is ready."

"Good. Give me a day to contact Radzir, arrange some more equipment I'll need… We'll be leaving Turkey on Thursday, which means I won't reach camp before Saturday afternoon. I'll probably need another day to get in. Bail them out, hike back through the mountains…" Jack walked over to the table. A map of the area was spread out there. He took a pencil and marked three spots.

"I want you to set up a pick-up on these three spots. Start on Tuesday. At six and every eight hours here," he tapped on the first mark, "at nine and every eight hours here," pointing at the second mark and finally his finger moved to the third spot. "At noon and every eight hours there. We'll jump on one of them; I don't know which one yet. Give it a round three times. If we're not on either one of them by Thursday, consider the mission failed."

"Done. I owe you one, Jack."

"No you don't."

Bayfield frowned, wondering what O'Neill meant.

"You owe me more than one." With that, Jack grabbed his gear and turned, heading for the door.

"Good luck," Bayfield said, but received no answer.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

"Major Jek!"

Abdul Radzir had been waiting for twenty minutes at their arranged meeting point and smiled widely at the sight of the American.

Jack approached him, laughing, "Hi, Abdul. How are you today? You haven't changed a bit, my friend."

Abdul Radzir bowed his head. "You have, Major Jek. Your hair has changed color. It looks good on you. Come with me…"

O'Neill followed his contact through the streets of Adana until they reached an old, dirty looking house, separated from the others by a dusty and sandy road. Abdul stepped inside, motioning for the American to follow him. Jack had to bend forward or he would have hit his head, as the doorway was lower than the Colonel was tall.

The scent of cooking made his mouth water. The smell of garlic and onion was overwhelming, along with the peppers and strong herbs as thyme and dill. He followed Radzir into what had to be the living room. There was hardly any furniture, but a gorgeous thick dark-red eastern carpet was spread out on the brick dusty floor in the middle of the room. Here, they both sat down cross-legged, elbows resting comfortably on the knees.

A woman dressed in a beautiful, colorful dress, covering every part of her body, strode into the room. Her head was also completely covered, leaving only one open spot for her eyes so she could see. Over her clothes, she wore a thick layer of shiny, golden jewelry, which made a soft tinkling noise as she walked.

She carried a large silver serving platter and gracefully placed it on the carpet, in the middle. On it were two dinner plates stuffed with food, along with a pot of tea plus two cups. Without making as much as a sound, she turned and left the room.

"Ah, let's eat." Radzir announced and bent forward to hand over one of the dinner plates to the American. "My favorite. Firinda Kuzu Budu. Roasted lambs meat, my friend."

Jack gratefully accepted the plate, waited for his host to start and they began eating.

"So, Major Jek. What do you need of me this time?" Abdul inquired, staring at the American while taking another bite of his meal.

"Jack. Call me Jack. I'm no Major anymore."

"Okay, Jek."

Jack sighed inwardly. He guessed he had to accept that that would be as close as the man could get to pronounce his name correctly. "I need to get into Tyberia. North-east side, through the lower part of the mountains."

The other man inhaled sharply. "No, no, no. Dangerous, Jek. Lots of fights in Tyberia. The Elite guards use strong forces against rebellious civilians."

Jack finished another bite of his meal, swallowing it before nodding. "I know, but I have to go anyway. Can you get me there?"

Abdul Radzir was visibly shaken by the idea. He looked disapprovingly at the American. He shook his head stubbornly. "I do not go to Tyberia. Too dangerous."

"You don’t have to go with me all the way. Just take me to the border and I'll be fine," O'Neill tried to reassure him.

"Where do you have to go?" Radzir wanted to know.

Jack shrugged his shoulders. "Let's say that… I'm on a private mission, okay?" He finished his meal. "Mm, this was delicious," he commented and took his cup of tea.

Radzir smiled proudly at the compliment and just nodded slightly.

"So, will you take me there?" O'Neill demanded.

"Yes. I think you are in need of some equipment, though. I will arrange for that as well. Come back to my house tonight, after eleven. Then I have some stuff that you will need. We can leave just after midnight."

O'Neill was satisfied. The first part of his trip was covered and he was still ahead of schedule. Radzir would take him to the border; he was on his own from there. Needing to take care of some things himself plus to catch some sleep in advance, he thanked his contact and left.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

That night, O'Neill dressed himself in his dark green BDU pants with a black shirt. He put on a protective fragmentation vest and secured the strips of his backpack over his shoulders and around his waist.

He looked around the small, simple hotel room one last time. He'd erased all traces which could lead to his identification and had paid for the room for a whole week. With his personal belongings stuffed in his pack, he really had no reason to come back here anymore.

"Let's get this over with," Jack silently told himself.

He left the hotel room through the window, climbing on the balcony first and then he carefully slithered down to the street. He made sure to make no noise and leave no footprints behind by carefully picking the right places to step.

Satisfied nobody had seen his departure he walked through the dark streets of Adana. He knew where to go, but taking every precaution he made a huge detour. He only encountered a couple of men who were still outside for one reason or the other. Women weren't allowed to be outside after dark. With one hand stuffed deep in his pocket he walked determinedly, blending into the village as if he belonged there. Nobody paid any attention to him and he was sure nobody was following him.

About thirty minutes later, the Colonel arrived at Radzir's house and found the man already waiting for him on his veranda. Without talking, he indicated the American to follow him inside.

Only a couple of candles illuminated the living room. The beautiful woman was nowhere to be seen; Jack figured she was probably ordered to stay upstairs in the bedroom.

Abdul Radzir took him to a low wooden table standing all the way back in a dark corner of the room. He'd stashed some things there for the American and pointed at them with a slight proud smile covering his face.

Jack scanned the items with great care and lifted a wrench from the table, feeling it with the tips of his fingers.

"To secure the mines," Radzir explained.

O'Neill nodded approvingly. He had both a M22 and a M25 wrench stuffed in his backpack, but this was yet another size.

There were also a couple of small boxes on the table. Radzir opened them to show the content to O'Neill. "Spare safety clips, shipping plugs and safety pins. They fit on the types of mines the Elite troops use…"

"Thanks," O'Neill said sincerely. Along with his own set of equipment he now had a much better chance against the AP-mines he knew would be outside Camp Ockeloen. He carefully wrapped everything and stuffed it in his backpack. The only thing that was missing was a dose of luck and he knew the other man couldn't provide him with that.

Just after midnight the two men left the house and walked out of the village, into the fields. Two miles further away, they approached Radzir's jeep, parked under a grove of trees. Radzir got into his jeep and started it, while Jack took a seat next to him. If nothing unexpected happened, they would reach the border to Tyberia early in the morning.

"Why don't you sleep for a while, Jek. I'll drive," Abdul Radzir offered.

Knowing he would need the rest, Jack gladly accepted the offer, leaning comfortably back in the passenger's seat and closed his eyes. Hopefully there wouldn't be that many bumps in the old, unpaved roads to keep him from resting. It was going to be a tough couple of days…

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

General Hammond sat behind his desk and absently stirred his coffee. He'd requested copies of some post-mission reports and Colonel Bayfield had gathered a couple and had them delivered to the SGC.

On his desk lay the report from the mentioned mission to Tyberia; the one where he'd guessed O'Neill got captured. He hated to dig into his Second's past this way, but he figured as his Commanding Officer who'd just authorized a solo mission to the area he needed to know every single detail in order to make the right decision when needed.

And Good Lord, he hoped that he wouldn’t need the information on hand. He'd prayed for the safety of his 2IC since the man had left the base, cursing him for his determination to do this on his own, cursing himself even more for allowing the man to do so. On the other hand, Hammond couldn’t help but feel proud, pleased and impressed knowing it took more than a normal dose of responsibility and guts to do what O'Neill was doing. He could only guess whether he would have the strength and willpower to do the same thing if he'd been in O'Neill's shoes.

He reluctantly opened the dossier. He took the first part in his hands, leaning backwards in his chair and started reading. There had been two teams operating in the area. The first team was under the command of Major Conners. The team had orders to move in, then search for a contact in trouble, rescue him and bring him home. The other team, led by Major O'Neill, had a supporting role; gathering information plus planning the escape route through the mountains up North.

Conners and his men were able to free the contact. They followed the escape route set up by O'Neill's team. Meanwhile, O'Neill and his men stayed behind as a decoy for the Elite troops that were on their tail.

O'Neill led the enemy to the East, allowing Conners to bring the contact to safety. He would have succeeded if they hadn't run into a second group of men coming home unexpectedly from a trip to Iraq. The second group managed to contact the Elite forces in pursuit and together they were able to surround O'Neill and his team.

The other team members' reports of what happened next were a little vague. The best the General could make out of it was that O'Neill had distracted the enemy with grenades; smoke grenades and gunfire, allowing his men to fan out to the Northwest and escape. He'd convinced them he would catch up with them, but a couple of hours later they'd finally realized he hadn’t made it.

They'd contacted the base and were ordered to get back to Turkey. >From there Special Forces would reassess the situation and come up with a rescue plan. That's where the reports ended, without details about what had happened to O'Neill, or the way they'd planned to get him out.

Hammond sipped his coffee, thinking about what he'd read. O'Neill had already told him he'd made it out on his own. His fist clenched and he bit on his lip. Why in heaven's name had the Forces not sent a team back in? Conners could have gone back? Shaking his head in disbelief he realized he knew the answer. The constant hostilities in the area plus the successful withdrawal of the contact made no further loss of men necessary. O'Neill was considered an unfortunate but necessary casualty, mission accomplished, file closed.

They hadn’t counted on a stubborn man like Jack O'Neill, Hammond thought grimly. He scanned the remaining papers in the file and found a short note about O'Neill's escape. It mentioned his imprisonment for eight days plus his three-days trekking through the mountains back to safety.

Taking out the medical report Hammond sat back in his chair again. Turning the pages he soon found out what the Tyberian Elite forces were capable of. The report mentioned the sleep deprivation, the malnutrition, the dehydration; it briefly mentioned the casual beatings plus the breaking of the bones of the subject's arm. It was documented in a very matter-of-fact style, showed no emotion or compassion whatsoever, nor did it give any information about what had really happened, what the real damage had been, not only physically, but mentally as well.

General Hammond cursed. His imagination and years of experience told him all he needed to know. Another bad experience for the record, he thought. It was yet another case of the Air Force abandoning one of its own, for the sake of the greater good. One he was sure O'Neill would want to forget, but Hammond knew it would probably still haunt him during the long, dark hours of lonely nights. Just like Iraq…

Damn.

Now O'Neill was going back to that area, which would certainly bring back some painful memories, along with the frustration of being left behind, with nobody to back him up. He could even better understand the determination the man had shown now. How could O'Neill leave somebody else behind, in a place he knew painfully well? How could the man let that happen to somebody he considered as his friend? It would have been too distressing; to live with the knowledge that he'd abandoned a friend the same way the Air Force had abandoned him years ago. Hammond knew his Second well enough to realize that O'Neill wouldn’t let it happen to somebody he didn’t know, much less an old friend.

Hammond hit the table with his fist. That damned Colonel Bayfield. He'd known exactly what he'd come to ask. He had known O'Neill wouldn’t be able to turn him down.

If only O'Neill could succeed in his mission to free this team. It would give the man some satisfaction, some self-esteem, some control over the past. The General sighed heavily. God help them if something went wrong…

Hammond closed the file and vowed to do everything within his power to help his Second, to have him return home safely. No way on Earth was he going to be the next in line to have left this man behind somewhere on the planet, or in the whole damned galaxy for that matter.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

It was five o'clock in the early morning. Abdul Radzir briefly touched the sleeping American's shoulder.

"Jek," he urged, his voice low. "It is time to wake up now."

O'Neill immediately opened his eyes, scanned his surroundings and faced his driver. "Morning…" he said in the same low voice. "Where are we?"

"Reaching the Tyberian border soon. We've passed a surveillance post a few miles ago. I do not think they saw us, I stopped the jeep behind the hills until they were out of sight."

Jack took in the nervousness in the man's features. He was obviously scared of the Tyberians. The tension in the never-ending battle between the civilians and the Elite forces must be reaching its limits, he thought grimly. "Okay, I can hike from here. Thanks for driving me."

Abdul Radzir parked the car. "You do have a map?" Detecting the American's slight nod, he wondered how the man planned to get out. "Do you want me to pick you up?"

O'Neill shook his head. "No. I've arranged for transportation back home. Thanks for the offer, though."

He leaned backwards to gather his gear and stepped out of the vehicle.

"Be careful, Major Jek. It is very dangerous…" Radzir still couldn't understand why the American had to go to Tyberia. He was just glad the American hadn't asked him to join him on his trip.

Jack gave his contact a brief salute, secured the straps of his backpack and with one last hand waving up in the air; he turned and walked towards the border.

He never looked back, but heard the jeep start up and drive off.

Jack took in the scene in front of him. It was a mountainous landscape with only sparse vegetation. Due to the nearness of the equator the temperatures could rise very high here, making it difficult for most plant life to survive.

O'Neill had traveled through this area before. He knew what to expect. He knew where to look for places to hide and to set up his camp. He'd been here on more than one occasion with his team and the last time, he'd crossed the mountains alone, suffering from a compound fracture of his arm along with the negative side effects of the kind treatment the personnel of 'hotel Ockeloen' inflicted. It wasn't a memory he cherished and he shivered involuntarily.

Forget it, O'Neill. You've got a job to do.

He kept his compass within reach to plan his route and started his hike into the mountains. If he pushed on, he could reach the camp early Saturday morning.

Colonel O'Neill hiked all day making good progress despite the rough terrain. He only stopped briefly for rest, water and a bite to eat.  He carefully scanned the area, watching for any possible troops, but they weren't anywhere near him and it seemed safe for him to continue.

Darkness fell early. O'Neill was already looking for a good place to spend the night and soon found one, under some protruding rocks. He took his backpack off, rolled out his sleeping bag and started digging a hole, approximately one yard wide and more than half a yard deep. He opened his backpack to gather a container and placed it on the bottom. Jack carefully placed a piece of plastic over the gap, with stones on the edges to keep it from moving. One stone in the middle made the plastic funnel downwards.

Satisfied this would gain him extra fresh drinking water by the morning, he took out a MRE and heated it. He decided to go to sleep soon after, so he would be able to get an early start in the morning.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Colonel Bayfield paced through his office. He was nervous, concerned and impatiently awaiting for some news. Any news would be better than the waiting. He hated the waiting, the not knowing and the not being able to control the situation.

He'd hated himself for turning to O'Neill for help from the minute he came up with the plan. Yet, he had no other options left, with his best teams out in the field. He also knew he had promised O'Neill that he would do everything within his power to prevent something happening to one of his men the way it had happened to O'Neill.

That stupid mission…

His superiors had overruled him. The life of the contact they'd rescued was far more valuable than the rescuers. The political relations with the surrounding countries in the Middle East, the threat of the start of World War Three; these were all considerations weighing heavily enough to forbid re-entering Tyberia for one single man.

That didn’t mean that it hadn't sucked big time.

That didn’t let him sleep better at night.

He had regretted that mission ever since. He'd been incredibly relieved that O'Neill had managed to get out by himself, but had still been unable to shake off the overwhelming feeling of guilt, betrayal and failure.

He should have fought harder.

He had considered resigning after the Tyberian incident. He felt that if he wasn't able to protect his men, to back them up through everything, then he wasn't worthwhile.  His men should be able to trust him, to have faith in him. How could a man trust him, if he wasn't able to at least make the decisions about his life and death?

It had been O'Neill who had eventually persuaded him to stay. Jack had convinced him that he could only do so much. That sometimes somebody else took over the responsibility and that he had to accept that.  He’d had his orders and followed them. Jack wouldn't have expected him to do anything different.

That didn't mean the man wasn't mad. He had been furious at the time and he had every right to be. Yet, O'Neill was enough of a military man to move on. Jack even did a better job of that than him. He really would have thrown in the towel. He'd had it. This partially failed mission in Tyberia was the final straw for him.

See, this incident wasn't the only one.

Oh, no.

There was that stupid unofficial mission to Iran, the one where they had almost lost Jack after that parachute accident. He'd tried to reach him, to get a team to his rescue… God, he'd tried. The Iranian soldiers were not allowing him much space to move in and he'd failed. Failed miserably.

Then there was Iraq. He couldn't even think back to that time without shivering violently all over. Cromwell had made a very bad decision, as it turned out. He'd assumed that Jack was dead and had left the scene. Left him there, injured, almost dying, to be captured by the Iraqis.

Damn, damn, damn.

There was absolutely nothing he could do back then. The United Nations tried; they gave it their best shot at negotiating to get O'Neill out of that prison. They had succeeded too; he had to give them credit for that.

It still had taken four long dreadful months.

Four months in hell.

He could never banish the memory of the man brought back home, strapped to that stretcher, all skin and bone, deathly pale and damn… the rest… neatly covered by a blanket…

Bayfield dropped heavily on his chair, sighed out and placed his elbows on the desk, resting his head in his hands.

Damn… He'd stayed by O'Neill's side, sat daily with him in the hospital through the first month. Visited him twice a week while he was recuperating the next two months. Backed him up when he refused to talk to that cold-hearted psychiatrist. Cromwell was having serious problems with the overwhelming feeling of guilt; of having failed but it was nothing to what Bayfield had felt. He had been responsible, these were his men and these were his missions. He was responsible for all of them, as a father for his kids and he hadn't been able to keep them safe.

It was after the Tyberian mission, when he'd personally vowed to the man that he would never, ever let anything happen to him anymore. That he would die first.

Bayfield rubbed his aching temples and stared at the wall. He shook the memories off and hit the desk with his clenched fist.

He'd sent O'Neill back to Tyberia. That had been his choice and his choice alone. Now it was his job to see that the man returned home. He had made a vow and hell, he was going to stick to that.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

O'Neill had covered a lot of territory that Friday. He'd started before five in the morning and had hiked all day. He had only allowed himself two brief rests; he wanted to reach his destination before dawn.

He'd made it.

He lay flat on his stomach, his binoculars in his hands as he studied the camp. Or, at least, the part he could see. Jack knew the camp was located on a lower piece of ground, covered on two sides by a six-foot high mountain wall. He carefully examined the higher buildings, spotted the guards on the roof and as they made their rounds.

His gaze turned to the fields reaching all the way up to the camp. His primary task was to make a safe path through those fields until he reached the part where he would have to climb down to the lower level. The fields contained mines; O'Neill remembered that from his last visit. He didn't know how many and what type of mines; he just knew they were there. The Elite Troops heavily guarded the entrance to the camp and only occasionally checked out the other sides from the roof of the huge building, the camp’s headquarters, since they knew the mines up there would keep them safe.

That was his way in.

He had his backpack stuffed with equipment to sweep the fields, dismantle mines and mark a lane through. It would take time, but it could be done.

Crawling backwards until he was out of sight of the camp, Jack sat up. He decided to set up his camp first. He found a good spot where he would be out of sight from any passing troops. Knowing he needed to rest after a long day of hiking through the mountains, he quickly prepared his meal, finished it and rolled himself in his sleeping bag.

The Colonel woke up around midnight, pleased to find the moon illuminating the sky enough for him to start his job. He started by digging a hole, by removing stones, soil, and rocks, everything that could be removed. He needed a safe place to store the disarmed mines.

Satisfied with the gap he'd created, O'Neill went back to his small camp, emptied his backpack and stuffed all needed equipment in the pockets of his BDU pants and protective fragmentation vest. He removed his watch, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and took out a Kevlar helmet and put it on, tightly buckling the chinstrap. Keeping the mine-probe at the ready he left camp and approached the field.

When he didn't dare walk any further, Jack squatted down, carefully avoiding allowing his knees to touch the ground. He started probing the area immediately, around his feet and as far forward as his reach extended, looking for mine indicators. He scanned his sides as well, again as far as he could reach. When he found the area clear, he knelt, continuing the probing in front of him and to the sides until he was certain it was safe to lie down into the prone position. He placed two entrance markers at the beginning of the lane, one on the left and one on the right.

Moving forward, scanning and probing carefully for mines, the Colonel placed a handrail marker on his left, less than five yards from the entrance.  O'Neill probed by gently pushing the device into the ground, at an angle of less then 45 degrees. By applying just enough pressure on the probe to sink slowly into the ground, he could feel whether it encountered resistance. Besides probing every two inches, he additionally scanned the area in front of him visually, looking for trip wires, fuses or pressure prongs.

O'Neill had just placed the second handrail marker on his left as he felt the probe touching something of interest. Using the tip of the probe, he carefully picked the soil away and used two fingers to remove loose dirt. He continued digging, slowly, painstakingly, until the object became visible.

A mine.

O'Neill studied the mine thoroughly, while very carefully digging all around it until he could feel underneath. When he was sure there was no anti-handling device hidden underneath, he gathered a safety clip and his M22 wrench. He'd identified the mine as the well-know blast AP mine called M14. US forces used this type of mine, so he was familiar with it. When he was certain all soil was removed, he grasped the mine with one hand and inserted the safety clip. Next he turned the pressure plate into the safe position with the wrench before lifting the mine out of the hole. His last job was to remove the detonator and to screw a shipping plug into the detonator well.

Jack let out a sigh of relief and slowly wiped his face. Cautiously he crawled back and took the disarmed mine to the storage spot he'd created.

Entering the lane the same way as he'd done the first time, he crawled back to his last position and started probing again. It was an extremely tiring job and he knew he could only continue for another ten minutes before he needed a brief rest.

He was just about to take a break when his probe encountered resistance. Repeating the procedure, he removed all soil around the mine and found it to be the same kind as the previous mine he'd disarmed. This one looked old, and sort of misshaped. His suspicions were confirmed when he couldn't insert the safety clip. Cursing softly, Jack inspected the mine closely, trying to detect where the safety clip got stuck. If only he could bend the safety clip a bit, widening the opening just enough…

He searched his pockets for something he could use. One of his tools fit in the opening and he slowly applied pressure on one side, bending it a little bit. He tried inserting the safety clip on the mine again and although it slid further on than before, it still didn't fit completely. Biting on his lip, Jack concentrated on the precise job of adjusting the clip and sighed out in relief when his efforts were successful and he managed to insert it on the mine.

Although he continued with the greatest precaution, the Colonel experienced no problems in turning the pressure plate into the safe position and removing the detonator. After the shipping plug was in its place, he crawled back, slowly, exhausted and his muscles trembling from working in the uncomfortable position.

O'Neill rested for ten minutes, used another five to briefly stretch his legs and arms and then returned to continue his job of creating a safe lane through the minefields.

He'd successfully disarmed another five mines, when he encountered another obstacle. Jack considered himself lucky that the moon gave enough light for him to spot the pin attached to the trip wire before his hands touched them. He examined the wire closely, from one end to the other. This way, he easily found the release-pin ring on one end, telling him the position of the mine. When he was sure this was the only mine the trip wire was attached to, he concentrated on clearing all soil from the fuse area.

This was another type of mine, similar as the M16-series, bounding-fragmentation AP mines.  It was all greasy from the silicone that was spread over it, a well-known precaution for long-term use. Keeping his movements slow and precise, Jack gathered the spare safety pins from his pockets and inserted one first in the positive safety-pin hole, then another one in the locking safety-pin hole.

Catching his breath for a second, Jack took out his knife and carefully cut the slack trip wires. He waited for ten seconds before firmly holding the mine with one hand, digging around it with the other until he could feel underneath it. Relieved to find no anti-handling devices, he lifted the mine from the hole, used his M25 wrench to remove the fuse and inserted a shipping plug. By the time he was back at the camp, he was tired, his knees and elbows were sore and his muscles were protesting every movement.

After resting for another twenty minutes, the Colonel crawled forward through the created lane and patiently continued his job. By the time it was midday, he'd disarmed thirty-two mines, had used the equipment Radzir had provided him with on the mines of a different type and he decided to break for a recess, to catch some sleep. With the sun high in the sky it was hot, and after preparing his meal, O'Neill curled up in his sleeping bag, hoping the rest would do his tense, aching muscles some good.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

That weekend, the remaining members of SG-1 gathered for a pizza night at Daniel's apartment. They'd also invited Janet Fraiser, the Chief of the Medical facility of the SGC. Whenever Cassie was out to stay with a friend, Janet tried to catch up in spending time with her friend Samantha Carter, along with the team.

The pizza already sitting on the table, Daniel entered the living room with four plates while Teal'c carried the drinks.

Janet looked around with a surprised expression on her face. "Where is the Colonel?" she asked. She had had some time off work the last couple of days and didn't know about O'Neill's trip to the Middle East yet.

Daniel and Sam exchanged worried glances. They had been talking about that particular mission ever since the Colonel had left them on Monday.

"Err… Jack is gone for a while. To… the Middle East," Daniel said.

Janet frowned. "Why?"

"The Tyberian Elite forces have captured a Black-Ops team. The leader of that team is a close friend of the Colonel's," Sam tried to explain. "He's going to attempt to rescue them."

"Tyberia?" Janet was shocked. As his doctor, she was privy to the Colonel's medical file and she knew more details about his last visit to that country than anybody else did in the room. "Damn," she cursed.

Sam examined her friend closely, realizing Janet had to know more about her CO's past than she did and the concern that was edged on the doctor's face didn't make her worry any less.

"When do they expect him back?" Janet asked.

"We don't really know. The General has given us time off until further notice. Hopefully we'll know more next week," Daniel answered.

Janet took a slice of pizza, dropped it on her plate, wondering about another thing. "Who is with him?"

"Nobody," stated Sam.

"I offered to accompany O'Neill," Teal'c said. "But O'Neill did not want to risk more lives than his own."

Janet nodded. "Right. I should have known that. Well, let's hope he'll return safely to us."

"What aren't you telling us?" Daniel turned to Janet, frowning. Taking in the concern that was edged on her face, he wanted some answers. "What do you know about what happened to Jack there before?"

Janet shook her head in worry, keeping her eyes down.  "I'm sorry, I can't. I know you're his friends and you're worried about him. But medical records are confidential. I *can't* tell you anything." She paused, wishing she didn't know anything and wondering why he'd agreed to go back there?

Each lost in thoughts and worries about their errant friend they ate in silence. Where normally these getting-together-nights were relaxing and enjoyable, they were unable to have fun on this night, not knowing anything about the whereabouts and well-being of their CO and friend.  

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

It was Sunday afternoon. The sun stood high in the sky, shining unmercifully over the mountains. It was hot; incredibly hot.

Jack had finished his lane-marking job one hour ago and had spent the last hour studying the camp paying particular attention to the guards and their rounds. He knew their schedule well. They only entered the roof of the huge building that was built almost against the two mountain walls once an hour. That's when they checked the minefields, when they made sure nobody attempted to get through. They'd missed him, since he'd made sure to be out of sight every time the guards appeared on the roof.

He decided to wait until dusk. Then he would make his move, get inside, and make his way to the small brick building next to the huge one. It was a small prison, with two wooden benches inside. No windows; just a door, locked heavily on the outside.

O'Neill was pretty sure that the Special Forces team was kept there. He'd spent a couple of days inside that building, too; the last time he'd visited the camp. Twice a day two guards had entered to have some distraction from the boring job of making their rounds around the camp. That's when they had beaten him up until he was unconscious. Once a day, they had taken him to the commander of the camp for questioning. He could still picture the commander's face as the man yelled at him; his ugly visage only inches away from his own. He could still smell the man's breath. He had managed to keep the commander busy with false information for a couple of days before the man had realized that O'Neill had been feeding him lies. Jack shivered involuntarily at the memories and tried to shake them off. He had a job to do.

Jack went through his equipment one last time, making sure he had everything he needed and leaving the rest at his camp for faster movement. He secured his backpack and decided it was time to move. He walked through the minefield, following his own signs and safely reached the end. He took out a small hammer and a metal pin, knocked it into the rocks near the edge and tied a rope to the pin, hanging it down the wall. Testing it with a firm jerk, he considered it safe and climbed down. The Colonel was confident the guards wouldn't spot the rope; they would have to bend far forward to look over the edge of the roof, so he left it where it was. He crawled through the alley between the building and the mountain walls until he reached the end of the building.

The smaller one, with the door and without windows, was within view now.  Jack scanned the area. There were only a few soldiers wandering through the camp, the rest apparently having their evening meal in one of the barracks near the front gate. There was no guard outside the door of the building that served as a prison; the locks from the outside were enough to keep who-ever was inside, in. If he was lucky, he could get them out and they would be on their way back through the minefields before the next round on the roof.

With one last look through the camp, Jack quickly got to his feet, rushed to the door and removed the three locks by sliding them away. He opened the door, threw a look inside and found the missing team.

Damn.

Without Major Crook.

The three present Special Forces members were stunned by the Colonel's appearance but they responded swiftly. Two of them immediately hauled the third to his feet, dragging his arms around their shoulders for support.

They appeared in the door opening and the Colonel pointed to the side of the huge building. "That way," he urged, and carefully closed the door, sliding the locks back in place. He moved faster than the trio that was all but carrying one of them, and showed them the way to a safer place.

When they were out of first sight, Jack stopped them, assessing their condition with a quick scan. The men were beat up, as he'd expected. They were looking far from healthy; battered, pale and exhausted summed it more up. At least they were alive, he thought grimly. "Colonel O'Neill to your rescue. Any idea where they're keeping Major Crook?"

"No, Sir. They took him a couple of days ago. We haven't seen him since," the Captain explained, visibly worried about his CO.

Jack scanned the camp for any sign of trouble. His actions hadn't been discovered yet. He had to get these men to safety but he couldn't leave Marc. Thinking hard, he eyed the Captain. The man seemed to have understood the Colonel's thoughts.

"I'm not leaving without the Major, Sir," Captain McKean protested, guessing where this was going.

Jack gave him a doubtful look. He admired the man's loyalty, but he needed to know these men were safe while he attempted to rescue Marc. He nodded at the Lieutenant's injured leg. "You're not exactly in a perfect condition for a fast in-and-out-rescue. The Lieutenant here won't run a marathon for a while and you two aren't in good shape either." Jack stopped briefly to see if his words had the needed effect.

The Captain nodded slightly, not completely convinced.

"I've marked a lane through the minefields. I need you to get your men to safety, Captain. Keep the marks on your right and get the hell out of here. Head Northeast. There's a spot close to the borders called Devil's Peak. Tuesday at nine is the first pick-up, then twice after every eight hours. Don't miss the bus. Got it?" O'Neill studied the Captain's face.

The Captain nodded. "Yes, Sir," he stated firmly, knowing the other man counted on him. "What about the Major, Sir?"

"I'm going to get him out. We'll catch up with you later. Now, go, before the guards make their next round on the roofs."

The Captain and his exhausted men saluted briefly. Then McKean remembered something he needed to know. "Sir? What day is it?" Being locked up in that place had made him lose track of time.

"It's Sunday evening." Jack showed them the rope and helped them climb up by lifting the injured Lieutenant on his shoulders while the Captain, who'd already made the ascent, assisted from the other side. Together they managed to lift the Lieutenant up. The Sergeant was the last to use the rope and soon, the trio was out of sight.

"Good luck, Sir," the Captain hissed as a last greeting before leading his men away from Camp Ockeloen.

O'Neill waited, counting time, allowing the three men to reach safer grounds and to get away. He was relieved that nothing happened; that the Captain had managed to lead his men away safely. Now he had three men less to worry about. It was time to move on. Time to figure out where they were keeping Major Crook.

O'Neill crawled through the alley between headquarters and the mountain wall. This time, he headed the other way. When he reached the end, he had a perfect view over the front side of the camp, with three barracks on the right, a radar installation opposite to him near the camp's fence and the two watchtowers on each side of the gate.

Jack knew there were two other possible places where Marc could be. In the middle of the square the Elite troops had created a hole in the ground, just big enough for one man to lie in, flat on his back or stomach. A wooden lid covered the "grave" and the Elite forces used this to break their prisoners by locking them in there for hours or days. Jack had experienced how hot it would become in the hole during the day and hoped Marc hadn't been in there all that time.

The other place where Marc could be was the dungeon underneath the huge building, close to where he lay on his stomach right now. The commander of the camp used to take his prisoners down there for "questioning". There were chains on the ceiling to keep the prisoners secured. It was another place Jack wasn't looking forward to visiting again. It was where the commander had broken his arm twice, mad, as he was when the information Jack had been feeding him turned out to be less than accurate.

O'Neill needed a plan and he needed it fast. He had no way of knowing whether the guards would check out their other prisoners before nightfall or not. If they did, they would find out that their prisoners were gone; they would find his escape route, they would probably place a double guard on Crook and they would most likely discover him soon thereafter. He just couldn't take that risk. He would have to decide which location he needed to check out first. The "grave" was out in the open, so it would be next to impossible to reach that without being spotted. On the other hand, entering headquarters and walking down the stairs to the dungeons without meeting anybody was pretty risky as well.

He'd already decided to take his chances inside the building first when he heard footsteps above him. Two guards were walking on the roof, making lots of noise. O'Neill crawled backwards, safely between the mountain walls and the building. If nobody looked over the edge of the roof he would be all right. They wouldn't see the rope either. He held his breath as the men talked aloud, in some Arabic dialect, and Jack didn’t understand a word of it. By the sound of the voices he could make out that they were mad, however. Mad at each other, or at somebody else, he couldn’t tell. One of the guards even sounded drunk to his ears, but he had a hard time believing that, knowing how strict the Elite force was.

The two guards stepped closer to the edge, still arguing loudly. Jack pushed his back as tight against the building's wall as he could, holding his breath.

Then one of the guards got really, really pissed. His voice even louder he emphasized his words by kicking against everything that came in front of his feet. The other man was stumbling, moving backwards, all while trying to calm his colleague down.

Apparently there were some barrels on the roof.

They just happened to come between the two fighting guards.

The one who was already kicking around, saw the barrels, smiled and placed some force behind his movement, hitting the barrels hard with his right foot. The first barrel was forced flying towards the other guard who was now yelling in fear.

The other barrel flew all the way over the alley between the mountain and the building and rolled into the higher fields.

Shocked, the second guard turned around and ran towards the opposite edge of the roof. The first guard moved backwards, desperately attempting to get out of the way, protectively covering his head with one arm.

The barrel landed in the middle of the minefield and rolled over twice before it detonated the first mine. It was a bounding fragmentation AP-mine and it burst out of the ground, throwing the barrel into the sky as the explosion illuminated the whole area. Pieces of debris and shrapnel flew all over the place, landing in the field, on the roof of the building and between it, down into the alley. A second mine detonated only a few seconds after the first, causing the same sort of reaction.

Jack had been listening carefully to what was going on up on the roof but he couldn't possibly know what to expect. The sound of the barrels startled him. He had nowhere to go and nowhere to hide, plus he had no idea whether to move to his right or left. Instinctively, he turned, dropping flat on his stomach and covered his ears as the barrel hit the ground and triggered the mines.

O'Neill was lucky to have been wearing the safety helmet and fragmentation vest. Although the explosions took place above him and he was somewhat protected by the alley he was in, the pieces of shrapnel still rained down on him, damaging his arms and legs, digging through his shirt and pants, embedding themselves into his skin. The shrapnel was so hot from the detonation, that he felt hardly any pain.

Then it was all over.

Camp Ockeloen was suddenly a very busy place. Soldiers were running outside, ready to respond to anything, unaware of what had caused the explosion. People were talking loudly and excitedly without really listening to each other, all trying to assess the situation. The guard who had kicked the barrel had been blown off the roof by the force of the first explosion and was soon surrounded by his comrades. The man had broken his leg during the fall, but otherwise seemed all right. The commander of the camp soon barked out his orders and restored some order in the chaos. A group of soldiers was sent to examine the roof of the building, to see what had happened to the other guard plus to determine what damage had been done.

Another team of two soldiers entered the alley to inspect both the mountain and the building's walls. They immediately spotted the still dizzy intruder, and after shouting triumphantly at their colleagues, the two soldiers approached the prone form, dragged him to his feet and forced him out of the alley.

"Hey! Easy!" O'Neill protested, as the movement forced the embedded shrapnel to cut deeper into his flesh. The sharp metal was cutting through his skin like a hot knife, digging deeper and deeper into his body, causing a red-hot agony to run through the back of his arms and legs.

The guards paid no attention to their burden's cries and with huge, proud smiles on their faces they showed their catch of the day to the commander of the camp.

The commander stepped closer, a stunned but furious expression over his face. He barked some angry words at O'Neill, who of course had no idea what the man was talking about.

"Err, happy New Year to you, too," the Colonel answered, his ears still ringing from the explosions and his vision still blurring.

The commander was not amused and his fist landed hard on the Colonel's left cheek, throwing O'Neill's head to the other side. He would have fallen from the force of the blow if it weren't for the guards holding him up straight.

The commander turned, barking more orders and O'Neill watched as two guards ran through the small brick building on the other side of the camp, checking on their prisoners. They came back, hands and arms waving wildly in the air, yelling something that could of course only mean that the Elite force now knew that three of their prisoners were no longer where they were supposed to be.

The commander grew even more upset than he previously was. His face turned all red as he forgot to breathe properly. He waved with his arms and directed another group of his men into action. They snapped to attention and ran off. The commander turned around, lifted his arm and with the back of his hand, he slapped O'Neill hard in the face, the heavy golden ring around the commander's finger splitting the man's lip open.

Again, O'Neill staggered under the force of the blow, but the guards held him up. He could feel the warm blood tickle down his chin. Surrounded by the whole damn Elite force, there was no way out of this mess at that moment, and Jack cursed inwardly at the bad luck he was having. Although this was a different commander than last time he wasn't even sure that was bad or worse. He managed to brace himself for the next blow, this one landing on the bridge of his nose.

"Where are the Americans?" the commander hissed at him in his best English.

Jack acted in mocked surprise, looked briefly over his shoulders and lifted his brows. "What Americans?" he asked innocently.

The commander hit him just above the right eye. This time the ring tore the skin just under his brow and another small trail of blood marked the Colonel's face.

"You can't fool me. You *will * tell me where they are," the commander promised, his voice deadly serious. He landed another two blows in his captive's midsection, watching in satisfaction as the other man doubled over, gasping in pain. A last hard blow was landed on O'Neill's chin and the Colonel's knees buckled as the world around him went black.

The commander snapped his orders at the two guards who were all but carrying Jack now. They nodded before turning and dragging their burden inside the huge building.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Major Marc Crook lifted his head wearily at the sound of the explosions. It took a while for his dull brain to recognize the sounds and for a brief moment he hoped that this would mean the Forces had sent a rescue party.

He shook his head violently, groaning at the stabbing hammers that were pounding into his skull as a result of the action.

"Get a grip, Marc. Bayfield won't send a rescue team," he thought. "I've got to find us a way out of this mess myself."

The Major sagged against the moist, brick wall of his cell, not even having a cot to sit or lie on. After his latest interrogation, he had no energy left to so much as raise his arms to wipe the sweat from his face. Although the Tyberians had beaten the shit out of him, they had been careful not to do any fatal damage. His chest was on fire, bruised, his ribs probably cracked, but he was pretty sure his vital organs hadn't been injured. His head had been used as a punching bag long enough for him to realize he likely had a hell of a concussion, yet those bastards had made sure not to hit him on his temples, knowing that one blow on that delicate area could be fatal.

All in all, he felt as if he was in hell, which he most probably was, but his major worries didn’t concern his own safety, but that of his men.  He hadn't seen them in days and he just hoped the Tyberian soldiers were too busy playing with him to pay any attention to his men. Major Crook took his responsibilities regarding his team very seriously. He'd learned that skill a long time ago; he'd had a great example.

A way out of here. He needed to think of a way out of here. That was his job. Keep focussed, Marc. His head was pounding so badly that he couldn't concentrate on one single thought.

He was startled when he heard the loud footsteps in the hallway outside his cell. A vicious shiver ran over his back. Were they coming back for him already? He'd hardly had time to rest, to recuperate…

The door opened and a soft light lit up the cell Major Crook was in, but after having been in the dark for a long time, his eyes couldn't adjust fast enough for him to see what was going on.

They appeared to be dragging a limp body.

God, please, don't let it be one of my men.

Too tired to get up it was all he could do to force his eyes open and concentrate on the commotion next to him. Through a gray fog, he realized the cell next to his was being opened. The dull thud of something being dropped was the next he heard; telling him the guards had dropped the body on the floor in the cell before locking the door. The door to the hallway closed and he was left in the dark once again.

Marc Crook forced his ears to listen, to catch the sound of breathing, moaning, anything, any sign of life, but he heard nothing. His eyes slowly adjusted at the dark again and the small beam of daylight that penetrated through a tiny opening in the roof was enough for him to finally see the body sprawled on the floor next to him.

Marc gasped as he recognized the clothes the man was wearing. Although it was none of his unit, he knew it was an American, and that meant that at least somebody had attempted a rescue mission.

The Major ordered his sore muscles to obey as he slowly crawled closer to the bars between him and the deathly still form lying on his stomach in the other cell. Fighting off the dizziness that was threatening to overwhelm him he lowered himself into the prone position, his left arm reaching through the bars, attempting to touch the unmoving body, while he desperately hoped for a sign of life.

His hand touched the other man's shoulder and he probed, carefully, waiting for a response.

Nothing. The other man definitely was out cold.

Marc didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing, given the circumstances. If the man stayed out cold, then maybe… just maybe the guards would leave him alone…

On the other hand, the man could be dying and he wouldn’t even know his name…

If only his head didn't hurt so badly… He needed to make up his mind, but it just seemed impossible.

Marc stretched and stretched, reaching with his fingers for the other man's neck and sighed in relief when he felt a pulse, strong and steady.

Then, the body shifted, and Marc drew his arm back, taking a deep, startled breath.

"Oww," the other man moaned softly, before pushing himself slowly to hands and knees.

"Hi," Marc said softly. "Are you okay?"

"Sure," a familiar voice answered. "I get caught in a mine detonation all the time…" The man suddenly raised his head, searching for the person who'd just asked him a question. "Marc?" he asked.

That's when Marc Crook realized who it was in that cell next to him. Although at first relieve overwhelmed him for not being alone anymore, he immediately realized that this was the last place on Earth we wanted to meet his old friend. He cursed inwardly. "Jack? What the heck are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, buddy. I came here to rescue you," Jack shifted, wincing as the movement hurt his arms and legs, but he managed to get closer to the bars. His eyes weren't adjusted to the dark just yet and he could only make out a slight silhouette close to him.

"Well. Nice rescue then," Marc mumbled.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm working on it, okay?" Jack said, optimistic as ever. He fidgeted with the straps of his helmet until he was able to remove it. He absently dropped it on the floor next to him.  He then let his fingers gently touch the gash above his eye, noticing that it wasn't bleeding anymore.

A thought suddenly occurred to the Major, as he hopefully asked, "My team?"

Jack rested his aching head against the bars. "I've got them out, Marc. Relax, they're safe."

Marc let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. At least that was one worry less for him. "You should have left with them, Jack," he continued, hating to be the one responsible for O'Neill's capture.

"No one gets left behind, Marc. I thought you of all people would know that."

Now that O'Neill had moved closer to him, Crook was able to examine him more thoroughly. He could see the blood trickling down the Colonel's arms and it was only now he truly realized what the other man had said earlier. "What happened? You stepped on a mine?"

Jack sighed. "No, I was hiding between that building and the mountain wall when two guards on the roof started arguing about something. One of them kicked something, a box, or a barrel, I don't know. It landed in the field and detonated one or two mines. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time…"

"Damn," cursed Marc. He moved closer, biting back a groan as his own body protested the movement and gently grabbed O'Neill's right arm. "Let me take a look at you. You're bleeding," he said.

Major Crook spent the next thirty minutes letting his fingers run softly over O'Neill's skin through the torn fabric of his clothes, looking for debris and shrapnel, attempting to pull it all out of the man's arms and legs. The dim light and the fact that he only had his bare fingers made it impossible to get rid of the smaller pieces so he was forced to leave them where they were.

By the time he was finished, he had also told O'Neill all about what had happened, from how they got caught by the Elite forces until he was being taken away from his team.

O'Neill sat up straight, stretching his sore legs out in front of him and stared at his old friend, taking in every visible scar, the exhausted and haunted eyes, realizing all too well how miserably the Major had been treated. "How are you doing?"

Crook shrugged. "Mother of all headaches, bruised, battered, sore… Nothing to worry about."

O'Neill stared at the floor. "I'm sorry, Marc," he said in a low voice.

"For what?"

"I should have gotten you out of this rotten place. I've screwed up…"

"No you haven't. There was nothing you could have done. We'll get out of here. We will, Jack. We've got to." Marc Crook tried to keep his voice as confident as he could, but to be honest, he was having a hard time believing it himself. He'd spent hours, days, looking for a way out, but the opportunity just hadn’t come. Marc knew, however, that Jack had escaped from this place before, so it could be done. He had to hang on to that thought or he would lose it completely.

"Yeah, we will," Jack agreed, then looked up as the door opened and the guards unlocked the door to his cell.

"You," one of them barked. "Come."

O'Neill shrugged his shoulders, got to his feet and looked back at his friend, giving him a comforting smile. He wasn't allowed any more time as the guards grabbed him roughly by his arms and pulled him with them, completely ignoring his protests that he was perfectly able to walk on his own.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Captain McKean successfully led his men through the minefield, using the signs the Colonel had placed to stay on track. Lieutenant Olsen, the one with the injured leg, had been able to keep moving where they were not able to support him. As soon as they reached the end of the minefield, perfectly marked by a special marker, the other two officers rushed forward to assist their injured colleague.

"Well done, Leo. Are you able to move on?" McKean asked, worried about the Lieutenant whose face had turned deathly pale.

Olsen just nodded. They had to get out of here and he wasn't going to slow them down.

Captain Mckean used the compass the Colonel had given him to determine the direction as he led the men away from Camp Ockeloen. Colonel O'Neill had told him where to go and was counting on him to reach the destination. He was not going to let the man down.

They had made good progress, despite the injured leg of the young Lieutenant, when they heard the explosions. Stopping in their trek, the three men stared over their shoulders, taking in the enlightened sky.

Sergeant Wilson eyed the Captain. "That was at least one mine, Sir. Do you think the Colonel is all right?"

McKean's mind raced. Colonel O'Neill could have deliberately detonated the mines to create a diversion. In that case, he would have succeeded in rescuing Major Crook and the men would probably be on their way out. On the other hand it didn't sound logical for the Colonel to detonate mines in the same field they had to escape through; that could be dangerous. The Elite Forces wouldn't detonate the mines themselves, however. That made no sense either. So in the worst case the Colonel had stepped on a mine and was either dead or captured and the Major was still a prisoner. 

One way or the other, McKean and his men were on their own and had to move on to reach the pick-up in time so they could report back to base. "We'll find out soon enough," he said grimly. "Let's move, people. Colonel O'Neill is counting on us."

Pushing all worst-case scenarios to the back of his mind the Captain concentrated on the task on hand and the three rescued men continued their trek through the mountains.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

O'Neill soon found himself in the familiar interrogation room. There was a square heavy wooden table in the middle of the room, flanked by two chairs. The chains on the ceiling were still in place. A violent shiver ran down his back and he forcefully pushed his painful memories away. The guards who'd escorted him here blocked the way out of the room as they waited for the commander to appear.

It didn't take long as the small, black-haired commander marched into the room, snapping his fingers at the guards. They immediately stepped forward, grabbed O'Neill and forced him to sit down on one of the chairs. The commander took the other chair and sat down opposite to the Colonel. He glared at his prisoner, trying to estimate the strength of this man. He deliberately kept quiet, merely glaring.

O'Neill glared back. He knew there was no way out at this moment. He needed to concentrate on staying alive long enough for them to get tired of him. Once they would take him back to his cell he would have to come up with a plan to escape. Maybe Marc knew a way out. Although the chances were slim, the Colonel was determined to find one. No way he was going to die here in this stinking Tyberian camp. He had a life back home, a job he cherished and people he cared about. He definitely wanted to see them again. He was going to get out of here. Even if it meant he had to crawl on his bare knees. He'd done it before. He'd had another life to fight for then. A loving wife, a beautiful son… Jack swallowed at the memory. Concentrate on your team, Jack, he told himself. Think about Daniel, Carter and Teal'c. They were his life now. Hell, he considered them even as family. They needed him. They were his reason to fight now. He wasn't going to give up.

The commander soon had enough of the silence. He noticed it wasn't making the other man nervous at all. "Where are the three Americans?" he asked, annoyed.

"What Americans?" Jack feigned surprise by arching his brows.

One of the two guards hit him, unexpectedly hard on his left cheek and he tumbled off the chair. The other guard grabbed him and dragged him back on the chair, the firm grip sending waves of pain through his already damaged arm. O'Neill slowly touched his cheek, which was already swelling up. At least his teeth were still in place.

"Where are the Americans?" the commander snapped.

O'Neill shrugged his shoulders and decided not to answer this time.

Although he was prepared this time, the blow still surprised him. It wasn't directed at his face this time. It landed hard and unmercifully at the back of his left arm. The guards had apparently noticed the damage that had been done to his arms by the shrapnel from the mines and used this spot to inflict more pain on their victim.

A deep groan escaped from the Colonel's lips. The sudden pressure on his damaged skin, on the small pieces of debris, which were still embedded there left him gasping from agony.

The commander smiled and nodded slightly at the guards. More blows landed on O'Neill's arms, one guard hitting him on the left, the other on the right. Jack closed his eyes to hide his pain, clenched his teeth and felt some sharp pieces dig deeper into his flesh. Soon he felt the warm flow of his own blood oozing down his arms. He was hit another couple of times, then the guards stepped back and the commander waited a second for his captive to regain his composure.

"Where… are… the… Americans?" His voice was dreadful and his eyes glowed furiously.

O'Neill opened his eyes and lifted his head to glare at the commander. "I'm the brother of David Copperfield. I've made them disappear," he hissed through gritted teeth.

The commander of course had never heard of the magician and wasn't amused at all. One guard pulled O'Neill's left arm over the table. The other guard placed a hand on Jack's shoulder, pushing it roughly down on the table. Jack heard the snapping of a knife being opened and the next second, the guard cut through his sleeve, just below the shoulder. One firm jab and the sleeve came off, exposing the damaged backside of his arm.

O'Neill tried to pull away, but his arm was locked in a deathly grip. With his shoulder and head firmly pushed down on the table he didn't even have an inch space to move. One of the guards held both hands, holding them straight above the exposed arm; just as a Japanese fighter breaking a brick stone in two pieces. Standing next to O'Neill, one foot forward and the knee bent, the man started hammering down on the bare arm with the sides of his hands, moving slowly from the shoulder downwards until he reached the elbow.

Jack groaned out loud, fought to pull his arm away but the other guard pinned him securely down. "Damn, you son-of-a-bitch," he hissed through clenched teeth as his bones, muscles and nerves screamed from the abuse. He was vaguely aware of the commander's laughter and the Colonel desperately tried to stay focused. The pain was overwhelming him and sweat appeared on his face, rolling down and dripping on the table underneath him.

The commander got up from his chair and approached his victim. "Do you wish to tell me where the Americans are now?" he asked, while bending forward to come into his prisoner's view.

O'Neill cracked his eyes open, glared at the man in front of him and thought for a second about spitting the man in the eye. Knowing that would be not a smart move, he settled for barking, "No, not really!"

The guard, who was pinning him down, steadied his grip, pushing him even harder on the table. The other guard grabbed O'Neill's upper arm, applying pressure on the already bleeding parts with his thumbs. These movements caused the embedded shrapnel to cut further through the Colonel's flesh and O'Neill couldn't stop from yelping out in pain.

This time the guard, who held him in his death grip, lifted his head up by pulling him on his hair, forcing him to face the commander again. O'Neill's face was soaking with sweat now and he wasn't able to see clearly through his pain filled eyes.

The commander looked at him, but didn't bother repeating the question. He already knew he wasn't going to get an answer and nodded at his guards. The guard roughly pushed O'Neill's head back down and leaned heavily on the man's shoulder. The other guard took his arm firmly in both hands, just above the elbow. With one firm jerk he pulled the arm upwards, while the other man pushed the shoulder down until they heard a sickening pop as the shoulder slipped out of its socket.

Jack inhaled sharply, a deep groan escaping from his lips before his body went limp, having no strength left to keep up with the game. His mind was attempting to block out the pain, but his head was spinning and his ears were ringing. He was unaware of being dragged to his feet. The guards hauled him back through the hallway, down the stairs and unceremoniously threw him into his cell. O'Neill landed on his stomach, let out another heartbreaking moan as his shoulder hit the ground and passed out.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Major Crook crawled towards the bars between the cells, softly calling his buddy's name. His friend had been thrown in only minutes ago and was unresponsive.

Marc tried to reach through the bars, stretching his muscles but still couldn't touch the still form on the cell's floor. He tried calling again. "Jack? Jack, wake up. Talk to me," he raised his voice a little this time.

Meanwhile, he let his eyes run over the prone body of his friend, visually checking for inflicted damage. He thought that O'Neill's right arm, which was closest to him, was bleeding again, but other than that he really couldn't tell.

"Come on, Jack. Wake up and look at me," Crook urged, not willing to give up. He wasn't really sure if his friend wouldn't be better off unconscious, but he needed to know how much the man was hurt and whether he could do anything to control the damage. Most of all, he was worried sick and just longed for a word of reassurance, telling him everything would be all right.

Stop fooling yourself, Marc. Everything is NOT all right and probably won't ever be.

"Jack?" he asked again and this time he was rewarded by some movement as the other man let out a deep groan and slightly lifted his head.

The effort of raising his head was probably too much as Jack let it drop back on the ground. "This sucks," he muttered under his breath.

Crook couldn't help but smile at the familiar comment. "Big time, Jack," he responded, then a deep frown covered his face. "What happened?"

Crook watched as his friend pushed himself up with one arm until he was on his knees, wincing at the sound of the other man's sharp intake of breath. He now saw the drooping left arm and the misshapen form of the shoulder. "Bastards," Marc muttered, taking in the sweat that was bedding O'Neill's face.

The Colonel raised his head, cradling his left arm in his right hand. "Yah think?"

Marc swallowed hard. He knew they had to do something about that dislocated shoulder before the swelling made it all but impossible. His mind raced, trying to figure out how he was going to get the job done.

O'Neill rose to his feet, swaying dangerously as the world spun. He waited until his eyesight cleared, then he moved towards the bars, searching for the right position.

Crook struggled to his feet.

"Don't touch me," Jack hissed through gritted teeth.

"But Jack," Marc protested.

"That's an order, Major."

Marc stepped back, doubtfully, his breathing increasing.

O'Neill assisted his left arm with his right, until his left hand could grab a bar at the height of his hip. Grimacing from the pain this caused, he inhaled deeply a couple of times before firmly putting his right fist in the armpit of his injured shoulder.

Major Crook closed his eyes.

O'Neill forced his bodyweight backwards, firmly holding on to the bar with his left hand while he cried out in pain. He held on, his fist firmly in place, his eyes tightly closed and forced his body backwards even further until the shoulder slipped back in place. Unable to release his grip just yet, he stood, his breathing erratic, in short, sharp gasps. Then, his right hand moved, opened up and cradled the injured shoulder. He released his left arm and turned, leaning heavily with his back against the bars.

"Shit," he gasped, and slowly lowered himself to the ground, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the bars. "Shit… shit... That hurt."

Marc swallowed the bile that was filling his mouth back down and let out a deep sigh. Gathering the water the guards had brought in earlier, he dropped on his knees close to his friend and handed him the canteen. "Here, drink some," he offered.

O'Neill gratefully took the canteen, drank some and then poured a little over his hand and wiped his face with it. Then he just sat there, trying to control the nauseating agony that was tearing up his shoulder and arm, concentrating on his breathing.

Crook visually inspected the Colonel's shoulder and arm from behind, taking in the swelling of both. There was still blood oozing down the arm and through the crimson stains, Marc noticed the extensive bruising. He bit on his lip, cursing silently and tore a piece of cloth from his shirt, soaking it with water. "I need to clean that arm," he warned, moving closer.

His friend nodded wearily, too tired to answer.

Marc started cleaning at the shoulder and carefully and precisely worked his way down to the elbow. It took all of his willpower to finish the job as the Colonel was moaning, flinching and constantly hitting his head backward against the bars. The Major tried to be as gentle as he could, but he also had to make sure to remove all the dirt. Hopefully some small pieces of shrapnel would come out with the bleeding as well, he thought idly. Crook moved to the right side, crawling closer to O'Neill's right arm. "You want a break?"

"And lose this loving feeling?" Jack hissed. "Nah… get it done."

Marc re-shifted the torn fabric of O'Neill's shirt to be able to clean the wounds at the back of his right arm. Although they were ugly to look at, some of them bleeding slowly and the whole area bruised; it wasn't nearly as bad as the other arm. Marc smoothly patted the abraded skin with water, looking for signs of infection. Luckily he found none but he realized that given the circumstances, it was only a matter of time.

O'Neill sighed out loud, his muscles slowly relaxing now that the worst was over. He sat quietly, with his head resting against the bars and his eyes closed. The pain in his shoulder was bearable now and the sharp stabs that had been running through his arms were replaced by a dull, numb feeling. His breathing was slowing down and the sickening feeling that had been overwhelming him after he'd relocated his shoulder was fading.

"Are you all right?" Marc broke the silence.

"Peachy… Just peachy," the Colonel cracked.

"I've got some water left. You think you could lie down? I should clean those injured legs as well. Do they hurt?"

"Hmmm," O'Neill answered, realizing that the Major was right. Although the guards hadn't hit his legs, he remembered the pain the moving shrapnel had caused him from sitting down on that chair.  He grimaced while cautiously lowering himself into a prone position and lay quietly, allowing the Major to do the job.

Roughly twenty minutes later Major Crook was ready, satisfied he'd done all he could. He offered the Colonel the last sip of water, knowing the man was going to need it.

"No, you take it," O'Neill refused stubbornly.

"I don’t need it. You do." Marc insisted. "I'm all right."

"Sure. Ready to run the Boston Marathon," O'Neill smirked.

Crook sighed. "Okay, not *that * all right. But I don't have pieces of metal stuck in my flesh, ready to start an infection. All my body parts are still where they belong…" he shifted uncomfortably, wincing as something pulled in his chest. "…I think."

O'Neill glanced at him, not unaware of the stiffness in the Major's movements.

Still, Crook looked at him determinedly, daring him to reject the water. "Damn it, Jack. Stop the fucking stubborn act and drink it."

Swallowing, the Colonel gave in and eased his thirst with the last bit of water.

"Good boy," Marc praised him teasingly.

"Don't let my looks fool you," the Colonel shot back.

Crook grinned. "Now, get some rest."

"Giving orders, Major?"

"No, Sir. Just a suggestion."

"Good suggestion then, Major. I think I'll take a nap," the Colonel shifted until he found a more comfortable position. "Don't stay on guard. The enemy already ran us over," he muttered before giving in to the exhaustion that was threatening to overtake him.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Captain McKean and his men had made good progress through the mountains. Without their equipment they had been forced to use their skills to gain enough drinking water for all of them to survive, but they had managed. During the night they'd crawled close together, sharing body heat to keep warm. Although weak, exhausted and hungry, they had pushed on and reached Devil's Peak by noon on Tuesday.

"We're here, people," McKean said, lowering the injured Lieutenant to the ground. He stretched the stiff muscles of his arms by crossing his hands, turning them and pushing them as far forward as he could. "We missed the first pick-up, but there will be another one at five. Sergeant, you and I are going to find a place to hide, while the Lieutenant watches our six and stays off that foot."

"Yes, Sir," the Sergeant responded, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

Searching the area around Devil's Peak, they soon found a good spot to spend the remaining hours until the next pick-up. Covered by rocks and with a tree providing some shade, they forced their sore muscles to relax. While watching out for searching troops they waited for the helicopter to get them out of this mess.

"You think they've managed to get out?" Sergeant Wilson asked the question that had been keeping them all occupied during their trek through the mountains.

Captain McKean bit his lip and looked away. The Colonel and the Major hadn't been able to catch up with them and he'd been scanning the area behind him at every opportunity. Still he hadn’t detected any sign of people trekking through the mountains. Although he tried to hide his worries, he was getting nervous and suspected the remaining two airmen hadn't been able to escape. "I'm sure the Colonel has set up another spot for a pick-up as well. We'll just have to wait and see," he tried to sound reassuring, but he knew he was failing miserably.

"We should have stayed," Lieutenant Leo Olsen said, furiously rubbing his injured limb.

"We couldn't. The Colonel ordered us to go," the Captain said firmly. He hadn't been thrilled with the particular order although he realized that considering the Lieutenant's injured leg, the decision the Colonel had made had been the only good one.

If only he knew what had happened. If only he could go back…

"The Forces will send in another rescue team, right?" Sergeant Wilson wondered out loud.

McKean snorted. "Another team? Right. Colonel O'Neill is *not * Special Forces. Why do you think he's pulling off this rescue mission, huh?"

"They don’t have another team, or they're not willing to send it," concluded Leo Olsen.

"And doesn’t that give a whole other meaning to the not-leaving-anyone-behind rule," McKean added bitterly.

"Who is this Colonel O'Neill anyway?" asked Leo.

McKean shrugged. "I've heard his name before. He's ex-Forces and a personal friend of the Major. I think that's why he volunteered for the job."

"Tough job, to work a way through that mine field on his own," the Sergeant said, impressed.

"Hmmm," nodded McKean.

The sound of the approaching chopper startled them and McKean muttered, "they're early."

The trio rose quickly to their feet and rushed towards their escort. Aided by one of the rescuers they hurried into the chopper.

"Where are Major Crook and Colonel O'Neill?" yelled the Lieutenant.

"We don't know!" McKean yelled back, looking helplessly at the barren mountain.

"Go, go, go!" The Lieutenant signaled the pilot to take off. He used the headset he was wearing to report back to base. "This is Alfa Gamma Delta two-four-zero. We've got three out of five, over."

He listened carefully before turning back to the three rescued men. "We've got orders to fly you directly to Turkey. From there you will be transported back to America ASAP. Colonel Bayfield is waiting for you."

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

They weren't allowed to rest. O'Neill had no idea how long he'd been sleeping when the lights were suddenly turned on and two guards were there, yelling.

Crook groaned, tried to open his eyes but quickly closed them again as the lights blinded him. He struggled up into a sitting position.

Jack raised his head, leaning on his right elbow and glared through his lashes at the guards. Although they had been yelling something he didn't understand, none of them was motioning for him or Crook to come. What was going on?

As suddenly as the guards had arrived, they left again, satisfied they'd awakened the prisoners. Seconds later, the lights went off.

"What was that all about?" Marc asked.

"Maybe they were just checking," the Colonel groaned and lay back on the floor. He closed his tired eyes, recalling his last visit to this camp and the way they had kept him awake for days. He knew they weren't just checking; he just wasn’t ready to admit it.

He was drifting away when a loud buzzer woke him. Startled, he attempted to sit up too fast. Pain flared through his damaged shoulder and arms and he bit on his lip to suppress a deep moan.

Major Crook had responded similarly and was moaning softly as his sore ribs protested the hasty movement.

The buzzer faded and the two Americans tiredly closed their eyes again.

The lights and shouting of the guards woke them up soon after, the procedure the same as before. As soon as the guards had made sure they were awake, they left and turned off the light.

They fell asleep; the buzzer woke them up. They drifted off but the lights startled them awake. Each time one of the prisoners dozed, a loud sound, bright light or screaming guards forced them to wake up.

O'Neill tried to ignore the wake up calls by shifting his body, facing the wall. Immediately, one of the guards entered the cell, dragged him back until he was facing the front of the cell and kicked him in the ribs, all while roaring furiously.

Crook refused to open his eyes until one of the guards threw a bucket of water over his head. Marc took advantage licking the cool liquid that was running down his face.

They wouldn’t quit until both Americans had opened their eyes, looking at them before turning the lights or buzzer off, only to repeat the process fifteen minutes later.

Jack had no idea how long this went on. Exhausted as he was, it was all he could do to force his heavy eyes to open in response to the guards, knowing he would pay the price if he didn't. Subconsciously he knew that Marc was doing the same, struggling to hang on for as long as this would last.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Major Carter, Daniel Jackson and Teal'c walked through the corridors of the SGC, heading for the briefing room.

"Hopefully the General has some news about Jack," Daniel hoped. The last couple of days he hadn't been able to stop worrying about his friend and he was anxiously awaiting any news.

"I hope so, too, Daniel. He's been gone for more than a week now." Sam shared the uncomfortable feeling with the linguist, which was growing with each day that passed.

"We will know soon," Teal'c said simply, his face showing no emotion.

They opened the door to the briefing room, finding the General already present, along with an unknown Colonel and Doctor Janet Fraiser.

Janet greeted them, frowning, her expression telling them that she didn't know anything either.

"Welcome, people. Please, sit down," Hammond started.

Daniel took in the grim expression of both the General and the Colonel. Daniel nervously fidgeted with a piece of paper on the table. Something was wrong; he just knew it. A quick exchange of looks with Sam told him that she had felt the tension as well.

"First, let me introduce our guest. This is Colonel Bayfield from Special Forces. As you all know, one of his teams was missing in Tyberia and he'd requested Colonel O'Neill's help." They all exchanged nods, while the General continued with the introduction. "Colonel, this is Colonel O'Neill's team. Major Carter, Dr. Daniel Jackson and Teal'c. You've already shaken Dr. Fraiser's hand; she's the chief of the medical facility of the SGC. Colonel Bayfield has information about the attempted rescue mission. Colonel?"

"Yes, Sir. Thank you," Bayfield started, looking at the people around him. "Yesterday, Captain McKean, Lieutenant Olsen and Sergeant Wilson were rescued by the helicopter at one of the places Colonel O'Neill had pointed out as a pick-up. They arrived back in the States around midnight. They told me that Major Crook was separated from them in the camp by the Elite troops. Colonel O'Neill had made his way in by marking a path through the minefields and successfully rescued the three men. They…"

"Jack made a path through a minefield? He knows how to do that?" Daniel interrupted, his eyebrows lifted high in surprise.

Bayfield looked at him, wanting to make a comment about all O'Neill was capable of but thought the better of it. "Yes," he acknowledged, "O'Neill ordered the three men to get out of there, while he stayed behind in an attempt to rescue Major Crook…"

"That sounds like Jack," Daniel nodded, knowing his friend would want the others to be safe above all.

"Considering the condition the men were in, it was probably the best thing to do," Bayfield agreed, "so the men left. While they were getting away, they heard a loud explosion, lighting up the sky. They are pretty certain that it was at least one mine that detonated."

"Holy Hannah," Sam said, taken aback.

"Something went wrong. Colonel O'Neill and Major Crook are still in that camp," Colonel Bayfield stated, taking in the shocked expressions on the faces around him.

"Are they still alive?" Daniel asked.

"We know that Colonel O'Neill did survive the mine detonation. We just have to hope the troops don't kill them," Bayfield said, gathering a slide from his papers. He put it on the projector, turning it on.

A picture of the camp appeared on the screen, taken from a satellite. It showed people, apparently running around chaotically. Bayfield got up and walked over to the screen, then put his finger on it to explain. "This photo is taken moments after the mine detonation. You can see the damage it has done to this building. If you take a good look, you can see two guards dragging somebody over here…" He tapped with his fingers on the screen and waited for the others to bend forward for a closer look.

Carter gasped, Daniel's mouth fell open and even Teal'c looked grim.

"We're pretty sure that this is O'Neill. Let's enlarge it a bit, shall we?"

Carter already moved, adjusting something and now they could all see it better. Although it was still hard to tell for sure, it had to be the Colonel.

"So he was at least alive," Bayfield finished his report.

General Hammond addressed Doctor Fraiser. "What do you think, Doctor?"

Janet looked at the screen carefully, then eyed the General. "Well, Sir. It's hard to tell based on this. I don't know how close he was to the mine when it exploded. What was he wearing?" She faced the Colonel, her eyes questioning.

"A helmet and a fragmentation vest."

She nodded. "That's good. At least his vital body parts were protected then. Depending on how close he was to the explosion, we're looking at minor to major damage to the arms and legs from the pieces of the mine that were flying around. Hopefully nothing has torn up his face or damaged his eyes. Other than that, he should be all right."

Bayfield started pacing the room. "But, since he's been in there for two-and-a-half days…"

"Plus taking into account the way they treated him the last time…" Janet added doubtfully.

"Last time?" shot Daniel.

Fraiser looked at the General.

He decided to give the team some information. "Colonel O'Neill has been held prisoner in this camp before, Doctor Jackson," he said, "during his time with the Forces."

Carter inhaled sharply. "Yet he still went back there?"

"He and Major Crook are good friends. They have gotten each other out of trouble more than once. That's why I came to O'Neill for help," Colonel Bayfield explained.

"Well, thanks a lot," Daniel sneered, frustrated from the whole ordeal.

"Do you think I like this, Doctor Jackson?" Bayfield shot back. "You're not the one who got him into this situation. *I * did. I asked him to do this. He is in there," he pointed angrily at the screen still showing the photo of the camp, "because of me."

All fell silent for a while, stunned by the Colonel's outburst.

"Sorry," Daniel muttered finally.

The Colonel's voice was soft and he stared at some point on the floor. "I send those teams out, each time knowing something can go wrong. Not being able to do anything just makes me feel so damn useless. I've let O'Neill down on more than one occasion and I cannot leave him in there. Not without doing all within my power to get him out. I cannot and I will not." Bayfield lifted his head, facing the General determinedly. "Sir, I'm going in."

Hammond thoroughly examined the Colonel's features, looked deeply into his eyes as if searching his soul. Neither talked, neither turned away, or closed his eyes.

It was Carter who finally dared to break the silence. "Sir, I've still got some leave coming up. I like your permission to take it and …" she hesitated, thinking on how to describe it, "… visit some friends in … the Middle East, Sir."

Daniel stared from the Colonel to Sam. "I would like to join her on this, Sir," he added hastily.

Teal'c bowed slightly. "I will accompany you also."

Colonel Bayfield looked at them, surprised at the way they were easily offering their assistance to him, without really knowing what to expect. Although he knew a little about the Stargate missions and what this team had encountered out in the galaxy, it was still not comparable to what they would encounter in Tyberia.

Examining the alien, Teal'c, he felt confident that this man had seen plenty of action and that his training as a Jaffa would proof to be beneficial to the mission.

The Major would probably have enough training, but he doubted her field experience in cases such as this. Would she be able to handle this? She'd proven her capabilities on many Stargate missions however and since he didn't have many options left he was willing to take his chances.

Then there was Doctor Jackson. He was a civilian. There was no way he could predict how the man would react in combat situations. How could he be of any use? "Do you speak Arabic?" Bayfield asked the linguist as a thought occurred to him.

"Well, there are different dialects. I don't particularly know the dialect the Tyberians use, but I do know the language," Daniel explained. "Do you have a Tyberian interpreter? How long is the flight over there?"

Bayfield frowned, wondering where this was going. "Yes," he answered the first question. "About twelve hours to Turkey."

Daniel nodded self-assuredly. "I will speak the Tyberian dialect fluently by then."

Beside him, Sam smiled as she took in the surprise on the Colonel's face.

Hammond drummed his fingers on the table. This wasn't one of his easier decisions. Although he knew they needed to undertake something to get the remaining men out of that camp, he was reluctant to send SG-1 in. His thoughts similar to Colonel Bayfield's, he wondered about the differences in Special Forces situations compared to the mostly routine Stargate missions. "Colonel, how about another team? You mentioned last week that you could have one available sometime this week?"

"Something has come up, Sir. The team isn't able to leave North-Vietnam yet. That's why I want to go in myself."

Hammond sighed, pressing the palms of his hands over his eyes before looking back across the room. "All right then," he made his decision. "You have a go. But, Doctor Jackson, as a civilian, I can neither order nor ask you to join this operation…"

"You don't have to, General," the young man responded. "I volunteer to go. I don't want to stay here, unable to do anything."

A soft voice interrupted everybody's thoughts. "Sir, permission to join the rescue party as well."

Hammond was shocked. "Doctor Fraiser? I can't allow you to go. You're not trained for this," he protested.

"Sir, with all due respect," Janet spoke firmly now. "You've seen Colonel O'Neill's file. So have I. We both know what the Tyberian Force is capable of. As far as I've understood it, it is still a long way from camp to safety. If…" she looked at Colonel Bayfield and corrected herself. "*When * we rescue those men, they're still far from any medical help. My presence could turn out to be the difference between life and death, Sir."

Colonel Bayfield threw her a respectful look and turned, eyeing the General. "She's right, Sir. We'll have to travel for at least another two to three days before we reach safety." He couldn't help feeling impressed by the loyalty these people had shown towards one of their own.

With five people looking questioningly at him General Hammond let out a deep sigh. "All right then. Dr. Warner can take over the medical facility while you're gone." Hammond faced the Colonel. "Colonel, let's start with all the details you've got on Camp Ockeloen. We've got two people who need our help out there."

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

O'Neill was having a hard time concentrating. His head was aching unmercifully and his eyes were itching. It irritated the hell out of him. Even moving his arm to wipe his eyes was too painful, too much of an effort and made him groan out loud.

Although the wakening by the bright lights and loud buzzer had stopped a while ago, he wasn't aware of it. He seemed to remember he was in some prison, but found it too hard to figure out what prison or how he'd gotten there in the first place.

Exhausted as he was, each time Jack drifted away, something startled him awake. He had no idea what it was but it pissed him off. Wearily, he lifted his head, cracked his burning eyes open and tried to determine where he was. There wasn't much light in the room, yet he was certain that a layer of shimmering water covered the floor.

He abruptly sat up as his memory slipped back in place and he realized he was locked up in a Tyberian cell in Camp Ockeloen. Marc Crook was with him, in the other cell.

Shit.

The other cell was empty.

Why couldn't he remember what had happened? Why was he trembling all over and damn it, he was getting sick of the cramps in his legs.

He shifted and yelped from pain. Something seemed to be cutting through his flesh. It hurt, but he couldn't really tell where the pain was. First it appeared to be at the back of his thighs, but then his arms seemed to be the problem.

Focus, Jack. Get it together.

They'd probably taken Marc for questioning, he thought. There was nothing he could do about it, and, tired as he was, he decided to close his eyes for a while.

The sound of the guards opening the door of the cell next to him startled him. The first things O'Neill noticed this time was that he was hot, causing sweat to trickle down his face and that his head ached even worse than before.

Did he hear somebody humming the National Anthem?

Which team had won?

Mentally kicking himself for dozing off during a good game of hockey, he struggled to sit up. Opening his eyes he frowned in surprise. Where was his television? Where was his beer?

Shit. He wasn't at home. He wasn't even close to that.

Marc?

He moved, then winced as something was stabbing him somewhere and forced his eyes to focus on his friend. Crook wasn't moving, but was instead sprawled out on the floor of his cell.

Jack hadn't heard the guard approach him and he writhed as firm hands grabbed him by his sore arm, shaking him roughly. "Oww… Houston, we have a problem," he muttered.

The guard hauled him to his feet and was forced to support the dangerously swaying American. A second guard stepped closer to assist and together they dragged the man out. A sudden outburst from the injured man completely took the guards by surprise as the three human bodies crashed into the cell door. Cursing at the loud sound of wrenching material, the guards regained their balance, hauled the American up and headed off toward the interrogation room. This time, the guards lifted O'Neill's arms, locking the chains that were hanging from the ceiling around his wrists before stepping back.

The sudden lack of support made the Colonel spin on his heels. The firm jerks on his wrists and shoulders snapped him to attention. The stabs of pain suddenly tearing up his left shoulder instinctively made him shift most of his weight to his right arm until he managed to position his legs straight under his body, allowing them to carry his weight and keep him upright.

He hurt all over. Some parts of his legs were burning as the fabric of his torn pants scraped against his inflamed skin, while stabs of pain kept running through his shoulders from all but hanging onto the chains and his arms felt as if they were on fire. Images of mines he'd disarmed floated in front of his eyes and he vaguely remembered a huge explosion but he couldn't tell what it was.

Hell. That's where he was. He knew he would end up there sooner or later. He'd always hoped for later, but he'd probably run out of time. Damn.

He was burning. His legs, arms, shoulders and eyes were all on fire.

He was in Hell and the devil was asking him questions. Somehow he remembered something about not making a pact with the devil, so he decided to keep his eyes and mouth shut. Keeping that mouth shut would become a problem, he knew.

Don't tell them anything, Jack.

"Who are you?" A voice shouted in his ears.

Who was he? Was it safe to tell him that? The devil probably had a list of every poor dude that was doomed, so why was he asking the obvious? "John Doe," he mumbled weakly.

A hard blow in his midsection forced all the air from his lungs. Gasping, Jack fought to keep his balance and somehow managed to stay on two legs.

"Who are you?" The question the same, hissed loudly near his ear and he felt as if a freight train was running through the middle of his head.

Name, rank, serial number. Stop the train. Name, rank, serial number. Name, rank…

He was allowed to give them that, he'd done it before. The guy probably had a bad memory. Or was this somebody else? He needed to concentrate, but it was so hard. His mind was blurry and he almost forgot the question.

Name, rank, serial number. Right. He knew that.

"O'Neill. Colonel, US Air Force," he whispered. Hopefully that was enough 'cause he couldn't remember the serial number. He'd never been good at recalling numbers. That's why he had Carter and Daniel…

Somebody violently pulled his chin up, forcefully lifting his throbbing head and he cracked his eyes open. Face to face with the commander, Jack vaguely recognized the man as his memory slipped back in place. The Tyberian Elite Forces had captured him. He had attempted to rescue a team, but failed. At least he remembered now. That was something.

"Where are the Americans?"

"Go to Hell," O'Neill snarled.

Another blow took him by surprise and he lost his balance, sucking in air through clenched teeth. The sudden weight on his wrists and shoulders made him gasp and while rotating, he kicked with his feet until they found solid ground again. The released pressure caused more pain and the Colonel had to use all of his willpower to stop from screaming.

The question was repeated and O'Neill glared at the commander.

"Did anybody tell you that you're the biggest piece of shit your mother could produce?" he snapped angrily. He'd forgotten the keep-your-mouth-shut policy, highly aggravated as he was by the mere sight of the man in front of him.

The commander's face turned red. He raised his hand and slapped the Colonel hard on his cheek. The force of the blow spun him around and O'Neill was now facing the wall, fighting hard to stay upright. One of the guards had picked up a wooden stick and repeatedly swung it against the back of his victim's thighs.

The burning sensation that had been spreading through O'Neill's body was replaced by red-hot agony as inflamed tissue from embedded shrapnel burst open. The pieces of debris were cutting deeper into his flesh. More blows inflicted additional harm and this time his body stopped fighting as he slipped into blessed unconsciousness.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Colonel Bayfield stood straight, his movements sharp, precise and deliberate. He'd gathered a blue print of Camp Ockeloen and pinned it to the wall. Using his pencil as pointer, he tapped on the image of the main entrance.

"This, ladies and gentlemen, is Camp Ockeloen. Located in the mountains north of the capital city of Tyberia. Notice that two flanks of the camp are secured by mountain walls, approximately seven foot high," with his pencil, the Colonel showed them the north and east side of the camp. "The Elite troops have laid minefields here and here for extra protection. The entrance to the camp is on the west side; you can see the two watchtowers on each side of the fence. This here," he pointed to an object south of the camp, "is what we think is a radar installation. The three members of Major Crook's team were held in this building and Colonel O'Neill told me there are dungeons underneath this building where the guards keep prisoners too." Bayfield tapped on the huge building near the north mountain wall.

"So that's where the Colonel and Major Crook are being held?" asked Sam, storing every single detail of the map in the back of her memory.

Bayfield nodded. "I think so. I don't think they are held in these barracks, so this is the only logical place."

"So how do we get in?" Daniel asked, flying straight to the point at Mach two.

The Colonel ignored his question for the moment. "Colonel O'Neill made his way in here, on the north side. He must have spent many hours creating a safe path through the minefield, dismantling the explosives that were in his way. Captain McKean informed me the marked lane worked fine as he could successfully lead his men out through it."

"The guards will have discovered the path. It will be of no use to us," Teal'c concluded.

Bayfield smiled. "Yes, Teal'c. They will have set up new mines here. We can't use this way in."

"But?" Fraiser asked, sensing the triumph in the Colonel's voice.

"But," the Colonel answered, "I bet there is another path through *this * minefield," and he pointed out the field on the east side.

Sam frowned, raising her eyebrows. "Do you think the Colonel has marked a lane there as well?"

"Yes," said Bayfield. "In case the enemy closes the door, Jack always makes sure to leave a window open."

The group fell silent for a while, all staring at the Colonel.

General Hammond's voice finally broke the silence. "You think he created another way in, but you can't be sure."

Bayfield turned, grimly looking at the General. "I know how O'Neill operates, Sir. He made a second path, all right. He probably hid the entrance and exit markers, we'll have to be careful to find them, but I *know * it's there."

"Wow," commented Daniel shortly.

"Okay," nodded Hammond. "Suppose this is our way in. What's the plan?"

"First of all, we'll approach from the east. They will expect us to come in from the north first, not east. We'll fly to Incirlik, Adana in Turkey and start from there. The non-flying zone above Tyberia and Iraq forces us to move over land." The Colonel turned to Daniel. "That's where you come in. We need transportation from the base to the east. We need to go all the way to Iraq, then move south and enter Tyberia from that side. Hopefully you'll speak enough languages to make the arrangements without attracting attention."

Daniel nodded confidently. He would be able to find a way. The languages wouldn't become a problem. Turkish he spoke already, and as was said before, he would learn the rest in the plane.

"No offence to you, ladies," the Colonel turned to Sam and Janet. "I have no problems with women in the military. On the contrary; that's why I'm proud that you're about to join me on this mission. But I've got to remind you that we're going to a part of the world where women are treated differently than we're used to." He searched their faces, trying to detect if his words had effect. "Basically that means you'll stay low and out of sight. Your presence could be an advantage in the end. Nobody will expect women to take part in a rescue operation."

Fraiser and Carter slowly nodded in understanding. Although they knew about the lack of women's rights in those particular countries, it would be something extremely difficult to handle.

Bayfield loudly knocked on the map, drawing everybody's attention back to the task at hand. "When we reach Camp Ockeloen, we'll find a place to retreat to. You'll be waiting there. Teal'c, from there it’s up to us. I have no idea yet how to get them out. We'll just have to cross that bridge when we get there."

Teal'c raised his brows in surprise, hearing one of O'Neill's favorite quotes.

Misunderstanding, Bayfield explained. "I mean we will have to find a way when we're there, Teal'c."

Teal'c just bowed his head.

A vague smile crossed the General's face, only to be replaced by a mixed expression of hope and concern. "When is the first flight to Incirlik?"

"I've scheduled one for 1900, Sir."

"Determined, were you, Colonel?"

"Yes, Sir."

Hammond looked at his watch. It was almost noon and he realized the team would have some packing to do. "All right, people. I suggest you all collect your stuff and prepare for departure." He sighed out loud and eyed each one of them, as if to personally wish them luck. "God speed, ladies and gentlemen. Bring our men home," the 'safely' left unsaid.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Major Crook woke up groaning, the slightest movement sending waves of agony through his abused chest. At least two ribs were broken this time and every intake of breath left him gasping in pain.

Damn.

He hadn't told them anything though. The commander kept asking where the box was that he and his team had retrieved from the airplane that had crashed into the mountains. He'd hidden it carefully as soon as he had found out the troops were following them. He couldn't afford to let the Tyberian Forces get their hands on the knowledge that was inside that box. Hopefully Captain McKean would be able to retrieve the box, or direct another team to the location where they'd hidden it.

His head was pounding unmercifully, his right cheek swollen from the blows he'd received and when he opened his eyes, the cell started spinning dangerously. Quickly Marc closed them, fighting against the dizziness that was overwhelming him. After a while, he tried again, holding his head as steady as he could. That was better. His eyesight was clearing; he could now recognize his surroundings.

Slowly Crook moved his body, shifting until he was sitting up, his back resting against the moist wall. He had had a hard time fighting off the effects of the sleep deprivation and starvation. He had no idea how long the guards had kept up with the game, but he estimated it was at least three or four days. The little water that was provided to them was the only thing that had kept them barely alive.

He'd been urging Jack to drink the water as the man had become more and more disoriented, drifting. Obviously a fever had set in, as O'Neill's body attempted to fight off the infections from the shrapnel that was embedded in his flesh. The added sleep deprivation, lack of food and little water had only impaired the Colonel's condition. Marc was deeply worried, knowing that his friend wouldn't be able to keep up the fight for long, no matter how stubborn he was.

If only he could think of a way to get them out of there. They had saved each other on so many occasions that it was hard to accept that this time they would fail. He turned his head towards the cell next to him, afraid for what to find there.

Nothing.

O'Neill wasn't there. That meant they had taken him for an interrogation again. Crook cursed. Those damn bastards. He'd wished they would leave his friend alone for a while, but it turned out to be idle hope. He was vaguely aware of the wrenched door to the cell next to him and wondered what had happened to it.

Marc decided to sit back and relax; giving his abused body time to rest and to recuperate. He knew he was going to need his strength and with that thought, he drifted off.

The sounds of guards approaching through the hallway startled him awake. He looked expectantly at the door, hoping they would bring O'Neill back, more or less in one piece. Although he knew the Elite guards weren't known for their kind treatment, he was still shocked by the sight of his friend, hanging lifelessly in the guards' arms. The guards hauled their burden inside, letting his legs drag over the floor. One of them opened Marc's cell door, before they unceremoniously dropped the unresponsive man on the floor.

"You!" One of the guards raised his finger at Crook. "Fix him up."

Marc struggled to sit upright, taken by surprise. "I need more water," he protested, motioning to the only half-filled canteen by the door.

The guard turned to his colleague. The other man nodded briefly. "The commander wants them alive and well before the next interrogation."

The first guard left and returned with two additional canteens. Leaving them on the floor, they closed the door and left.

Marc crawled closer to the prone man on the floor, softly calling his friend's name. Railing at the guards, he placed his fingers on Jack's neck and found his pulse racing. He could hear the fast, shallow breathing, and, placing the back of his hand against his friend's sweaty forehead, he realized the fever had gone up.

Crook's next worry was his friend's injured shoulder and he slowly let his hand run over it, flinching as even the soft touch caused the unconscious man enough pain that he moaned deeply.

Shit. They wouldn't have, would they?

Marc quickly moved his attention to O'Neill's right wrist, since that arm was closest to him and found his suspicions confirmed. The skin of O'Neill's wrist was damaged, caused by hanging from those nasty chains in the interrogation room. He knew, since his own wrists were in similar shape.

Inhaling faster, Crook's mind raced. He had to do this fast, before the shoulder became too swollen to fix. Remembering how O'Neill had relocated his own shoulder, Marc tried to figure out the best way to get the job done. There was no way he could lift the unconscious man to a sitting position without harming him further, let alone get him to standing. He needed another idea.

Deciding quickly, he rolled the limp body of his friend as gently as possible onto his back. Wincing in sympathy as another groan escaped from O'Neill's lips Marc now had the opportunity to fully examine the misshapen shoulder. 

The Major struggled to his feet, supporting his broken ribs with one arm. With the other he lifted O'Neill's left arm up and Crook searched the best spot, placing one of his feet solidly into the Colonel's armpit. Repositioning his weight, he now took O'Neill's arm with both hands. "I'm sorry," he whispered and pulled hard on O'Neill's arm.

The unconscious man moaned, his eyes flew open only to roll up in his head again as Crook felt the shoulder slide back into the socket.

There. Done.

Slowly Marc eased Jack's arm down, absently wiping his own face with his bare hand. He let out the breath that he had been holding and sank back to his knees. One job taken care off, he concentrated on the next task at hand. He needed to clean the wounds on O'Neill's arms and legs again; it was necessary to find the source of the infections in order to get the fever down. Bending forward, he carefully positioned his friend on his right side. This way he could take care of Jack's left arm and he would be able to treat Jack's legs as well. He'd have to worry about the other arm later.

Jack's bare left arm still showed signs of livid bruises and swelling from the beating he'd endured a couple of days ago, but on closer inspection Marc detected two troubled areas where the embedded shrapnel had caused the wounds to fester. Running his fingers over the infected parts he could feel the unconscious man flinch underneath his touch. Gathering the canteens of water, he drenched the cloth he'd saved and patted the wounds, attempting to cool the hot skin.

Marc knew he needed to open the wounds in order to get the pus out and searched around his cell, looking for something he could use. There was nothing that could be of any help so he touched his own clothes, feeling, searching and his face lit up as he felt his belt. Wondering briefly why the guards hadn't removed it, he hurriedly took off the belt; tore the buckle off and rinsed the pin with the wet cloth. The Major used one arm to stop his friend from moving and without hesitating he used his provisory tool to lift the skin, opening up the closed wounds. Even unconscious, the wounded man tried to withdraw from his touch and Marc winced at the deep groans his actions caused. He pushed with his fingers around the wounds to force the pus out and dabbed the area, wiping it clean with some water.

Satisfied with his handy-work on Jack's left arm, Marc shifted his attention to one of the man's legs, tearing his pants partially with two hands to enable himself to inspect the injured area. Blood was oozing down from many of the wounds and the fresh bruising and swelling told Crook the guards had chosen the legs to inflict more pain this time.

Meticulously continuing his work, Marc cleaned Jack's legs, cooling the inflamed skin with the water. He used his thumbs to apply pressure on the sides of the festering areas, wiping them clean with the damp cloth. He also found three angry red, infected wounds on the Colonel's legs that weren't opened by the beating. Repeating the process he tore the skin with the pin of his belt and cleaned the purulence pouring out of the wounds afterwards. Finally he rolled his friend on his back to clean the right arm.

By the time Marc was finished, Jack was shifting restlessly on the floor, mumbling words and phrases Marc couldn't make out. He really needed to immobilize that arm, but had nothing that could be of any use. Marc wiped his friend's face with the remaining water, all while whispering soothing words in an effort to calm the restless man down. Gathering the canteen, he carefully dropped small amounts of water into the parched mouth.

Crook shifted, found a more comfortable position to lean his throbbing head against the bars of the cell, and sighed. He didn't know why he even attempted to keep his friend alive. What good would it do? The guards weren't going to release them and their hospitality wouldn't get any better. Losing hope at alarming rate, he was unable to suppress the devastating feelings that were engulfing him.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

The rescue team sat in the back of the plane, all packed and geared up. Doctor Fraiser had a backpack stuffed with the most vitally medical equipment with her, hoping it would be enough to treat anything they may run across.

Daniel had been listening to the interpreter's pronunciations and was now practicing, determined to learn the differences between the languages he knew and the one he needed to speak very soon. 

It was going to be a short night since they were flying east.

Nobody said much.

Teal'c was quiet, his face stoic as he sat back, leaning against the plane's interior. Sam's mind was racing, trying to answer all questions that had been bugging her the last couple of hours.

Colonel Bayfield had spent the last hour studying the grim faces around him. He tried to read the mind of each person that had volunteered to accompany him on this mission. What would they expect? Were they prepared for this? Were they able to focus on the task at hand? He needed them; needed them to get in and to get out. He couldn't afford for any one of them having too much trouble dealing with the situation. They needed to be prepared for the worst.

He opened the briefcase he'd been carrying and gathered the pictures he'd deliberately had taken with him. He carefully laid them out on the floor, so the others could see them.

There were all sorts of pictures of injuries, inflicted by guards on prisoners of war. None of them revealed the identity of the victim, some edited for that purpose. They were taken to show the extents of damage, for medical files, for reports on missions, but also to expose them deliberately for training, background information and to keep the members of the Forces alert and focused.

Bayfield closely watched to see how the others reacted.

Fraiser studied them, her face grim. She'd probably seen similar ones during her time as a doctor, Bayfield thought.

Major Carter was shocked, inhaling sharply. Although she was smart enough to know what had happened to many victims during different wars, it was a whole other matter to be confronted with it this abruptly.

Teal'c just threw one look at the pictures and showed no reaction at all. Bayfield, shortly briefed by Hammond about the alien's background, suspected the Jaffa had seen more in real life than he could ever imagine.

Daniel had been busy looking up something in his dictionary, but moved closer, frowning, alarmed by Sam's reaction. His eyes fell on the pictures and he gasped. "Oh, God," he whispered, wrapping his arms around his chest.

Carter looked up at the Colonel. "What's this?"

Bayfield carefully picked his words. "I have no idea what the Elite troops will have done to our men. I *do * know that it won't be pretty. I can only hope that we'll reach them in time; that they're still alive…" He stared at the floor, at the pictures he'd spread out.

"I also need to know that you are prepared for it. I need to know that nobody's going to lose it out there. You see; torture doesn't only affect the victim. It also affects the people around the victim… Especially when it's a close friend…" Bayfield fell silent, watching how his words sunk in and wondered how he needed to continue.

Teal'c broke the silence after a while. "I think what Colonel Bayfield wants to explain is that facing injuries caused by battle or accident is not comparable to ones inflicted by torture."

Bayfield nodded. "Exactly. It is not a matter of bad luck anymore; or of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. You can't blame it on ducking too late, or having made a bad move. It's about somebody treating somebody else like dirt for fun, inflicting pain deliberately and God only knows how, but the tormentor loves this, is actually living for it."

Looking around, he could see they seemed to understand his words. "I need all of you to concentrate on one thing, and one thing only. We are here to get those men out of there. That's all." Eyeing each of the team carefully, he raised his voice harshly. "Don't give in to the what-ifs, to rage, hate, guilt, pity or desperation. We'll deal with all that when we're safe. Focus. Get them out and run like hell. That's it.  Is that clear?"

Receiving silent nods, Bayfield slowly collected the pictures and put them away.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

It was hot. Incredibly hot.

Yet he wasn’t sweating at all. Maybe that was because he hadn’t had something to drink for ages.

He was thirsty. Incredibly thirsty.

If only he had a little sip of water, to ease his throat, to wet his cracked lips. He really should get up and find himself some water.

He was tired. Too tired to even open his eyes, too drained to move a finger. He felt as if he’d slept for ages and he was still exhausted. His eyes felt as if they were glued shut, as if it was impossible to open them. What had happened? Where was he?

Where the hell was he?

Oh. Hell. That’s where he was.

Stupid, Jack, really stupid. He’d figured that out before and had forgotten it again.

Somehow his dull brain told him he should say something. Something about a Colonel and the Air Force. Would the devil care he was an Air Force Colonel? Don’t think so, Jack.

There was something else, though. He almost remembered; it was very important. He needed to stay quiet. Keeping his mouth shut. That was it.

Why?

Why was that important? Although he knew that mouth of his had got him in trouble on a couple of occasions before, he couldn’t remember why he was supposed to say nothing.

He shifted restlessly, the movement sending waves of pain throughout his body. Groaning deeply, he moved his parched mouth. "I won’t tell you squat," he cracked, his voice gravelly, yet determined.

He was in some stinking prison. They were asking too many questions and beating the pulp out of him. Damn. How could he forget?

Somebody approached him, slowly, silently. He heard him. He heard the scraping sound, proving to him that somebody was getting too close for comfort.

"Jack? Jack, wake up..."

Trick. They knew his name and it was a trick. Don’t listen to them. He shifted, instinctively trying to move backwards, away from the voice, from whoever was trying to wake him.

"Jack? Easy, you’ll hurt yourself. It’s me, Marc."

Frank, Daniel, Charlie, Marc, sure. Who else?

Who ever it was, it wasn’t somebody he knew and he didn’t want him to get any closer. "No, no, no..." he stumbled, flinching as every movement caused more agony, flaring in his arms, shoulders and legs. What had hit him?

They had.

"No," he protested weakly, prying his eyes open to scan his surroundings but it was dark, too dark to recognize anything. He took in the silhouette approaching him and noticed the outstretched hand.

He acted.

He forced his aching limbs to obey him; his arms moving forward with such a speed that it completely took the other man off guard. He grabbed the outstretched hand, pulled hard, twisting it as the man tumbled forward. With his other hand balled into a fist, he levered a blow, directed at his opponent’s chin and was rewarded by a loud groan as it hit home.

"Damn-it, Jack, will you stop that?" The other man rolled over and attempted to grab him, holding him down.

He wouldn’t allow it. He fought, his arm flailing even as his energy was draining, but he was unwilling to give up. Strong arms grabbed him, steadying him, holding him as he struggled to get free, although he was unable to succeed.

"Jack! It’s me, Marc. Marc Crook. Remember?" The words were hissed near his ear, demanding, urging and pleading.

Marc? Marc Crook?

Jack stopped fighting, surprised while his dulled brain struggled to recognize the voice. "Marc?" he cracked, shocked by this sudden event. "What the hell..." he muttered.

"Yes, Jack. It’s me, Marc. You have a bit of a fever here. How do you feel?"

"Peachy," he said, slowly allowing his body to relax. "Just peachy."

Marc loosened his grip, satisfied that O’Neill was back in the present for now at least. He grabbed the piece of cloth he had used earlier, rewet it and wiped the Colonel’s face before offering him something to drink. "Come on, let’s get you sitting up a bit," he announced and supported his friend, leaning the weakened man with his back against the cell bars.

O’Neill gladly took the canteen and sipped, the coolness of the refreshing water almost as good as the beer he really wanted right now. He wiped his face and closed his eyes, assessing his condition silently. His left shoulder was dull, stiff and throbbing. His arms were burning, he couldn’t think of another way to describe it. As a matter of fact, so were his legs. With these being the major hurting parts he didn’t bother thinking of the bruises he felt on his face and chest. He was also hot and, with his vision blurring and the hard time he had concentrating, he realized Marc was probably right about the fever. Damn.

Jack forced his eyes open and visually inspected his friend. Marc was sitting close by, with a concerned frown on his face. Jack noticed the swollen cheek and black right eye and the darkly bruised chin. His trained mind had already told him that Crook moved slowly, protecting his midsection when possible. The labored breathing and the sharp gasping as a response to sudden movements were added to the symptoms list and O’Neill knew that at least one of Marc’s ribs were broken. "You don’t look so good, Marc," he concluded softly.

Marc shrugged. "I still look better than you, Jack. Always have..." he tried to quip.

Jack smiled briefly, then looked around. "Do we have something I can wrap your ribs with?" he asked, getting ready to remove what was left of his own shirt.

Crook shook his head, raised his hand to stop his friend. "Don’t bother. I’ll be fine..."

Jack gave him a look, knowing that that was far from the truth, but since he didn’t find anything else, there was really not much he could do. “Wanna fill me in?” he asked, still having trouble putting all the pieces of the puzzle together.

“We’re in Tyberia, Camp Ockeloen. You remember how you got here?”

Images of disarmed mines floated through O’Neill’s mind. Vaguely he remembered how he’d made an entrance to the camp. The memory of a huge explosion was next in his memory. “I think so,” he nodded.

“You came in, managed to get my team out, then you got caught in a mine detonation. The commander of the base is not being very nice. He dislocated your shoulder, twice,” Marc continued, pointing at the Colonel’s still swollen stiff shoulder.

Jack frowned. Unconsciously he shifted his upper body, surprised at how much of an effort that was. He glared over his shoulder at the bars. “No shit...” he mumbled weakly. Working hard to get his dull brain to work, he remembered how he’d re-located his shoulder. Vaguely, he also remembered being taken away for a second questioning, but he had no idea what had happened next. He shuddered. “Twice?”

“Maybe hanging from those chains caused your shoulder to dislocate again. Do you remember?” Marc looked at his friend, knowing the Colonel had been disorientated from the sleep-deprivation and the fever when the guards had taken him to start with.

Jack shrugged his shoulders and winced at the movement. “Barely,” he commented, while running his right hand over his swollen shoulder. ”Everything is a little bit mixed up. Did you set it back in place?”

Marc nodded. “Yes, immediately after they threw you in. You also have a lot of shrapnel from the explosion embedded in your arms and legs. I’m keeping the wounds open to relieve the pressure and pain from the infection. Hopefully this way we can keep the fever under control.”

“Cool,” the Colonel mumbled. "Why... why am I in her with you?"

Crook looked at him. "I think you've ruined their cell door. Don't you remember?"

Jack frowned. "Nope. Must have pissed them off then. The guards… haven’t been back?”

“No. They came to check up on us twice, but luckily they left again. Hopefully they’ve got something more important to do; you need to rest,” Crook answered. He'd been praying for the guards to leave them alone ever since they'd thrown O'Neill into his cell.

The Colonel in the meantime was having a hard time concentrating on the conversation. He wearily leaned his head against the bars, allowing his eyes to close. His breathing was increasing and a shimmer of sweat beaded his forehead.

Crook, alarmed by these symptoms, bent closer. One hand quickly touching his friend’s brow confirmed his suspicions. The fever was rising again. He grabbed the canteen of water and pushed one arm behind O’Neill’s neck, lifting his head. “Jack?”

No response.

Shaking his friend a little, he tried again. “Jack? Come on... I need you to drink some water...”

O’Neill’s eyes slowly opened and he blankly stared at the person in front of him. He searched his brain for recognition; he forced himself to focus, although it was hard. Who was this?

“Jack?”

Where had he heard that voice before? “Marc?” he whispered.

A brief smile formed itself on Crook’s face. “Yeah, it’s me, Marc. Drink, Jack.”

O’Neill gratefully drank from the canteen that was touching his mouth; taking only small sips at the time. He was so thirsty and so hot and the water felt so good... He wondered briefly what had happened, but at the moment he was too exhausted to care.

Crook, meanwhile, had checked out his friend’s left arm and knew he had a job to do. “Listen, Jack. I’m going to have another look at your arms and legs, okay? You just lay still and rest.”

Crook lowered O’Neill down into a comfortable position, when Jack suddenly lifted one hand, briefly touching the Major’s wrist. “Marc?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks.”

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

They had reached Adana on Thursday, 1600 local time. Daniel’s first job was to obtain suitable clothing for the whole group, allowing them to blend in with the local population. The linguist had done a remarkable job, collecting all kinds of clothing and accessories on the local market. He’d dressed himself in some pale green wide cotton pants, wearing a simple bleached tunic over it. Some old open leather sandals over his already dusty bare feet and a white cover over his head completed the transformation.

Daniel had managed to gain the trust of the local couple on the market he bought the clothing from, and had managed to persuade them to help him and his friends. The Turkish man and his wife had accompanied Daniel to the base where the woman’s job was to teach Carter and Fraiser how to wear the khimar and the hyab, the typical Islam dressing for women. While the women were busy, Daniel simply handed a pile of clothing to Colonel Bayfield and signaled that the white turban was meant to cover Teal'c's tattoo. Next, the Turkish man took off with Daniel in his car and they returned only fifty minutes later, Daniel now driving an old jeep that looked as if it could fall apart every minute.

The women were ready as well, and when they came walking outside, Daniel really had no way of knowing who was who. They were both covered completely, the hyab leaving just a small opening for the women’s eyes to be able to see. The fact that Janet was tinier than the other two women gave her away, but that was about it.

Carter revealed her identity by speaking up. “Well, this is, uhm, different.”

Giggling, Janet tried to walk around with some modicum of dignity, something that was hard to do since she was wearing a dress that was scraping the ground and she couldn’t see her own feet through the small opening of her hyab.

Carter followed her example, knowing she needed the practice, and almost tripped over her dress, cursing softly but loud enough for the men to hear.

“Ah,” Colonel Bayfield said teasingly. “That’s no language for a woman.”

“Well, Sir,” the Major complained, “why don’t you put this on and try for yourself. Sir.”

Bayfield smiled and turned to Daniel, who was thanking the couple for their help. The Turkish people left, leaving the others staring at the old jeep in surprise.

“This…” Daniel pointed at the vehicle, “…this is our transportation to Gaziantep. We won’t attract any attention with the way we are dressed and driving this typical old car. If necessary, I’ll find us something else. I’ve been asking around and there is a bus going from Gaziantep to Cizre. We could drive to Gaziantep and then take the bus; I don’t think anybody would notice us. I could find some other transportation in Cizre for the last part of our trip,” he looked questioningly at the Colonel.

Colonel Bayfield was impressed by the man’s ability to arrange all that on such a short notice. He was glad he’d decided to take the civilian on the mission. “That’s a good idea. We’ll drive to Gaziantep and jump on the local bus. Well done, Doctor Jackson. Now it’s time to arrange some false ID’s, with pictures in the right clothing. Follow me, please.”

Daniel and Teal’c were on his tail immediately; Janet and Sam had a little bit more trouble keeping up the pace.

“Guess that’s why Muslim women always walk behind the men,” Sam murmured under her breath, having difficulty walking straight without being able to see where she had to put her feet. She turned her head aside, attempting to look at her friend, who was walking next to her, but couldn’t find her either through that small opening. “Damn…” Sam cursed, “… and Janet, stop giggling!”

Finishing the false ID’s took almost an hour. By then, they were all tired and hungry, but Bayfield didn’t give them a chance to rest yet. He arranged for some food to take along on their journey, and after stuffing their gear in the jeep, they all got in, the two women sitting uncomfortably in the back, the three men crowded tightly together in front.

Colonel Bayfield drove for the rest of the evening until it became too dark to travel any further on the unknown, uneven territory. They found a spot to set up their camp, taking the vehicle off the road, parking it behind some high rocks, partially out of sight. It wasn't great, but all they could do at the moment.

Their camp was ready in no time and soon the five rescuers took their seats around the small campfire, all tired from the flight and long drive. They had made good progress, and would reach Gaziantep early the next morning, where they would find the bus station.

“We’ll be on that bus tomorrow morning. That means we’ll arrive in Cizre in the evening. Doctor Jackson will need some time to get us another vehicle, so we’ll be entering Tyberia on Saturday. From there it’s still a long way, people, I don’t think we’ll reach Camp Ockeloen before Sunday night.”

“Hopefully that will be fast enough, Sir,” Carter answered worriedly.

“I know it isn’t fast enough, but it’s the best we can do, Major,” Bayfield answered shortly. "Hopefully we can take the shortest way out of Tyberia. I've set up another schedule of pick ups for us, starting on Tuesday morning, similar to the ones Colonel O'Neill had scheduled last week. These spots are as close to the non-flying zone near the Turkish and Syrian borders as we could get them. We'll have to try to catch one of them."

"I've got another part covered, too," Daniel added hesitantly.

Colonel Bayfield turned his head, looking questioningly at the younger man.

"I've managed to track Abdul Radzir down, while I was arranging the clothes. Talked with him for a while, and he'll be waiting for us along the Tyberian border on the North side from Tuesday, too. He said he owed Jack a great deal and he was glad to be able to do something in return."

Colonel Bayfield nodded in approval. "Good job. So we've got several options for getting out. The first part is up to us, though. We'll have to hike back through the mountains, but it's good to have different directions we can go."

Looking around at the tired people around him, he decided to call it the day. “Teal’c, you can have the first watch. Major, you take second. I’ll take the last watch,” he ordered.

“What about us?” Fraiser asked, not wanting to be spared because she was less trained.

“Doctor Jackson needs to be wide awake tomorrow to talk for us on that bus. You need your sleep, because I don’t think you’ll be getting much from Sunday night on,” the Colonel explained. “Got it?”

“Yes, Sir.” Janet shivered; stunned by the way the man was planning ahead based on worst-case scenarios. She had never given it a second thought she wouldn’t get any sleep later on, although she undoubtedly would have realized it the moment that it became necessary. She rose to her feet, heading towards her tent. “Goodnight, Sir.”

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Major Marc Crook couldn't sleep. He'd managed to re-open the infected areas on his friend's arms and legs and had cooled the abraded skin with some of the water. He'd checked O'Neill's brow many times, wiping him off, and wasted some of the remaining water to place a freshly wet cloth on the Colonel's forehead.

O'Neill had been shifting and tossing restlessly, plagued by delirious dreams as his body fought the burning fever. Although Marc had hardly been able to understand what the drifting man had mumbled, he'd been able to make out a couple of phrases.

Sara. Charlie. Simple plain American curses and similar sounds in Arabic. Stating his name and rank.

Damn.

Crook had been on the same team as Jack when they went on that fateful mission to Iraq. He'd been a Captain, Jack a Major. He could picture the whole fucking mission, recall it scene for ugly scene. He'd had a hard time forgetting it, ever since he'd seen his friend die out there.

Except, Jack hadn't been dead.

Jack somehow always managed to do the impossible.

Damn. Marc remembered the shock that overtook him when he saw O'Neill catching that bullet in the chest. The blood that flowed, the way the man went down, his body smacking hard against the desert rocks…

The enemy had been too close, but he already jumped, moved, rushing forward to reach his friend, unwilling to believe the harsh truth.

Then, Colonel Cromwell called him back. "Captain! Pull back!!! He's dead. We've got to go, now!"

The words woke him up in the middle of some nights, even years after that terrible day. They'd left; Marc with tears running down his cheeks, mourning for a buddy who had just died in action. It had been a close call and the remainder of the team barely made it back to safety.

Crook absently wiped O'Neill's face and neck, whispering soothingly at him to calm the restless man down. He knew exactly what his friend was reliving now, under the influence of a high fever. If only he could make this all go away. If only he could turn back time…

What's happened, happened, Marc. Nothing you can do about it.

He knew that, but it didn't make things easier. They'd come home from their mission, all stunned and shocked at losing one of their team-members. They'd mourned, grieved and had held a memorial service for him. He could still see Sara sitting there, a desperate crying toddler on her lap, whom she was unable to calm down.

How could she explain to her son that his daddy wasn't coming home anymore? No mother on Earth should be forced to do so, nor did any kid need to grow up without one of his parents. It just wasn't natural and it most definitely wasn't fair.

Colonel Cromwell had given a speech, saying some really nice things, and then had offered Sara the flag. Marc had cried then, had cried with Sara, and with Charlie. It was the worst day of his life. At least, that's what he thought back then.

Until the United Nations contacted the Forces, telling them about a prisoner in that Iraqi prison.

Cromwell had nearly lost it, when he'd found out. He’d almost risked his career by wanting to go AWOL, alone, going behind the enemy lines to get O’Neill out. Marc himself had been thrilled by the fact that his friend was still alive and yet he was shocked at the same time. They weren't supposed to leave anyone behind. Apparently, that was exactly what they'd done. Left him there, seriously wounded, in the hands of those bastards…

Crook hit the ground with his bare fist. Shit, shit, shit.

At some point during those terrified and terribly long months he'd wondered whether O'Neill wouldn't have been better off dead. When the man finally came home, and Marc visited him for the first time in that hospital, he'd been convinced that that would have been better indeed, not only for Jack, but for everybody else as well. The physical wounds were severe, but Marc had mostly been afraid that the psychological damage done to his friend and his family with it would prove to be irreparable.

Fucking bastards. He'd have dropped an A-bomb on that country if he could, that's how mad he'd been. Outraged, down right furious.

Plus incredibly guilty.

They had left him there, hadn’t they?

Now, O’Neill was back in another stinking prison, and all because of him. How was the man ever going to forgive him for the same mistake twice? Could he?

Marc shifted uncomfortably on the floor and looked at O’Neill. Studied his features, the lines of his face. Had Jack ever forgiven him? Had he ever blamed him at all, he suddenly wondered. Come to think of it, the only one Jack had really blamed was Colonel Cromwell. Not him, not Lt. Silver. Just Cromwell. He’d been the team-leader and that made him responsible according to Jack O’Neill’s rules. It had been hard on Cromwell, as the man was probably forced to live through a greater burden of guilt than Marc had.

No, Jack hadn’t blamed him then and he wouldn’t blame him now, Marc knew. Well, that was good, ‘cause he blamed himself. He couldn’t stop that growing, nagging feeling of guilt.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Three airmen, one civilian and a Jaffa reached Gaziantep with a jeep that was almost falling apart around 0800 on Friday morning. Daniel got out, walked over to two men, sitting outside on their porch, and started talking with them.

One of the men got up, walked with Daniel to the road and apparently gave him directions on where to go, given the way he was pointing with one outstretched arm in a northern direction.

Daniel seemed to be thanking the man, then came back to the jeep and jumped in. “We take this road, take the third to the right, then make a left turn just after crossing a brick bridge. After that it's the second street left. We should see the bus station on the left side of that road.”

Bayfield started the engine and drove with Daniel repeating the directions as they went. They found the bus station without trouble. Daniel jumped out again. “I’ll be right back,” he said and left.

A couple of minutes later he returned, handing five bus tickets to Bayfield. “The bus leaves at 0930.” Daniel motioned for the others to get out of the jeep. “I’ll see if I can sell this jeep to somebody. You can get inside and wait for me. There are plenty of benches there.” With that remark, the linguist handed some of their gear to Sam while Teal’c and Bayfield gathered the rest, and left.

The others waited for him in the bus station, trying to keep a low profile, without attracting any attention to themselves. Although he tried not to show it, Colonel Bayfield was worried when the linguist hadn't returned at 0915.

Shortly before it was time to get on the bus, SG-1's only civilian finally returned. "Sold," he softly reported to Bayfield. "Now it won't look suspicious to anyone. Let's get on the bus." With that, Daniel motioned the others to follow him and they all climbed into the bus.

Soon, the bus was completely overloaded with people and their luggage. Although lots of luggage had been tied securely on the roof of the bus, it was still too crowded. There were hardly any places to sit, and they had to stand close together, holding on to the bars above their heads to stop them from tumbling as the bus took turns and hit potholes in the old dusty road.

It was an exhausting, long ride.

They arrived in Cizre at 1720, stiff and sore from all but standing all day in a hobbling old bus. Jumping off, the team gathered their gear, made some painful movements that vaguely mimicked exercise in an attempt to bring some life back in their stiff muscles, and then patted their dusty clothes.

Daniel left the others waiting once again, while he took off, using his language skills, easily adjusting to the slightly different accent the people spoke in this area.

He quickly managed to make some contacts, and in no time he came back with an old gray pick-up truck.

Colonel Bayfield once more sat down behind the wheel, Teal'c jumped in the back, assisting the women who still wore the uncomfortable long clothes in climbing up there as well. Daniel sat down on the passenger's seat, a map on his lap, directing the Colonel where to go.

They changed seats after five hours of driving over old unpaved roads, full of potholes, bumps and curves. Bayfield directed and Daniel drove them further into the night, until they were forced to stop again, as it became too dark.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Marc Crook guessed it was early in the morning. Although he’d lost count of the days, he still tried to determine what part of the day it was and he used the small beam of light entering their cell to do so.

He shifted, moaning softly as his ribs protested the movement. He was stiff from lying down and exhausted. He’d drifted in and out of some semi-sleep, but something had awakened him several times so he had been unable to truly rest. One of the things awakening him had been his friend, who was tossing and turning in his feverish nightmares. Other than that, he didn’t know and quite frankly didn’t care either.

Taking the canteen, he sipped some water, swallowing it too fast and started coughing.

Shit.

The movement hurt his broken ribs and Marc pressed one arm against them for support, using the other to lean his body forward in order to ride it out. When it finally subsided, he leaned backwards, tired, spent and sore.

“You okay?” A soft voice startled him. Crook looked up to see O’Neill staring worriedly at him. The Colonel’s upper body was lifted from the floor and he was leaning on one elbow.

Marc smiled encouragingly. “I’ll be okay. Coughing just hurts, you know.”

“I know. No blood coming up yet?” the Colonel asked, concerned about some undetected internal bleeding.

Crook crawled closer, taking the canteen with him and handed it to his friend. “Nope. As I said, I’ll be all right. How ‘bout you?” He’d already noticed that Jack’s eyesight was clearer than before. He checked his friend’s brow. “The fever has come down a little, that’s good,” he concluded.

“I hope I haven’t been giving classified information away,” Jack said. “I feel like I’ve been rambling on without knowing what I’ve said.”

“That’s true,” Crook admitted. “But don’t worry, the Air Force is safe. I think they’ll forgive you for some swearing and sarcastic remarks.”

“Don’t they always?”

“Not with me they don’t,” Marc complained. “I don’t know why, but they seem to take it from you, though.”

“I think they like me,” the Colonel joked weakly, gratefully placing the canteen to his dry mouth and sipping the lukewarm liquid. “So, what’s our situation? Have I missed a lot?”

“No, you haven’t. The guards kept coming to check on us, but so far they've left us alone,” Marc said, wondering whether the Colonel remembered the threat that there would be another interrogation session. Realizing that that moment was coming dangerously close, he shivered involuntarily. “I think they won’t leave us for long now.”

O’Neill leaned backwards after sipping some more water, mentally preparing himself for the next round. He knew his condition was far from optimal, that he had been in and out of it with fever caused by the multiple infections on his legs and arms. He was only still alive because of Marc’s good ministrations and although he was very grateful for that he feared that he would become Marc’s weak link. The enemy counted on that as well, knowing that taking care of each other created a bond; one that was hard to ignore and the commander would most likely use that against them. “What ever happens, don’t give them anything, Marc,” he said, his voice deadly serious. “Give them nothing at all.”

Marc nodded in silence, but he didn’t like it a bit.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

They got up early, well before sunrise. Bayfield was pushing them hard; he didn’t want to waste any more time than absolutely necessary. Now that they were entering the mountains, not planning to make any further contact, Bayfield allowed the women to wear their own comfortable clothes. Carter was happily moving around, appreciating her ‘freedom’ as she could easily climb on and off the truck without being hindered by the long dress and scarf covering her face.

The old pick-up truck bumped and groaned its way over the roads that were actually just unpaved trails, uneven with rocks and holes. They left a curtain of dust behind them. They were all wearing their sunglasses, protecting their eyes from the fine dust and the already strong rising sun.

It was around eight in the morning as they crossed the border entering Tyberia. Colonel Bayfield had marked their route on the map and he’d planned to move south first, then leave the truck behind and hike to the west, into the direction of Camp Ockeloen. It would be a rough hike; they had to cross several mountaintops and deep valleys, which would slow them down, but it was inevitable. At least the Elite Forces wouldn’t expect them coming from this side, he hoped.

Teal’c drove the first part, being the one who needed the least rest. Bayfield, who’d taken last watch in the morning, tried to make himself comfortable in the back of the truck, forcing himself to relax and rest.

Daniel sat next to him, the map on his lap, plus a compass for navigation in case the map failed to provide them with sufficient directions. He was lucky he’d been paying attention when Jack had taught them the ins and outs about compass navigation. The former black ops officer knew all there was to know, and wouldn’t get lost anywhere, but he hadn’t been too sure about the younger linguist and he’d taken great effort in making sure that Daniel would be able to manage, in case he ever needed to.

Sam and Janet sat in the back, talking softly, while making sure no luggage was being thrown out of the truck.

Sam hadn't failed to notice her friend sometimes fell silent, a concerned expression showing in her eyes. "We'll get them back, Janet," she said encouragingly. Sam herself had to keep her spirits up by promising herself they would manage to get her CO and his friend out.

Janet kept quiet for a long time, lost in her worries, as she stared at the scenery passing by. Then she just nodded, running her hand wearily through her brown hair. "I know. It's just…" she didn't finish her sentence.

Sam stared at her, wondering. "Just what?" she asked gently.

Janet let out a deep sigh, rubbed her eyes, lifting the sunglasses with the back of her hands then turned her head to look her colleague and friend honestly in her eye. "I'm frightened, Sam. Really, really frightened," she admitted quietly.

"It's okay to be frightened, Janet," Sam said, thinking she meant being on a mission, something the diminutive doctor wasn't trained for.

"I mean, I've read his file. I know everything that has happened to him…" Janet continued, shivering slightly at the memory of certain parts in that file. "The physical damage; it is all listed in detail, giving me a pretty good idea what had happened when and where. The emotional damage is something else, though. As we all know, and his file proves it too, he's not great at talking, better at burying the hurt deep down inside, stocking it away, as if it's not there."

Sam moved closer, gently placing her arm around the female doctor's shoulder.

"He's been assigned to shrinks before, Sam. It's all listed, and it all ended up nowhere. How on Earth the Colonel managed to live through all of it, refusing all available help is a mystery to me. I know he's more than strong, but…"

"Why are you frightened then, Janet?" Sam asked, knowing there had to be something else at stake here. "If there's anybody the Colonel trusts, it's you, you know that."

"Exactly," Fraiser nodded. "I've put him back together many times, luckily successfully, too. That is, however, something different than what we're about to deal with here. I've never dealt with torture, Sam. I've never dealt with prisoners of war, or anything coming close. I don't know what to do, except for repairing the physical damage. Yet, *he * trusts me, counts on me. But I'm not qualified for the rest."

"Do you think you need a diploma to listen?" another voice surprised the two women. Colonel Bayfield, who seemed to be resting, apparently had overheard the conversation and was leaning on one elbow, looking at them. "Do you need to be qualified to be there for someone?"

"Sir?" Janet asked, frowning.

"If O'Neill really trusts you, Doctor, and I think he does, than you are the first physician on Earth who has earned it from him, and believe me, Jack O'Neill doesn't trust one easily. So yes, you are the one he counts on." Colonel Bayfield pushed himself into a sitting position. "Don't make the same mistake as other physicians who tried to qualify him as a certain type of patient, with a prescribed treatment. Jack O'Neill is far from your ordinary patient."

The women both smiled, thinking of the person in question and how he behaved when stuck in the infirmary. Fraiser then eyed the man from Special Forces. "We'd figured that out long time ago. It still doesn't take my fear away, though."

"I know. That's all right. Just remember this. O'Neill is usually pretty good at telling what he needs. You just have to look for it instead of wanting to hear him say it. If he needs to be left alone, let him. If he doesn't tell you to leave him alone, stick around and stay with him. If he needs to move around, help him. Let him punch the sack in the gym. Let him be quiet when he wants to. Don't force him to talk. He'll talk eventually, when he's ready. Not much, but he will. You don't need diplomas for that, do you, Doc?"

Fraiser shook her head, thinking it over. While she knew that what Bayfield described was the way O'Neill would want it, she wasn't too sure if that would be enough, however. "I don't know if that's enough. How do I know how he's handling it? If he needs additional help?"

Bayfield shrugged. "He trusts you, doesn't he?"

Fraiser nodded.

"Then I think you just have to trust him as well."

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

The guards came in once again, checking up on the two Americans, noticing that the gray-haired man was awake this time.

One of the guards opened the door to their cell. "Come, both of you," he ordered.

The other guard was standing with slightly spread legs, his weapon pointing at the two men on the floor.

Crook struggled to get up, then turned around to give his friend a hand, but Jack had already managed to get to his feet by himself. Reluctantly, they followed the first guard and the second closed the line.

They were directed straight to the now familiar interrogation room. The commander wasn't there yet, and one of the guards pushed his weapon in O'Neill's back, forcing him into the direction of the table. The Colonel stumbled, bent forward and caught himself with two hands on the table.

"Sit," the guard barked.

In the meantime, the other guard had pushed Major Crook the other way and before the Colonel was seated, Marc found himself in the uncomfortable position of hanging on the chains that dangled from the ceiling, the heavy metal already damaging the only just recovering skin on his wrists.

Crook stared at his seated friend, concern evident in his eyes. He hadn't had the time to check the infected wounds this morning and he knew that they needed to be re-opened again in order to keep the fever under control.  He couldn't stop wondering how much more his friend could take and how the guards would take advantage of the man's weakened condition.

The Colonel sat still, waiting for whatever was coming. His arms and legs were hurting, sending waves of agony through his body every time he moved. He forced his exhausted mind to think of a way out of there, but couldn't find the opening he was looking for. Besides, he couldn't leave now. Not with his friend locked in those chains. If only they would be able to survive the next round. Hopefully he would have enough strength left if their chance of escape offered itself. The infections and fever were rapidly eating his strength away and the lack of enough water and no food only further deteriorated his condition. It would be so easy to give up hope, right now, right here. He couldn't do that though. He owed it to Marc to keep fighting; he wasn't ready to die yet himself but most of all, he was too stubborn to let those bastards win that easily. Feeling the worried glances of his friend in his direction, he looked up to throw an encouraging look at the Major.

The commander of the base came in and the guards automatically stepped back, saluting quickly before taking their position by the door.

"I have found your little path through our field, Colonel," the commander said, taking a seat opposite to the American airman. The man studied his opponent with a faint glimmer of admiration in his eyes, knowing it must have been one hell of a job for one man alone. "Now I don't need to know where the other Americans are anymore. I already know."

Jack glared at the man, looking him deep in the eyes, unwilling to be the first to break eye contact.

The dark man glared back, not giving in either. He appeared to be thinking; perhaps deciding what his next move needed to be. Realizing the American Colonel was too strong to frighten off with just a look, he deliberately glanced over his shoulder, slowly, at the man hanging from the chains, before focusing his eyes on the Colonel again.

"Guess that you're not needed anymore. That leaves the Major over there. I still want the box he took from the airplane. Do you know where it is?"

"Nope," the Colonel said shortly, telling the truth this time.

"Thought so," the commander said and snapped his fingers at one of the guards. "You can order him to tell me, though, can you not?"

"I won't," O'Neill responded determinedly.

The first guard picked up a wooden stick and approached Major Crook, looking back at the commander for a sign to continue.

"Let us see if you like to watch this," the commander sneered and nodded at the waiting guard.

The guard swung the stick far over his shoulder, then forward, letting it land full in the hanging man's midsection. Crook doubled over, as far as the chains allowed him, all air forced out of his lungs. He groaned, inhaled sharply and fought to keep his balance. Before he had completely recovered the stick hit him again, more in his side this time and he started spinning, furiously kicking with his feet to try to catch his balance. The third blow landed on his back and this time Crook yelped from pain.

O'Neill jumped to his feet, anger and frustration overtaking his self-control. The second guard grabbed him forcefully by his shoulders and roughly pushed him back down. The Colonel didn't even feel the death grip on his swollen shoulder and kept struggling while he was forced to watch as the other guard kept hitting Marc with the stick.

The commander laughed out loud, tremendously enjoying his own little game.

The American Colonel cursed and cursed; attempting to fight off the guard who had him pinned down on the chair.

The American Major was yelping, groaning and moaning; sweat running down his face. He had no strength left to stay on his feet and was hanging lifelessly on the chains. There was a small trail of blood trickling down his arms from his mangled wrists. The guard kept swinging the stick around, hitting the weakened man in the knees, then on the back and in his midsection.

The commander finally snapped his fingers and the guard stopped.

The Major, spinning around with his head down, struggled to get solid ground under his feet, and finally managed after the third try. The pain was etched on his face; his eyes were closed and his chin was bowed on his chest. He had no energy left to raise his head.

O'Neill's tensed muscles relaxed a little and he exhaled heavily. He had to fight extremely hard to keep his rage under control, knowing any move, any comment at all, would only make it worse for Marc now.

The commander looked triumphantly at the American Colonel. "Do you wish to end this? Tell him to give me the information I want, Colonel."

O'Neill glared furiously at the man and bit on his lip. If there was one moment in his life he needed to keep his mouth shut, this was it, he realized. He would only make matters worse, but God, it was hard as a couple of most unfriendly phrases burned on his lips to be snapped in the man's face.

The commander signaled the guard. The guard slowly pulled up Major Crook's shirt, exposing the extensive bruising on the American's ribcage. He placed his hands solidly on Crook's ribs, searching for the weak spot, where the bones gave away, smiling as the man flinched under his touch.

Crook tried to move away, but he had nowhere to go, being locked in those chains and the guard steadily pushed his other hand in Crook's back, holding him securely in place.

The commander once more addressed O'Neill. "Come on, Colonel. You can stop this. Do you really want to be responsible for this agony?"

O'Neill didn't lower his eyes. He could end it, right now, by ordering Marc to tell the commander the location of the hidden box. He couldn’t do that, however. He knew that, and so did Marc. No matter what happened, it was their job to protect the vital information for their country and it was damn hard but he was going to stick to it.

Marc's eyes flew open, searching his friend, exchanging a quick look of understanding, his mouth forming the obvious words. "Don't do it."

O'Neill acknowledged the look. 'I won't, Marc. Forgive me,' he thought sadly and kept his mouth shut, his lips tightly together, forming a sharp, angry line.

The guard pushed hard, the action moving the broken bones internally through Major Crook's body and the man screamed this time, until his eyes rolled up in his head and he thankfully lost consciousness.

Then there was silence.

O'Neill was outraged and managed only by sheer willpower to stay seated, his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands as he clenched them fiercely. 'Don't give them anything, Jack. Don't give them anything.' The words hammered through his brain, telling him not to give up, that as long as they were alive that there was hope.

The commander didn't give the Colonel and Major much time to recuperate. The small dark-haired man was not satisfied with the outcome of his game, as it was getting him nowhere. Basically, he had lost this part of the game and he had to try a different approach. He got up, walked over to the sagging body hanging from the chains and slapped the unconscious man hard in the face, not stopping until the man moaned and slowly opened his eyes.

Crook coughed, hard, deep, losing his balance again but the commander brutally grabbed him by the shoulders, placing him back on his feet and slapped him again, as the Major's eyes were almost drifting off.

"Your friend is stubborn. Do *you * wish to tell me what I want to know now?"

"Not a chance, you bastard," Marc hissed through clenched teeth, fighting to get his erratic breathing under control.

The commander had expected him to refuse so he motioned the guard who still had two hands on O’Neill’s shoulders. The man tightened his grip, lifting the Colonel from his chair and threw him flat forward on the table. The commander stepped closer to the table, grabbing O’Neill’s head and pushed it down, hard, with his face turned towards the man hanging in the chains.

One of the guards picked up the familiar stick and swung it repeatedly against the Colonel’s damaged left arm, satisfied as the man writhed on the table. O’Neill fought to get away, arching his back and kicking with his legs, but the commander held his head firmly in place leaving him no room to move. Agony flared through his body as the wooden stick landed on the painful, puffy, infected areas, forcefully opening the wounds and soon blood and purulence was rolling down the swelling limb, dripping on the table.

Marc Crook closed his eyes every time the stick hit its target, wincing in sympathy, and then opened them again, locking his gaze on his friend. O’Neill’s face was screwed up from pain and Marc could see him fighting to stop from screaming. Biting on his lips, he silently railed at their tormentors, desperately hoping for this session to end soon, one way or the other.

“Stop!” the commander ordered, releasing his burden to turn his head to the Major. “Do you wish to tell me now?” he demanded sharply.

Marc stared deliberately at the ceiling. Like Jack had done, he knew he had to keep quiet but he was too furious to face the commander. He couldn’t say anything; he knew that. Although he knew about Jack's past he was still impressed by the way the man had been able to control himself. Shifting slightly, he winced at the burning agony that was tearing up his chest and concentrated on his breathing.

The commander turned to the man lying on the table. “How ‘bout you?”

“Me?” O’Neill sneered, slightly out of breath. He was unable to keep quiet any longer. “Personally, I’d like to smack that damn stick down your throat.”

The commander’s face turned red. He pinned the American’s head down again and nodded at the guard. This time, the blows were directed at Jack’s other arm, until that limb was bleeding as messily as the first.

Jack was groaning out loud now, unable to suppress the sounds that escaped his tightened lips. He could almost feel the still present shrapnel moving, cutting through his flesh and maybe even his muscles and nerves; he didn't know. The world was spinning, black spots dancing in front of his eyes and he couldn’t see Marc’s face clearly anymore. He gave up fighting against the firm grip on his head, knowing it was of no use and hoped he wasn’t going to throw up all over the floor.

It didn’t last long. The commander had enough of it and exchanged some words in the Tyberian version of Arabic with the guard. The guard dropped the stick, moved over to the other side of the table and resolutely grabbed O’Neill’s left underarm. The second guard stepped closer too, pinning the American’s still slightly swollen shoulder down.

Marc’s breathing increased, hurting his damaged ribcage, but he was unable to stop it. His eyes were opened widely in shock; his heart rapidly beating and he shook his head wildly, telling the commander he wasn’t going to talk. He bit on his lip, whispering, “shit, shit, shit,” under his breath.

O'Neill braced himself as well as possible, then the first guard lifted his underarm, gave one solid twist while the second guard pinned the Colonel’s upper body down. The elbow gave away instantly, the sound making Crook sick to the stomach. O’Neill yelped, his breathing increasing to a high rate and he hit the table with his right fist before his body went limp, unable to fight back any longer.

Although his wrists were already bleeding, Crook furiously pulled, attempting to break free. “Son-of-a-bitch, you son-of-a-bitch,” he snapped, unable to stay quiet. Realizing he was damaging his arms without gaining anything, he stopped fighting, biting on his lips to keep from saying more.

The guards roughly pulled O’Neill upward, throwing him back on the chair. The Colonel’s left arm hung in an awkward position and he had to use his right arm to steady himself. His head was spinning dangerously and he almost fell off the chair. Tiny drops of sweat rolled down his face and he fought to get his erratic breathing under control.

One of the guards then released Crook from the chains, the wounded airman doubling over immediately, clutching his chest as he started coughing violently. He kept one hand pressed against his mouth as he rode it out, and then saw the spots of blood he’d coughed up. The guard pulled him over to the table and Marc wiped his hand on his grimy pants before he was pushed down on a chair next to the Colonel.

The two guards stepped back, taking their positions by the door.

The commander sat down, exhaling loudly, drumming the knuckles of his fingers on the table. “Although this was fun, it isn’t getting me anywhere, gentlemen. It’s time to end this little game.”

He took his gun out, deliberately slow and intimidating, turning it in his hands, examining it thoroughly. Taking a napkin out of his pocket, he started polishing the weapon, spitting on it, then rubbing it until it shone brightly under the dim light.

It was a Colt .45, the classic revolver used in old-time Western movies. It had a rolling loading chamber, with room for just six bullets. The commander pushed his thumb on the chamber and gave it a swing, while aiming the gun at Major Crook's forehead. "I could end it, right now," he said, his voice calm and without a hint of emotion.

Marc stared him deep in the eyes, without moving an inch, although his breathing increased slightly as his nerves tensed.

Jack deliberately leaned back in his chair, as if making himself comfortable, apparently uninterested in what was happening.

The commander glanced at his opponents. Although he wouldn't admit it, he was slightly impressed by these stubborn Americans. He'd expected them to be broken by now, but it wasn't going to happen, he knew. "But…" he continued with the same steady teasing voice, "… what fun would that be?"

Using his thumb once again, he opened the loading chamber and slowly let five of the six bullets glide out the pockets, catching them in his other hand. He stocked them away in his pocket, closing the chamber and spun it around once more.

The commander glared over the table, lost in his thoughts, as it seemed. He put the gun down on the table. "One bullet, three shots." He shoved it across the table, into O'Neill's direction. "You decide whether you put it on your own head or your friend's."

O'Neill stared at the gun in front of him, his mind racing. They had to think of something, and they had to think of it fast. Did they have a chance at all, injured as they were? Could they outrun a bunch of fresh, trained soldiers through the Tyberian Mountains? He slowly picked up the gun, allowing his brains to come up with the plan he urgently needed. Weighing his options, he decided they had to try something. He was now certain they would end up dead anyway, so they might as well die while trying to escape.

Jack slowly aimed the gun at Marc's head for a split second, his eyes searching the eyes of his friend. Marc looked at him and the Colonel thought to detect looks of understanding. He sighed deeply, as if being in an inward struggle of deciding whom to aim at, then slowly moved the gun towards his own temple.

His next move surprised everybody.

Jack swung his arm in the commander's direction, aiming and firing two empty shots. Marc threw the table on its side, and then head-butted one of the guards in the midsection before the man could raise his gun. The commander dove behind the table. Jack rolled over his right shoulder, aiming the gun at the other guard, firing another two empty shots. Marc took the guard out with one single right hook on the chin. The second guard raised his weapon. Jack jumped to his feet and threw the gun at the man. The guard instinctively dropped his weapon to catch the gun, and then O'Neill was beside him and took him out with a backhand in the neck. Crook already opened the door.

That's where the escape ended. They stared into the faces of two other guards, guns pointed at their chests and both Americans stopped in their flight, raising their hands, defeated. Gasping for breath, they both cursed at the bad luck they were having. Crook had one arm pressed around his chest, breathing shallowly through gritted teeth. O'Neill favored one injured arm with the other; his face grimacing from obvious pain.

The commander got to his feet, put the table back up and stepped behind them, dusting his clothes and looked at the two guards lying unmoving on the floor. "That was quit a show," he commented, without showing any anger.

The two new guards motioned the airmen to turn around and roughly guided them back to the table. Crook and O'Neill sat back down, both fighting to work through the disappointment of their escapade. The commander had gathered the gun, checked the loading chamber, found the bullet still in there and spun the chamber once more. The new guards took their positions by the door, standing still, with their weapons raised. The commander shoved the gun across the table. "Again, Colonel," he said. "Three shots. And no more stunts."

O'Neill's mind raced. There was no way out anymore, no matter where he looked. He felt the tension of his friend next to him, could almost hear Marc's heart beating. Defeated, he picked up the gun, looked apologetically at Crook, silently telling him he was sorry for not having succeeded in getting them out. No possibilities left; no small favors, and no miracles. Jack slowly aimed the gun at his own temple, knowing there was no way on Earth he could point the gun at his friend this way. Marc closed his eyes.

Jack pulled the trigger.

The clip was empty.

Marc Crook sighed heavily, relieved but also afraid of the next shot. His eyes were now forced wide open and he stared at the older man, pleadingly, asking him without words to aim the gun at him instead of O'Neill. Marc knew he was bleeding internally and that he had little chance of surviving anyway. He also knew that his friend would never, could never do that.

O'Neill's heart was racing. He didn't feel the pain anymore, as the adrenaline pumped through his veins. Although he knew where he was, the only thing he could see at this very moment was the picture of his dead son.

God, Charlie.

He remembered the way Charlie had lain there, up in their bedroom, bleeding to death from that fatal gunshot. He remembered how he'd sat on Charlie's bed after the funeral, devastated, the gun ready in his hand and he almost willingly had done what he just now had been forced to do. He had still hesitated back than, tears running down his cheeks, wondering if it was the right thing to do.

Now, he had no other choice.

"Again." The sharp voice of the dark-haired commander brusquely interrupted his thoughts.

If anything good had to come out of this, it was that he was finally going to be reunited with his son.

Charlie. Please, be there, waiting for me.

He fired.

It was another empty clip. It took him seconds to realize that, too. Beside him, Marc let go a deep breath. O'Neill suddenly felt sick to the stomach, and dizziness overwhelmed him. He was gasping for air and sheen of sweat covered his face. He wondered briefly why he was disappointed, then, the realization hit him hard, like a truck forcing him roughly off the road. He *wanted * to die. He wanted to be with his son, to finally be able to wrap his arms around him, to tell him how terribly sorry he was, how he'd failed so miserably. He wanted the peace, to rest forever, not having to be responsible any longer. On the other hand, it made him sad, that he had to leave Marc behind, that he had been unable to protect his friend as well. Besides, who was going to look after Daniel, Sam and Teal'c?

God, he was so confused. He stared blankly at the table, without seeing it.

"Again." The same voice, did it sound irritated?

Jack bit on his lip, quickly exchanged looks with Marc and closed his eyes. He couldn't keep them open, couldn't let Marc see the desperation that was there, the doubt, the fear but most of all, the shame at the will to die. He couldn't do it anymore, couldn't take it. He'd had enough of it. It was time to put an end to it.

I'm sorry, kids.

His hand trembled and he had to force himself to steady it. He took one last deep breath, mentally bracing himself for the shock that would come, that hopefully would end it fast. He gathered his strength, with the picture of his son in his head, waiting for him, an outstretched hand reaching, longing, and pleading…

I'm coming, Charlie… I'm coming.

Resolutely, the Colonel pulled the trigger the third time. The gun fell on the table with a loud thud, as his fingers went limp. Nothing happened. O'Neill couldn't move, heavily shocked by the past events and unable to comprehend just yet that he'd survived the third shot as well.

He didn't notice the anger that flooded the commander's face.

The small man jumped to his feet, snatched the gun away and leaned forward over the table. Pointing the gun at Marc's temple, he fired it.

O'Neill saw the whole scene passing by as if in slow motion, the shocked expression on Marc's face, the sound of the bullet leaving the gun echoing in his ears and he jumped up and screamed. "Nooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!"

Major Crook's lifeless body fell sideways off the chair, a gaping hole on the left side of his head. The blood was dripping on the floor, forming a small pool under the dead man's head.

Without thinking, the Colonel threw himself at the commander, hitting him everywhere he could; blinded by rage. A hard blow landed on the bridge of the commander's nose, and the bone broke easily in two under the force of the punch. Another one directed straight in the man's neck lost its force as the two guards had jumped closer, grabbing O'Neill's flailing arms, drawing him backwards, away from their commander, while the Colonel still furiously kicked around. The guards were unable to pin the outraged man down completely and one of them simply raised his gun, swirled it around and landed the heavy handgrip hard on the back of the American's head.

The Colonel sagged unconscious to the ground, a small trail of blood trickling down his neck.

The commander, bleeding messily from his broken nose, stood straight, looked around at the chaos around him and stepped over the dead body, towards the prone form at the guards' feet. Screaming furiously, the commander kicked and kicked, his heavy army boots landing on the unconscious man's back and legs. As his rage finally subsided, he regained his composure and barked his orders at the two waiting men. "Throw him in the hole. I've got to go to headquarters. Make sure he stays alive until I get back. I want to kill him myself." With that, the man wiped the blood from his face and left the room.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Having traveled south for several hours, Colonel Bayfield stopped the old vehicle on a spot he thought was best to keep it out of sight of possible passing Elite Forces. The team got out, gathering their gear. Carter took out a camouflage net and with Bayfield’s help she covered up the truck to keep it hidden.

“All right, people,” Bayfield announced. “This is as far as we could go by car. Camp Ockeloen is located about thirty miles to the west. We hike in from here. Teal’c, bring up the rear.” With that, Bayfield started leading them through the rough terrain of Tyberia, starting by climbing down into the first valley they had to cross.

It was hot, even though it was already late afternoon. Regardless, they moved, slowly, but continuously, taking brief rests to sip some water, unwilling to give up. Fraiser, not used to this kind of trekking, was hindered the most by the landscape and heat, but the tough woman kept on going without slowing the group down.

It was early in the evening when Bayfield stopped the hiking group, one hand cautiously held up in the air to silence them. A small group of Tyberian soldiers was marching on a path several feet below them. Teal’c silently moved backwards, searching for a safer hiding place while the others squatted down to stay out of sight.

Bayfield gathered his binoculars and watched over the rim to follow the small group, determining their direction. “They will probably pass us, moving that way,” he whispered to the others, waving to his right. “Lets make sure they won’t detect us. Fall back.”

Carter and Fraiser crawled backwards first, followed by Daniel and the Colonel. Teal’c was already waiting for them and the team quickly moved away from the path to hide behind some rocks.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

“Charlie!”

The seven-year-old boy ran away, angry, not wanting to greet his father who’d just come home from one of his missions. O’Neill had been gone for three weeks and had just missed another important event that had taken place at Charlie’s school, the grand finale, a baseball game in which Charlie had been the pitcher of the winning team.

“Give him some time, honey. He’ll come through,” Sara said softly, letting one hand run gently through her husband’s hair. She knew the man she loved had tried his best to be back in time, but once more was unable to make it. She also knew how utterly disappointed Charlie had been, and this time she had not been able to calm the young boy, to explain for the umpteenth time how important his father’s work was and how unpredictable it was for him to tell them when he would be back. She never ever allowed herself to express her worry, her fear of not knowing if her husband would come back at all.

He had been looking forward to a hug from his kid so much. The angry words he got instead hurt him, cutting through his soul. O’Neill couldn’t even blame his son. The boy was right, once again telling him in unmistakable words that he had needed his father to be there for him when, of course, he had been doing more important stuff he wasn’t even supposed to talk about.

Sighing heavily he grabbed his wife's hand and squeezed it tenderly. “I hope so,” he said, the emotional pain straining his voice. “I should have been there…”

“What’s really important is that you are here now,” Sara reasoned. “I know you wanted to be back in time for the game, Jack. There will be other games.”

He embraced her, silently thanking her for her moral support. That was Sara for you; never blaming him for not being there, never complaining and even trying to tell him it was all right. He knew it hurt her, though. More than she would ever admit to him. He’d been thinking so hard to find a way to make it up to her, and to Charlie. He hadn’t told them yet, but he was considering leaving the Forces, finding another job within the Air Force with more reasonable working hours and less danger. He needed to be with his family, instead of crawling through Lord knew what deserts in hostile countries, retrieving important items or getting important people out of places no normal human being would believe existed.

“I’m going to find him,” he said as he got up, intent on searching for his son.

“Charlie!”

“Charlie! I’m coming!” The words graveled, passing his cracked, dry lips. With the memory of that day still fresh in his mind, Jack couldn’t figure out where he was, or what he was doing.

Charlie was waiting for him and he couldn’t keep the boy waiting. He thrashed, his feet kicking against something solid, something made of wood. O’Neill forced his eyes open, which was hard because they seemed to be glued together shut. He also realized that for some reason his arms wouldn’t obey his orders to wipe his face.

All he knew was that it was hot, wherever he was, that it was dark and that he couldn't see Charlie.

“Charlie?” he whispered, wondering if he was playing hide and seek with his son and had fallen asleep in his hiding place.

His right arm slowly moved, pain shooting through his shoulder, all up to his head and he briefly wondered what had happened to him. He couldn’t recall. His throat was swollen from thirst. If only he had some water…

With his right fist, he investigated his surroundings, knocking on the solid walls next to him and above him. He was definitely locked up, and locked up good. Moaning softly as pain flared in his legs, he moved his feet, only to discover that he didn't have much room to move there as well.

He froze.

Tremors racked his body as another painful memory popped up, taking him to another dark place, to another time, a memory he wished would never haunt him anymore.

Furiously he started hitting the roof of his tiny shelter, realizing he was caught up in another box; another pit, another hellhole.

Hadn’t the UN rescued him yet? Vaguely he seemed to remember that they had gotten him out of this rotten, stinking prison, after God knows how many days, weeks, …months.

Why couldn’t he remember?

The image of Charlie appeared above him, and it looked so real, so very real. Charlie was smiling at him, one hand outstretched, motioning him to come, to follow.

He remembered now.

Charlie was waiting for him. He needed to hurry. Don’t make him wait, Jack.

See? The lid was moving; he heard the sounds of someone trying to remove whatever was covering him. Charlie was really here; Charlie would get him out…

The sharp light stabbed straight through his eyes, sending waves of agony through his head. O’Neill groaned unwillingly and quickly closed his eyes, unable to stand the brightness of the sun shining down on his face.

Laughter.

They, whoever they were, were laughing at him.

Oh, God. There hadn’t been any United Nations. He wasn’t rescued yet. It must have all been a dream. Wishful thinking maybe. Hope, illusion or delirium.

Rough hands pulled, raising his head and he felt something pressed against his lips. He’d been longing for water, but the flow that now filled his parched mouth was too much and he almost choked in it, swallowing bits, spilling the most.

“Enough,” a sharp voice barked. “That should keep him alive… for now.”

Before the coughing fit wore off, the lid was closed and Jack found himself in the dark once again. Alone with his memories, some good and some bad, without really knowing what was real and what wasn’t.

Charlie was waiting; he knew that much and he vowed that one way or the other he would make it, would hang in there. For his boy, he had to. He had to try and fight.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Colonel Bayfield took no chances and waited for an hour before he sent out Carter to check if the area was secure. The Major shortly returned, stating that the troops were gone, out of sight and that she considered it safe to carry on.

Silently the group of Americans continued their trek through the Tyberian Mountains, heading west, slowly gaining distance and getting ever closer to their target: Camp Ockeloen.

They had to set up camp for yet another night, reluctantly, unwilling to waste any more time now they were so close, but there was just no other way. On Sunday, around noon, thirteen days after Colonel O'Neill had left the SGC on his solo mission, the small rescue team led by Colonel Bayfield arrived at Camp Ockeloen.

The Colonel found a perfect hiding spot for the team, planning to leave the only civilian and the two women there waiting, while he and Teal'c would go and attempt to rescue the two prisoners. "Okay, people," he spoke, after they all settled down. "This is our meeting point. Teal'c, you're with me."

The giant Jaffa merely nodded.

"Major," Bayfield started, addressing Sam. "From now on there will be no radio contact, no matter what, understood?"

"Yes, Sir," the blond woman responded.

"Your job is to keep them safe," Bayfield pointed at Janet and Daniel. "We'll meet back here, or, if the need arises, at this spot." The Colonel had spread out a map and identified their back-up meeting point. "Whenever you need to move, try to reach this, is that clear?"

The Major nodded, locking the coordinates in her memory.

Bayfield looked sharply at her. "Do you remember the pick up points, starting from Tuesday morning on?"

"Yes, Sir," she answered shortly.

"If we haven't reached you by noon tomorrow, either here, or at the second spot, make sure you catch one of them. Get those people out of here and never come back. Got that, Major?"

Sam bit on her lip. Although she knew the Colonel had to cover all scenarios, she still shivered unwillingly at the thought of having to turn around and leave without knowing what had become of any of the men. She shook off the uncomfortable feeling, straightened her shoulders and spoke up firmly. "Yes, Sir. Understood. We'll wait here for twelve hours, unless there's a good reason to retreat to our second meeting point. I'll make sure we're on one of the pick-ups if you don't manage to get to us by tomorrow, Sir."

"Good." Bayfield eyed the Major approvingly, knowing he could count on her. "That's one worry less for me."

Janet riffled through her pack, quickly gathering two small canteens with isotonic water plus two syringes containing pre-measured amounts of amphetamine. "Here you go, Sir. Try to get the men to drink this; small sips at the time, if there's an opportunity. Painkillers are in your own medkits, but these are stimulants. Use them only if they'll absolutely have to stay on their feet, but can't make that on their own."

Bayfield thanked her and carefully stuffed the handed canteens and syringes away before turning to the Jaffa. "Teal'c, are you ready?"

"I am."

"Let's go and find that second path through the minefield." Bayfield rearranged the backpack he was carrying, saluted at the remaining trio and took off.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

The two men approached the minefield from east of the camp. For two hours Colonel Bayfield studied how the guards made their rounds on the roof. By then, Bayfield knew how much time he had between each rotation to find the entrance of the lane through the minefield before he had to get back into hiding.

He left Teal'c to watch his back and crawled forward, just as the guard left the roof after another round. Bayfield used his knife to probe the ground around him; using the same technique Jack had used in clearing the field. Inch by inch, to the front and an arm-length to his left and right side, he searched for unidentified obstacles; mines, booby-traps or hidden markers.

He knew he had less than thirty minutes; that he had to be back with Teal'c to prevent himself from being discovered. Yet he forced himself to take every precaution, to avoid making a mistake now that he was so close. He was a hundred percent sure that O'Neill had marked another path, it was just a matter of time before he found it. After twenty minutes of searching, without luck, he crawled cautiously backwards, until he reached safer ground and got back to his feet. His muscles were trembling from the awkward position he'd been in as he dropped to his knees behind the rocks where Teal'c was waiting.

"No luck yet," he whispered to the dark man. "I'll try again after the guard's next round." He desperately hoped he would find what he was looking for before dusk, so they could make their move under the protective cover of darkness.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Sam followed the two departing men with her eyes, the words of Colonel Bayfield running through her mind. What if something went wrong, and she had to leave… When did she have to move to the second meeting point? How could she leave them behind? She had to, she was ordered to do so. Besides, she knew Colonel O'Neill wouldn't want her to risk any more lives; hadn't that been the reason why he'd gone all by himself in the first place?

Decisions, decisions.

The tough ones made her realize being commander of a team wasn't as appealing as it sometimes seemed.

This, to her, qualified as a tough one. To keep two men safe she had to leave four behind.

'Get a hold on yourself, Sam,' she told herself. There were people counting on her to make the right decision. No matter how hard it was. Besides, maybe it wouldn't come to that. Maybe they would make it back here safely.

She turned around and took in the grim faces that were staring at her and she realized Daniel and Janet were having a hard time with the whole situation as well. "Okay, now we wait," she said, breaking the silence. "Janet, I want you to take the opportunity to rest. Daniel, you keep watch on that side, I'll cover this side."

Janet silently placed her hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezing it slightly. "Let's hope they'll be okay, Sam," she said softly, before she lay down on the most comfortable spot she could find and closed her eyes.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

It was on his third try that Bayfield silently cried out with joy. He found one of the two entrance markers, carefully hidden underneath a small stone. 'Way to go, Jack,' he murmured. Now he only had to find the second entrance marker and he had his way in.

About fifteen minutes later, both men positioned themselves on their bellies on the edge of the minefield and were able to overlook the whole camp below them.

"Colonel Bayfield," Teal'c whispered, his eyes catching something close by. He pointed at a piece of rope, neatly hidden from the guards, which would allow them to climb down. The end of the rope was discretely hanging down the wall, so it could be grabbed from below as well.

"O'Neill never does a job half, now does he?" Bayfield smiled softly. "I'd say we get down and hide in the alley behind that building," he pointed out. "Then we'll decide what to do next."

Teal'c lowered himself down and Bayfield followed shortly after, carefully hiding the rope again before joining Teal'c in the alley. The two men discussed their options.

"According to O'Neill, they hold prisoners in this building there, in the corner, or in the dungeons below the first part of that larger building," Bayfield said softly.

Teal'c scanned the area, recognizing the structures from the blue print Bayfield had shown them earlier. "It will be difficult to enter that building," he said.

Bayfield agreed. "Let's check this one out first. I don't think they'll be in here, but I want to make sure. Maybe we can take advantage of the dark later on. Ssshh, the guards are on the roof…"

Both men waited patiently for the guards to make another round, then Teal'c got up. "I shall return shortly."

Bayfield watched as the Jaffa carefully made his way to the small square building where O'Neill had freed the three men one week earlier.

Teal'c made his round around it, then, when it was safe, quickly opened the door by sliding away the three locks and checked the inside. Closing the door behind him, he carefully made his way back and soon knelt down next to Bayfield. "There is no-one inside, Colonel Bayfield."

Bayfield nodded, having expected that. "Let's get to the front edge of the camp, through that alley," he decided, and led the way through the alley between the mountain walls and the camp's headquarters, the largest and highest building in the compound.

They about nearly reached the front part, almost able to see the watchtowers and barracks located near the entrance, when Colonel Bayfield suddenly called a halt. He’d heard some movement just outside the building and didn’t want to get too close. On his stomach, he crawled forward, staying low, keeping Teal’c behind him as he peered around the corner.

He had to stifle a sharp inhale of breath as he saw what was happening in front of him. Two guards were dragging a familiar and obviously dead body out in the open. The men were carrying spades with them and started digging.

Damn, damn, damn.

Too shocked to act, Colonel Bayfield watched, with sorrow in his heart as one of his men, a good man, was buried in the desert, in a hostile country. A single tear rolled down his cheek and he couldn’t even move to wipe it away. He couldn’t do anything but watch, and realized that with that simple act, he gave Marc Crook his final respects. There was absolutely no way he could even take the body home with him, returning it to Marc’s loving family, giving him the honorable and respectable burial he so deserved.

The guards laughed, their dirty job done, and Bayfield was still unable to move. He followed them with his hate-filled eyes, unable to remain undetached for the moment. The guards headed for the middle of the square and then one of them bent forward and lifted something. His attention fully aroused, Bayfield grabbed his binoculars to get a better view. Despite the fact that it was getting darker he watched as one of the guards lifted a head out of the pit while the other forced some water into the mouth of the person who was in there.

Oh, God.

That must be O’Neill.

He threw one last look at the guards and saw them closing the lid. Finally, Colonel Bayfield moved. He crawled back over to Teal'c and sat up, his hands shaking badly from what he’d just witnessed.

Teal’c threw a worried frown at the Special Forces’ Colonel; this was the first time the Jaffa had witnessed any sign of weakness in Bayfield’s appearance. “Colonel Bayfield, are you all right?” the Jaffa asked, keeping his voice low.

“Give me a minute…” even Bayfield’s voice sounded shaken, but the Colonel fought hard to get his emotions back under control. He had a mission to concentrate on, dammit. There was still one man alive.

“Major Crook is dead. I just saw two guards burying his body,” he managed to say, pressing the palm of his hands heavily against his eyes. “Colonel O’Neill is still alive, I think. They are holding him in some sort of hole in the ground, in the middle of the camp’s square.”

Teal’c showed no emotion, his face as stoic as ever and the Colonel, who didn’t know the Jaffa as the members of SG-1 did, had no means of knowing whether the news affected the man at all. “Then it will be difficult to retrieve O’Neill without being seen,” Teal’c concluded, practical as he was, keeping focused on the task at hand.

Bayfield shook off the shock, and decided quickly. “We’re going to get him out nevertheless,” he said grimly. “You stay here. I’m going back through the alley. I'll place bundles of C-4 along the way. I’m going to make my way all over to the other side, near the radar installation. There are some vehicles parked there. When the stuff blows, you run to the center and get O’Neill. I’ll pick you up with one of the vehicles and we’ll leave through the front gate.”

Teal’c nodded approvingly. “I will also place some C-4 here to blow up the barracks and the entrance of this building,” he added his own addition to the plan.

“All right. Give me forty minutes. Ready?” Bayfield, glad he could set his mind on some action, saluted briefly at the dark man and then moved backward through the alley.

Teal’c, meanwhile, took out a couple of package of explosives, setting the timer and waited, while he tried to think of a way to avoid being shot by the guards on the two watch towers. Hopefully he would remain out of their range. When he deemed it was safe, he peered around the corner to overlook the square for himself, determining where he had to go. His sharp eyes soon found the wooden lid in the center, and his face turned grim as anger flared through his veins.

The watchtowers weren't going to be a direct problem. He could reach O'Neill while staying out of shooting range. It was the way Colonel Bayfield planned to leave the camp that worried him, driving through the front gate. Maybe the Special Forces' man had something in mind to get safely through, he thought.

Colonel Bayfield didn't waste any time. Precisely forty minutes after he'd left Teal'c in the alley, the first explosives set the back of the camp on fire, huge pieces of debris and parts of buildings flying into the air. The explosives also triggered some of the mines close to the edge on the mountain walls, illuminating the sky and scaring off the Elite Forces, who had a hard time figuring out what was happening.

Next, the radar installation exploded, creating more confusion all around the soldiers that came running outside, desperately attempting to avoid being struck by the debris that was flying all around the place.

Teal'c had already placed his packages of C-4, one at the back of the barracks and one directly next to the front door of the camp's headquarters. Now, with his gun ready to take out anyone that would step in his way, he ran to the center of the camp. The Tyberian soldiers were too confused to notice him, blinded as they were by the dust and smoke as the flames were now quickly burning down anything that was left.

The Jaffa dropped on his knees next to the place O'Neill was kept prisoner and simply took the lid and threw it away with a wide toss. "O'Neill," he urged, lifting the weakened man out of the hole. "It is time to leave."

"Charlie?" was the only sound his CO made, his voice hoarse from dehydration and his eyes wide in confusion.

"No, it is I, Teal'c," the Jaffa said, concerned about the condition of his friend. He hauled the man to his feet, draping O'Neill's arm over his shoulder and placed his own arm securely around the Colonel's waist for additional support. "Can you walk?"

"Of course," O'Neill cracked, although his knees buckled as soon as he tried and Teal'c half-carried him, half-dragged him, into the direction of where Colonel Bayfield was supposed to come from.

The Colonel was there, suddenly, in one of the Elite Force's trucks, without having turned on the headlights. Another loud explosion followed his appearance, as the last bunch of C-4 took out the remaining vehicles.

"Get in the back!" Bayfield hollered; his P70 aimed at the watchtowers.

Teal'c quickly lifted O'Neill into the back, the injured man's instincts kicking in as he helped as much as he could, by climbing by himself and crawling further onto the truck, before collapsing in a heap on the floor. Teal'c jumped in, too, and Colonel Bayfield hit the pedals, heading towards the fences.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Major Carter sat silently, overlooking her part of the area, lost in her thoughts. Questions ran through her head, like what had become of her CO, where were Colonel Bayfield and Teal'c right now, would they succeed and would they all make it out alive?

She wondered whether Daniel was thinking the same thing at the moment, and briefly looked over her shoulder to see how he was doing.

He seemed to feel her stare as he turned around, giving her an encouraging smile, although she could see right through him; and knew he was deeply concerned as well.

Colonel Bayfield and Teal'c had been away for almost three hours now and it was getting darker. Realizing the dark could be the distraction Bayfield needed, she knew she had to be patient, but her muscles were tensed, her senses running on overload as she expected something to happen any minute.

Or she hoped it would.

It would at least make for an end to the waiting, the not knowing, and the suspense.

She hated the waiting, not being able to do anything useful and not having anything to set her mind on. It just didn't match her personality. She needed to think, to understand, to solve, and to create. Damn, but she wasn't doing any of it right now.

She was worrying.

Her prayers were being answered. The sound of the loud explosions, blowing up the closest part of Camp Ockeloen, made it all the way to where the three Americans were waiting.

Janet woke up, startled by the noise and quickly joined Sam, looking at the horizon. The explosions set the sky on fire, telling them that whatever blew, it blew up good.

"I hope Colonel Bayfield is the cause of that," Daniel whispered to them.

"But why would he do that?" wondered Janet.

"Maybe because there was no way to get our men out without being seen," opted Sam, frowning. "Or because they were about to get caught and this was their distraction for an escape."

"So, we can expect them here soon?" Daniel's voice sounded hopeful.

"I don't know. They might be, and if they are, we should be prepared to bug out in a hurry. If the troops are in hot pursuit…" Sam thought aloud. "Get your stuff ready, Janet. Daniel, are you set to leave immediately if needed?"

Daniel nodded, checking the straps of his pack. "Anytime, Sam," he answered.

"Good. Keep your eyes open on our six. I don't want any surprises."

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Both Teal'c and Bayfield fired round after round at the watchtowers, while Bayfield accelerated, zigzagging the truck to avoid being hit by the return fire. Luckily the bullets only punched the heavy metal of the truck, without damaging anything major and with a loud bang the vehicle broke through the fence.

Bayfield tossed some grenades through the window, and veered off. He briefly looked back over his shoulder, watching in satisfaction as the watchtowers slowly fell. "I'm going south for a while, to distract possible pursuers," he yelled at Teal'c. "Then we'll try to head more to the east. We'll ditch the truck behind and hike back to the north."

Teal'c nodded, and, while keeping an eye backwards to detect any danger, he quickly removed his backpack, gathering his medkit. He glanced at his CO, who was lying on his right side, exposing his swollen, misshaped left arm. A swift exam told him O'Neill's pulse was too fast, that he was breathing in short, rapid gasps and that he was burning with fever.

There was no time to do more than inject his friend with a strong dose of morphine, hoping it would take away the pain the man had to be in, then Teal'c settled for trying to get small sips of water into the desiccated mouth. With the old truck bumping over the rocks and stones that was quite a challenge, but Teal'c was satisfied to see that his friend unconsciously swallowed little amounts now and then.

Nobody was following them just yet. The Elite Forces of course had no vehicles left, since Colonel Bayfield had blown them all up. Bayfield now had to turn the headlights on; it became almost impossible to drive in the dark. He drove another couple of miles to the south, then turned east. When he believed he'd gone far enough, he parked the truck, jumped out and climbed in the back to turn his attention to the unconscious man. "Bastards, " he cursed, as he took O'Neill's vitals. "Did you give him some morphine?"

Teal'c nodded. He took out a package of bandages. "I need your assistance, Colonel Bayfield. When you lift O'Neill I will try to tie his arm to his body. I am afraid I cannot do more."

Colonel Bayfield carefully pulled O'Neill's upper body up and watched how the Jaffa secured the misshapen arm by wrapping bandages above and below the elbow; all around his torso and hips. He didn't fail to notice how the alien's lips tightened, his face turning grim, as the injured man moaned softly and unconsciously tried to withdraw.

"Well done. Do you think you can find your way in the dark? I want to get going, so we have a good head start on the troops. It's not going to be easy, but I want to get back to the others as soon as possible." Still holding his former colleague he pulled one arm free to gather the canteens plus the syringes Janet had given him and handed the package to Teal'c.

"It will be no problem, Colonel Bayfield," the Jaffa stated shortly, tucking the package in his pack without questioning. Teal'c fastened the pack on his back and bending forward, he picked the injured man up in a fireman's carry. 

Colonel Bayfield jumped of the truck, grabbed Teal'c by the arm to support him as the big man with his burden climbed off, too. "You go ahead, Teal'c. I'm going to lay out some diversions; hopefully that will slow them down a bit. Then I will catch up with you, after covering our tracks."

"I will leave immediately," Teal'c said simply, while turning around and headed north.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Major Carter was getting worried. Two hours after the explosions there was still no sign of their colleagues. She had no way of knowing what had become of them; she could be sure that the Elite Forces would eventually start to investigate the area and that they were a little bit too close for her liking.

She pondered whether she needed to fall back to the second meeting point, just to be on the safe side. What if Colonel Bayfield had taken off in another direction, maybe forced by the situation, or deliberately to distract the troops? Would he want to head back to a position dangerously close to the camp, or would he rather go to the second meeting point?

Sam started pacing, momentarily uncertain about what to do.

Think, Sam, think.

If the men were captured, she needed to take Daniel and Janet back to the pick-up point. If they have escaped, what would be a logical explanation for them not being here yet? The ones she'd just come up with were the only ones that came to mind.

One way or the other, it was a safe decision to head for the second meeting point. They would be in less danger there and she could still retreat in the morning if they weren't reunited with the men by then. "Janet, Daniel," she turned back at her teammates, her decision made. "We're leaving. I don't think it's safe to stay here."

She took in the concerned glances that were directed her way. "Look, they've had two hours since the explosion to reach us, and they haven't. So either they've failed, in which case we are supposed to get the hell out of here, or they are heading in a different direction for some reason. If the last assumption is true, they will not likely head back to a spot so dangerously close to the camp, but pick the second point to catch up with us. It is our best guess."

"You're right," Daniel sighed. "I just wish…"

"We all do, Daniel," Janet softly added. "Let's just keep our hopes up, okay? Lead the way, Sam."

Despite the dark, the small group moved out, with Sam leading, Janet in the middle and Daniel watching their six. They were making slow but steady progress, determined to reach the second meeting point. Nobody said much; they were all lost in their worries, plus they needed to concentrate on their steps.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Teal'c only made slow progress through the dark with the heavy form of his CO draped over his shoulders. The rough scenery with rocks and stones forced him to take slow and cautious steps. He stopped every five minutes to check whether the still form continued to breathe, deeply concerned as he was about O'Neill's condition.

After having hiked for almost two hours, Teal'c decided to take a brief rest and carefully lowered O'Neill to the ground. Grabbing the special canteen from Janet, he removed the lid and carefully leaned the unconscious man against his chest. He placed the opening on O'Neill's mouth and poured small amounts of the liquid in there, stopping in between to allow the injured man a brief rest. He watched in satisfaction as his CO responded to the water, swallowing the liquid without choking.

Knowing the pain medication was still active in O'Neill's system, Teal'c knew there was not much he could do for his friend besides giving him some water to drink and getting him into the capable hands of Dr. Fraiser as soon as possible. He would take five, then move on, he decided.

Before the five minutes had passed O'Neill started stirring. Teal'c waited patiently, folding a cold wet cloth over the man's brow.

"Charlie?" the word barely audible, O'Neill's eyes looking around, clearly bewildered and confused.

"It is I, Teal'c," the Jaffa responded. "You must remain still, O'Neill. You are not well."

The injured man struggled, attempting to get to his feet, fighting off the arms that were holding him down. "Charlie… I need to go and find Charlie," he whispered.

"Charlie is not here, O'Neill," Teal'c told him simply, frowning in concern as his friend abruptly stopped fighting, sinking back. Teal'c gently caught him, guiding him until O'Neill was settled against his chest once more.

"Where is he?" the words soft, startled, confusion flooding the face of the exhausted man.

"He is safe," Teal'c said, wiping off O'Neill's forehead. "We must leave immediately, O'Neill. We are *not * safe yet." He wondered if the feverish man was lucid enough to understand anything he said. "Allow me to carry you."

"I… can… walk…" More struggling.

Teal'c sighed, knowing that O'Neill wouldn't give in easily, no matter how delirious he was. "As you wish," he responded, and then steadied the swaying man, helping him to his feet. He positioned himself on O'Neill's right side, draping the man's arm over his shoulder for support.

"Who turned… the lights off?" the Colonel rasped. "It's dark."

"Indeed it is," agreed the alien, starting the hike, assisting his friend in any way he could.

They were making slow progress, the swaying Colonel slowing them down. Teal'c knew however that O'Neill wouldn't be able to walk very far and that he would be able to move at greater speed once he could carry the man again.

After having stumbled along for about a hundred yards O'Neill's knees buckled and he gasped for his breath.

"Allow me to carry you, O'Neill. You need to save your strength," the Jaffa insisted, more urgently this time.

"Charlie…" the weakened man protested, attempting to get control over his shaking limbs, but failing.

"I can travel at greater speed," Teal'c stated succinctly, indicating he was about to pick the injured man up.

A deep sigh and a slight nod was his only answer as the Colonel gave up resisting, his energy fading, and the strong Jaffa gently draped him over his shoulders, continuing their trek through the dark.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

The silent group of two women and an archaeologist reached the second meeting point before midnight. Carter stopped them, searching for the best spot to settle down and led her colleagues to hiding, their backs covered by a mountain wall.

If they were at all disappointed with not finding the four missing men here, they each managed to hide it pretty well. Daniel just kept exchanging looks of understanding with Sam, while Janet silently lowered herself down into a sitting position.

“Now, we wait,” said Sam, dropping her pack next to the CMO. “Janet, I want you to get some sleep. No offence, but I still hope you’re going to be busy tomorrow." The alternative was unthinkable. "Daniel, I think we can safely take turns in watch, what do you think?”

Daniel, having examined their surroundings upon reaching their destination, agreed with her. “Well, since nobody can approach us from that side,” he pointed to the mountain wall covering their backs, “and, if you sit up there…” he motioned to a higher piece of rock slightly to their right, “you’ve got a pretty good view over the area, I think that’s safe. I can take first watch, if you want.”

Sam smiled, she’d picked the same spot for keeping watch and was glad that Daniel was experienced enough to make a similar decision. “Wake me in three hours, then,” she nodded thankfully. She was tired, but knew also that Daniel had to be feeling the same. Promising herself to allow him to sleep the second part of the night, she cuddled up beside Janet and was asleep in no time.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Colonel Bayfield had managed to lay out a couple of diversions, heading off in two different directions. He was satisfied that his efforts would at least slow their pursuers down for a while. He carefully swept away all possible tracks from the direction he was finally heading. Hopefully the Elite Troops wouldn’t expect them to head back north, back into the direction of the camp; it was more logical to think the fugitives would head either east or west.

About five hours after he’d sent Teal’c off with O’Neill, he caught up with them. The Jaffa was already alerted to his approach and had lowered his burden to the ground.

Bayfield dropped on his knees next to the wounded man and did a quick visual exam. He gently placed two fingers on O'Neill's wrist to take his pulse, his other hand slightly touching the man’s forehead. “He’s burning up,” he said, feeling the heat radiate underneath his fingers. “Has he been awake?”

Teal’c nodded. “Indeed, O’Neill has been awake for a brief moment. He is sick with fever and I do not think he was aware of his surroundings. He attempted to walk, but did not make it very far.”

“He tried to walk?” Bayfield spoke up, surprised at first. He sighed, shaking his head. “Of course he did. We better get going. I can carry him for a while.”

“That will not be necessary, Colonel Bayfield.” Teal’c gently picked the still form up and together they moved on, with the Colonel leading the way.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Major Sam Carter had been on watch for almost two hours. Daniel and Janet were sleeping soundly next to each other, while she was waiting for dawn to rise.

The rest of the night had been quiet and, out here in the open, Sam had found herself sitting under the sky, looking at the stars above her head. Her mind still set on her CO, she wondered how many nights he’d spent in his life, gazing at the stars, either because he couldn’t go to sleep because he was on a mission somewhere or because he couldn’t sleep with the memories of certain missions haunting him. They'd spent too many nights in the fields for her to not notice, although the Colonel tried to hide as much as he could from the rest of the team. She knew he had a telescope on his roof and he had told her once that those stars were the only certainty he’d had in the past, knowing that they were always there, no matter where on Earth he was. She remembered him explaining that watching them gave him peace, or at least some semblance of it.

She stirred.

A soft sound attracted her attention. It came from the south, soft, as if somebody was approaching them.

She rose, quietly, bending over Daniel, waking him with probing one finger on his shoulder. She didn't need to say anything; the linguist was immediately on full alert, drawing his weapon closer.

Carter pointed with her finger and Daniel understood. She wanted him to cover one side while she quickly woke up Janet, one hand over the doctor’s mouth in case she startled. “Ssshh,” she whispered in Janet’s ear, then turned her attention back to her surroundings.

They all waited, silently, on full alert, listening.

Another sound, soft scraping over rocks; clearly someone was heading into their direction. A familiar whistle pierced the air and Sam relaxed, knowing it was Teal’c approaching them. She acknowledged the sound, letting him know they were present and awaiting them.

Only two minutes later, Colonel Bayfield appeared in front of her, with Teal’c on his heels.

“Sir,” she softly greeted Bayfield, glancing at the burden on Teal’c’s shoulders.

“Well done, Major,” Colonel Bayfield complimented her. He assisted Teal’c in carefully lowering the injured man down. “Major Crook unfortunately didn’t make it. Doc,” he addressed Fraiser, “do what you can. We’re leaving in five minutes.”

Janet didn’t waste any time, but was already on O’Neill’s side, checking his vitals.

“Dr. Jackson, prepare a stretcher, then help Dr. Fraiser if there’s still time. I want to move out and find a safer place so we can rest when it gets too hot to hike. Teal’c, cover that side, Major…” When he looked at Carter, he saw her, her shocked eyes looking down at her CO, taking in his condition.

“Major!” Bayfield stepped forward, took her firmly by the arm and guided her backwards. “Keep your eyes open. Remember: it’s the Doc’s job to keep him alive, but it’s our job to keep them safe.” The words sounded rough even to his own ears, but he needed her focused on her task; they really didn’t need any surprises right now.

Carter was desperately fighting off the tears she felt welling up behind her eyes. Having performed field medicine more than once since she was assigned to the SGC she had needed only one look to understand that her CO was off in a bad way. Shaking her head, she tried to get her attention back on the task at hand. She looked resolutely at Bayfield. “Yes, Sir, thank you.” 

Janet was rushing, knowing she hadn’t much time. Her first quick exam finished, she knew that her patient was breathing without too much difficulty, his pulse was fast, his temp was high and that his pupils were responding properly to her penlight. He was awake, but unresponsive; which worried her, although his fever alone could be responsible for that. There was no time to examine him more thoroughly, but her eyes hadn’t missed the shape and swelling of the left arm, the equally swollen right arm and the fact that his pants were torn. Knowing from the satellite photos that the Colonel had been caught in a mine detonation, she guessed that embedded shrapnel in his flesh was at least one of the problems.

She expertly inserted two separate IV-cannulas, taping them in place on his right hand and underarm. Rolling out the portable IV tubes, she quickly hooked him on to it, giving him the much-needed fluids and then injected him with a first shot of antibiotics and another strong pain medication through one of them.

Daniel was ready preparing the stretcher and worriedly bent over his friend, talking softly to him, but the only response he got was incoherent mumbling.

Colonel Bayfield softly clapped his hands, alerting everyone it was time to move on. While Janet picked up the IV’s, Teal’c and Daniel gently lifted O’Neill onto the stretcher. Janet secured the IV-bags in place, then fastened the straps to keep the injured man from rolling off. “Ready, Sir,” she said.

“Okay, people, let’s move. Dr. Jackson, can you carry the stretcher with Teal’c? Major, watch our six.” With that, Colonel Bayfield took point and led the group, heading up north.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

They continued their trek up north until eleven in the morning, with only brief rests to change carriers and quickly allowing Dr. Fraiser to do a vitals check and replace an empty IV-bag with another full one. Although everybody needed to keep their eyes on the track and surroundings, they all threw worried glances into the direction of their injured friend. Jack was awake most of the time, although not lucid enough to recognize any of them. He was thrashing within the constraints of the straps, twisting and turning restlessly on the stretcher, softly murmuring incoherent words and moaning whenever he moved parts of his body he really shouldn't.

Fraiser walked close to the stretcher, ready to sedate her patient at the first order from Colonel Bayfield. She hastily wiped the sweat from his brows along the way and made sure the IV-lines stayed in place. She had no means of knowing whether he heard her at all, but she kept talking to him, softly, soothingly, in an attempt to calm him down.

They reached the position where Colonel Bayfield considered it safe to stay for a couple of hours and lowered the stretcher to the ground. O'Neill was quiet now. He was breathing in slow, shallow gasps, his eyes open, but without really looking. His face was grimaced from the obvious pain he was in as he was really in need of another dose of morphine, but Janet wanted to thoroughly examine him before administering it.

Teal'c made himself useful by quickly sorting out blankets and sleeping bags, making a provisory bed, then gently lifted his CO from the stretcher and placed him on it, while Daniel carried the IV-bags along.

Colonel Bayfield wasted no more time. "Teal'c, you've had a long night. I want you to rest. Major, that leaves us on guard, while Dr. Jackson assists Dr. Fraiser."

"I believe you are also in need of rest, Colonel Bayfield," Teal'c frowned, looking at the leader of the group. "I can watch while you sleep."

"I'm fine. I want you fully alert when I close my eyes. Take as much as you need. I can sleep tonight."

"As you wish." With that short statement, Teal'c settled down in a corner and started Kel’no'reem.

Janet, meanwhile, had opened up her emergency medkit and was taking Jack's vitals. Daniel dropped on his knees next to his friend, looking questioningly at her. Fraiser checked the Colonel's pulse, lungs, and pupils then took his blood pressure. Placing the back of her hand against his forehead confirmed the still present fever. "Colonel, how do you feel?" she asked, worried about his lack of response. She took his hand to squeeze it gently. "Sir?"

He didn't answer. He kept staring over her head instead, without even blinking an eye, but his eyesight was unfocussed, dazed.

Janet exchanged looks with Daniel. It was as if he hadn't heard her at all. She tried again. "Sir? It's Janet. Daniel's here, too. Can you squeeze my hand, Sir?"

She gave up, for now, as nothing happened and continued with her examination by letting her hands ran over his body, starting with his head, probing, feeling, searching for anything amiss. The bruises on his jaw and above his eye were already fading. The eyes were sunken, probably caused by the dehydration. When she probed his shoulders Janet felt the slight swelling on his left side.

"Daniel, get me a pair of scissors. I need to cut off his shirt," she said, waiting for Daniel to hand her the requested equipment. After cutting away the material she was able to fully concentrate on her job.

She examined his shoulder by touch, flinching as her actions drew a soft moan from the Colonel's lips. "What happened here, Sir?" she asked, not really expecting a response but hoping she would somehow reach him.

"Is it broken?" Daniel asked.

"I don't think so," Janet said, frowning. "Everything seems to be in place. I can't tell without an X-ray." Already taking in the swollen arms, she first probed his chest and abdomen. Nothing gave where it shouldn't and his stomach felt soft, so no signs of internal injuries as yet.

She now turned her attention to his right arm, which was swollen from the elbow to the shoulder. The back of his arm was badly bruised; the dark blue and purple stains were ugly to look at. The skin felt hot to the touch and Fraiser took notice of the heavily infected areas.

"What's that?" Daniel had to know, his eyes wide with shock, his voice strained from what he saw.

"I think this is caused by the mine detonation. There's probably still shrapnel left in his flesh and it's badly infected," Janet said, already having moved on and now looking at the abraded wrist.

"But why is it so bruised?"

"The guards probably struck him there, Daniel," Janet said, shivering involuntarily. "Without the proper equipment, there's no way of telling how much damage is done. This here," she motioned at the Colonel's wrist, "is from chains or ropes, I gather."

She now removed the bandages that kept the left arm immobilized. "See? His left arm is in similar shape, although this looks even worse." She touched the swollen elbow and this time the Colonel moved, trying to withdraw from her touch, a soft moan tearing from his lips

"Easy, Sir. I need to see what's wrong." She kept her tone soft and reassuring. She hated hurting him, knowing he'd endured enough, but she had to continue. "His elbow is dislocated. I'll have to set that." She now moved her hands over his hips and legs, without finding anything further amiss except the damage she knew about on the back of his thighs.

"Sir, I want you to roll over a bit, so I can examine your back. Can you do that for me?" Janet thought for a while, thinking how to do that without damaging the Colonel's dislocated elbow any further. "Daniel, why don't you sit over here, and we'll roll him on his right side. You can hold him steady while I check his back."

Daniel quickly moved, helping to roll Jack over, leaning the injured man against him. "How's that?"

Janet inhaled sharply. She now had a good look on the Colonel's bare back and saw the black and blue stains spreading out over the lower part of his back. 

"What?" Daniel bent forward. "Oh, my God," he hissed.

"Damn," Janet didn't curse easily, but couldn't hold it back any longer. Somebody had either hit or kicked him there and, after finding a spot with the shape of a foot, she guessed the latter. "I need a MRI, damn it, to see if there's damage to his kidneys or liver." Fraiser softly pushed on the bruised spots, biting her lips as O'Neill groaned. She really needed to re-examine his abdomen.

"Let's check out his legs," she announced, and cut off his pant-legs. Both of the limbs were in similar shape as his arm; badly bruised, swollen and infected in several places from the shrapnel left in his flesh. Welts across the troubled areas told her someone had hit him there, too. Having seen enough, she signaled Daniel to roll the Colonel back and carefully examined his belly once more.

"Okay, Sir, done." Janet softly ran a hand through his short gray hair, checking his forehead afterwards. "I'm going to give you another painkiller, the next shot of antibiotics and then we'll try to set that elbow first, okay?"

This time his eyes moved, searching for her face, confusion evident in his features. "Doc?" he whispered, his voice hoarse and rough.

"Yes, Sir, it's me," Janet said, smiling encouragingly at him. "How do you feel?" She quickly injected the pain medication in his IV and prepared the shot of antibiotics without losing eye contact with him.

He paused for a moment, as if considering. "Like crap," he admitted.

"Here, Jack. Drink some water," Daniel said, holding out the canteen, preparing to lift his friend's head. The younger man had a hard time removing the shocked impression from his face, and fought to regain control over his muscles that trembled with suppressed rage.

"Daniel?" Surprised, O'Neill moved his head, staring at the archaeologist. "Happened?"

Janet interrupted, motioning for Daniel to let him sip the water. "What's the last thing you remember, Sir?'

He sipped, thought for a second, frowning. "I was… oh, God…" He closed his eyes, and attempted to move his right arm to cover his face. The effort proved to be too much and with a grimace he gave up.

"What, Sir?" Janet insisted, wondering how much she should push him.

A deep sigh, then his eyes opened up and he searched her face. "I was… looking for… Charlie," he whispered.

Janet Fraiser swallowed. It was not what she had expected, although she realized she should have known his feverish dreams would be about his dead son. She softly patted his arm. "Charlie's gone, Sir."

"I know. Where are we?" He looked around, frowning again, searching his memory.

"We're still in Tyberia, Jack," Daniel said.

"Tyberia???" The injured man fell silent, then the lines of surprise vanished from his face as his memory slid back into place. "Oh."

Fraiser prepared herself for her next job. "The painkiller must have kicked in by now, Sir. I'm going to set your elbow. What do you remember?" She positioned herself, taking his upper arm in her left hand, ready to grip his wrist with the other.

"Enough," came the short reply, the roughness of his voice making Daniel flinch.

"So?" she asked, hoping to keep the conversation going.

"So, get this over with," he snapped.

Janet firmly took his wrist and wrenched, pulling with one hand, extending the elbow with the other.

Daniel turned his head to look away while Jack hissed. "Oww… damnit."

"Done, Sir," Janet said hastily. "It's done." She waited, Daniel wiping off the Colonel's face, while O'Neill fought for control over his breathing. He now looked around, taking in their surroundings.

"What's our status?"

"Colonel Bayfield and Teal'c broke you out of that place, Jack. Now we're trying to bug out of the country," Daniel informed him, taking in the stunned expression on his friend's face at the mention of Colonel Bayfield's name. "We're taking a break, so please, let Janet do her job."

"I need to treat those infected areas on your arms and legs, Sir, then we'll immobilize that arm. What happened to your shoulder?" the Doc interrupted, moving closer to help the injured man to roll onto his stomach. Daniel hurried to help her.

"Somebody loved pulling it too hard," O'Neill muttered under his breath, shifting to find a more comfortable position.

Daniel fell backwards, shocked, and pressed one hand in front of his mouth.

"Who set it back in place?" Fraiser asked, starting to clean up his left arm with antiseptic, rubbing the swollen infected parts open to push the purulence out and let it drain.

"I did… oww, Doc," came the weak reply as he was trying to lie still while Doc did her job.  "Ma… Marc did it the second time, I think."

Daniel's face was ashen now, as he inhaled sharply at the thought of Jack relocating his own shoulder. He sat back, leaned against a rock and drew his knees up. He watched in silence as Janet worked, having a hard time keeping his emotions under control. Without thinking he suddenly broke the silence. "You should never have gone alone, Jack."

Fraiser sharply turned her head towards the linguist, her eyes angry, shaking her head to tell him to shut up, then worriedly looked back at the prone man.

"How can I be what I'm not, Daniel?"

Although the words were spoken softly, Janet and Daniel both heard them loud and clear. Janet sighed deeply. She instinctively knew O'Neill would be having a hard time dealing with the guilt issue and she really, really didn't need Daniel to add fuel to the fire right now, no matter how good his intentions were. She placed a hand on his right shoulder, squeezing it softly. "Of course you can't, Sir," she agreed, glaring at the archaeologist of the team, who was looking back sheepishly, and mouthed a silent sorry at her.

They all were quiet while Janet worked, treating the Colonel's other arm and legs. She finished her work by wrapping antiseptic drenched gauze over the wounds. Last, she rinsed and dressed his abraded wrists, wrapping the gauze around his thumbs to keep them secure. "Daniel, please get another shirt for the Colonel."

Daniel searched through their gear, digging up a spare shirt and handed it to the diminutive doctor, who in the meantime had assisted O'Neill in sitting up. She used her small scissors to cut off the entire left arm of the proffered shirt, and opened up the right arm on the seam. This way he would be able to get it on without jarring his injuries too much. Fraiser didn't want to leave him in his bare torso; to prevent him from too much exposure to the sun.

"Let's get it over your left arm first, Sir," she said, sliding the shirt over the damaged elbow. He now fought to lift his other arm, attempting to help her. Janet unlocked the IVs for a minute and then he had his shirt on.

After hooking the IVs back in place, Fraiser now guided his left limb into position across his stomach and lifted the shirt from the bottom upwards, so it supported the injured arm. Taking a roll of bandages she wrapped, securing her improvised work tightly to his chest. "That should do it, Sir," she said, tucking the end of the bandage away.

"Sweet," he commented shortly. He was sweating now and he was having a hard time staying seated, exhausted as he was.

Fraiser felt his forehead, hoping that the medicine and dressings would bring the fever down soon. She supported his body as she encouraged him to lie down. "Rest, Sir."

He was already asleep.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Janet updated Colonel Bayfield about the condition of the injured Colonel, just as Teal'c was ready to relieve him on guard. They both listened to her summary, their faces grim.

"Thank you, Doctor," Bayfield said. "When do you expect the fever to come down?"

"Well, Sir. I gave him the second shot of antibiotics and usually it takes three before they start to kick in. Along with keeping the infected areas draining, I'd say tomorrow at best."

"So he won't be able to walk by himself just yet?" Colonel Bayfield asked.

Fraiser shook her head. "I don't think so, Sir."

"Okay. I won't lie to you, Doctor. We're still in Tyberia, far away from the borders and still far from safe. When the need arises I want you to be ready to either sedate him so he won't give away our position or inject him with a stimulant to get him on his feet, you got that?"

Janet's lips tightened as she looked seriously at the Special Forces' man. She nodded in acknowledgement, without mentioning that she already had two syringes ready in her pockets for exactly that reason.

"Good." Bayfield turned away from the doctor. "Teal'c, give me one hour, then I want to get going. We should put some more distance between us and that camp before dark. We're damn lucky that we haven't run into the Elite troops yet."

The Jaffa silently nodded and took his place while Bayfield found a spot to lie down and rest. With Daniel unwilling to leave Jack's side, Janet decided it would be all right to join Sam on her post. She walked over and sat down next to the blond Major.

"How is he?" Sam's soft voice broke the silence.

"Alive, Sam," Janet whispered back. "That's all that matters right now."

They both sat; Sam watching the area and Janet concentrating on the area where she knew Daniel sat with the Colonel. "We're dealing with severe infections on his legs and arms. Without the proper equipment, I can't dig the shrapnel out of his flesh. All I can do is administer medication and keep the areas open to stop the infections from running rampant. He's been severely beaten on those areas, causing the shrapnel to dig even further into his muscle. I have no means of knowing how much damage is really done; we'll just have to wait and see when we get back home."

Sam stared at her friend for a brief second, biting on her lip then turned her attention back to the area she had to cover.

"They dislocated his shoulder twice and his elbow once. Somebody has kicked him hard and solidly on his back, and again, without the proper equipment, I can't tell what damage has been done. I didn't detect any signs of internal injuries, but I can't be sure. On top of that, he was badly dehydrated, exhausted, I'd say he has lost at least twelve pounds... "

Sam sighed deeply. "So it's going to be a long road."

"I'm afraid so," Janet agreed. "Not to mention him dealing with this, plus the death of Marc Crook... He's going to need us, Sam."

Carter nodded. "We'll be there."

Janet rose to her feet, and left to check up on her patient before it was time to get moving. Soon after, the small group silently hiked further up north through the Tyberian Mountains. They'd gently placed the injured man back on the stretcher and Janet had fastened the straps. O'Neill hadn't stirred at all, so she didn't think it was necessary to sedate him, although she had the syringe within reach. Luckily, the group encountered nothing and managed to make good progress before dark.

Colonel Bayfield called for a halt when he figured he'd found a safe spot to set up a small camp. He quickly divided the night shifts and after a quick cold meal, he and Daniel turned in for the first round of sleep. Sam and Teal'c took their positions while Janet stayed with her patient.

With the evening falling, O'Neill's temperature rose higher and he twisted and turned on the makeshift bed. Janet first replaced another empty bag of IV-fluids with a full one and, after administering another shot of antibiotics along with some painkillers, she decided to add some medication to help him fight off the fever plus a mild sedative to keep him quiet. She reopened and cleaned his infected wounds again, then settled for wiping his forehead, face and neck. Next, she wet another piece of cloth with cold water and placed it in his groin to cool him down. There was nothing more she could do for him, except staying with him as he fought the fever that was racking his body.

Daniel came checking up on them when it was his time to switch guard, shaking his head slightly as he took in the situation.

Sam did the same and sat with Janet for a while. She took in the worried lines etching the doctor's face. "He's going to pull through, Janet," she said softly.

Janet looked at her. "I hope so, Sam. If only he would respond to the antibiotics... There's nothing else I can do for him."

"You're doing all you can, Janet. Do you want to sleep for a while? I can sit with him," the blonde Major offered.

Fraiser shook her head and sighed heavily. "No, I'm fine. You better catch some sleep."

Finally, when it was very early in the morning, the Colonel's fever seemed to break and Janet was relieved to see him relax as he fell into a more restful sleep.

Teal'c joined her after having partaken of Kel’no'reem long enough to be fit for the day. "How is O'Neill doing, Doctor Fraiser?" he asked.

"His fever seems to have come down, Teal'c, which is a good sign. Let's hope he can keep this up," she responded, while wiping the Colonel's face and neck.

Teal'c visually examined his quiet friend then looked back at the female doctor. "You should take some rest, Doctor Fraiser. I will stay with O'Neill."

Janet nodded, tired as she was from looking after her patient for seemingly a long time now. "I will," she said gratefully, and dug up some spare clothes. "First, we need to get him into some dry clothes. These are all soaked with sweat."

Teal'c assisted her and soon they had dressed the sleeping Colonel in some clean clothes. Janet finished immobilizing O'Neill's injured left arm, then turned to Teal'c. "Call me if there's any change," she said, then found a spot to lie down and closed her eyes.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

O'Neill woke up slowly, not knowing where he was. He cracked his eyes open and looked up at the sky. The sun already stood high in the air, yet he was shivering from the cold. He was downright exhausted and wondered what had happened. He stirred, stifling a groan as pain shot through his body from the sudden movement.

"Easy, Jack."

"Daniel?" he mumbled as his brains recognized the voice, although his eyes only detected a vague silhouette.

"Yes, it's me. How are you feeling?" The archaeologist bent closer to wipe O'Neill's face even as Jack's eyesight cleared.

"I've been better," he admitted and struggled to sit up. Daniel rushed forward to help, lifting his friend to a sitting position, reclining against the rocks. He'd brought a canteen of water and handed it to his friend. Jack sipped gratefully from the canteen, letting his eyes dart from the left to the right, taking in their surroundings. "We're still in Tyberia?"

"Yes. We haven't run into the Elite troops, though, and have made some progress. Colonel Bayfield wants to leave in half an hour." Daniel looked up as the man in question approached them with a mug of steaming soup in one hand and a piece of bread in the other. Daniel rose to his feet, ready to leave. "I'd better wake Janet. She'll want to check up on you before we leave."

O'Neill watched him go, then briefly eyed his former CO from Black Ops before staring down.

"Jack. It's good to see you up. How are you doing?" Bayfield required, kneeling beside the injured man.

"I'll live," came the short reply. "I'm sorry..."

Bayfield placed one hand on O'Neill's right arm. "Not your fault," he said firmly. "You did all you could for Marc and you managed to rescue the others. Here, I think you should eat something." Bayfield placed the mug with soup next to O'Neill and handed him the bread.

"What's our status?" O'Neill asked, taking small bites from the bread despite having no appetite at all.

"We're about twenty miles north of Camp Ockeloen. We've got at least two days of hiking left to the borders."

O'Neill took in the worried lines etching Bayfield's face. "I can walk. We'll be faster," he reasoned.

Bayfield shook his head. "We'll let the Doc decide about that. You've had a rough night. Don't worry, though. We'll make it." He looked up, noticing the female doctor coming their way. "Morning, Doc. You've got twenty minutes. Then we'll be moving out."

"Yes, Sir," Fraiser answered, then knelt to take her patient's pulse and run a quick vitals check. "Morning, Colonel. Your fever is down quite a bit. That's good. I'll give you another dose of the antibiotics; you seem to be responding to it just fine." She pointed at the mug of soup. "I see someone has brought you something to eat. Perfect. Try to finish that. How's the pain?"

He said nothing, looking down.

"Colonel?" Fraiser demanded. "You have been hit hard on your lower back, probably in the stomach area, too. I don't have the proper equipment to check for internal damage. So I'm depending on you to tell me." She probed his abdomen carefully, locking her eyes on his.

"Ow.." he grimaced. "That feels bruised."

"It *is * bruised, Colonel. All right," she said, relieved his belly felt soft, and then she gathered an empty jar, placing it next to him on the rocks. "Before we get going, I want you to fill that. That will tell me more about the condition of your kidneys. Now," she peeked under the bandages around his arms and was satisfied to see the infected areas were still draining. She took his right hand and placed it flat on her hand. "Can you move your fingers?"

He stretched them, and then bent them, biting on his lips as the effort it cost him was etched on his face.

Fraiser carefully watched him and motioned for him to bend his wrist, then the elbow. He did, slowly, but kept his eyes closed. When he attempted to move his upper-arm he couldn't hold it back and groaned. Fraiser hurriedly placed one hand on his arm to stop him. "It's okay, Sir. I've seen enough. You better keep it from moving as much as you can."

"First she orders me to eat," he hissed, glaring at her through half-opened eyes. "Then she tells me to keep the arm still."

Fraiser smiled and held the mug in front of him. "Do you want me to help?"

"No," he snapped, grabbing the spoon.

Fraiser waited patiently for him to finish the soup, then put the mug aside. She gently touched his left hand. "Just the fingers, Sir. Can you move them?"

He tried. His fingers moved, only a bit as he hissed in pain, then he gave up. Fraiser mumbled an apology, patted his legs, and then removed his boots. "Okay, Sir. Wiggle your toes for me?"

"Don't you have anything better to do?" he snapped angrily, but tried anyway. His left toes moved better than the right ones. She didn't have to ask anymore, as he next flexed his left ankle, and then grimaced as he tried the right one. "Damn," he cursed through clenched teeth. Sighing deeply, he lifted his left leg up a little, bending his knee. The right leg followed, although it seemed to cost him more effort. "Seen enough?" he hissed, visually relieved when she nodded. "Good. You're almost worse then those guards..." he closed his eyes again, his voice lowering as he concentrated on his breathing.

Although her heart leaped, Janet didn't respond, but administered another dose of pain medication and antibiotics instead. She put his boots back on and removed the now empty bag of IV fluids, stuffing the material away in her bag. Although it was the last bag she had with her Janet left the port in place for administering future medication. She then took O'Neill by the arm to help him up. Daniel, who'd been stuffing away equipment in preparation for leaving, rushed forward to help and working together they managed to get the weary Colonel onto his feet. O'Neill swayed unsteadily as the world rotated at dangerous speed, but he held on with their help until his eyesight cleared.

The female doctor showed him the empty jar. "I still need this. Then you can rest. I promise," she said. With Daniel's help, they hobbled to a more private place. Daniel left them alone and Fraiser turned her back to him to give him some privacy but ready to help in case he needed her. A couple of minutes and a few curses later, he handed her the half-filled jar. She sighed while he rearranged his clothes. There were small traces of blood in his urine.

With Daniel's help, she guided the now exhausted Colonel back. Teal'c already had the stretcher waiting.

"I can walk," O'Neill protested weakly, although he didn't sound convincing.

"I'm sure you can, Sir," Janet said firmly. "But I won't let you. Let's get you down."

He didn't resist her and soon he was strapped to the stretcher once more. Janet bent forward and covered his legs with a light blanket to protect him from getting sunburned. O'Neill grabbed her wrist and their eyes met briefly. Fraiser gave him a smile, knowing it was his way to thank her, then nodded at Colonel Bayfield. They were ready to leave.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

The small group, with Carter taking point, Daniel and Colonel Bayfield carrying the stretcher and Teal'c bringing up the rear, had almost reached the top of another mountain, when Carter called for a halt.

"I'm going to see what's behind here, Sir," she softly announced over her shoulder before squatting down, crawling forward to peek over the top at the scenery awaiting them.

The others patiently waited, watching as the Major took out her binoculars to examine the terrain. She crawled back, a concerned frown on her face.

"What's the situation, Major?" Bayfield demanded.

"Well, Sir. There are two mountains ahead with a small valley between them, which seems the only natural way to pass. It looks like a dried-out riverbed."

"A perfect spot for an ambush," Bayfield nodded, getting the picture.

"So, why don't we pass on the other side of one of those mountains?" Daniel wondered.

"There's a huge crevasse to the west. I can't see how far we have to go to get around it," Carter explained. "The east side of the other mountain is steep."

"Steep?" Daniel frowned.

"Steep. As in ‘mountain climbing, using ropes, hooks and gear’, kind of steep."

"Oh." Daniel wiped the sweat drops from his face with one sleeve.

Bayfield motioned for the only civilian of the team to slowly lower the stretcher. He crawled up to take a look for himself while Janet used the opportunity to fuss over her sleeping patient.

Returning, Bayfield was cursing as he took out his map and spread it out. "Why didn't we see this coming?" he said to no one in particular. "There's no ravine on the map. Figures," he muttered.

Carter knelt next to him, studying the map. "If we fan out east, we'll come pretty close to the Iraqi borders," she noticed. "My guess is," she pointed at the map, "that traveling up west to get past the canyon, we might even have to fall back south here, will take another day."

"Damn," cursed Colonel Bayfield. "We can't go climbing the mountain with one man injured."

"I can carry O'Neill," Teal'c opted, having taken in the situation.

Bayfield watched him silently for a while, and stared at the female doctor who was busy taking the sleeping man's vitals. "Yeah, I know. But if we're spotted there, we've got nowhere to retreat. We need more information. We could, however, send two of us making their way over one of the mountains to check out the other side of the valley. Maybe there are no forces to worry about and we can pass through without trouble," he thought out loud.

"If we stay on this side of the ravine, I think two of us can move around there pretty fast while staying out of sight, Sir," Carter nodded in agreement, pointing into the direction she had in mind. "If we detect any trouble, we can still decide to go all the way around."

Colonel Bayfield sighed. "It's risky, but we'll go for it. First, let's get O'Neill and Doc settled some place safe. Then Carter and myself are going for a hike," he looked at her briefly, and then turned to Teal'c. "Keep your eyes open, Teal'c. At any sign of trouble I want you to take them and guide them out of here, without looking back, understood?"

Teal'c slightly bowed. "I understand. I detected a safe place a couple of yards back. We can bring O'Neill and Doctor Fraiser there. Daniel Jackson can watch our back while I cover this side."

Bayfield slapped the Jaffa on his shoulder. "Perfect. Let's move, people." He picked up the stretcher with Teal'c and they both carried the injured man to the relatively safer spot hidden between some rocks. They lowered the stretcher again, leaving Doctor Fraiser to stay with O'Neill. Daniel took his position to watch out to the south and Teal'c followed Carter and Colonel Bayfield to settle down guarding their north flank.

Teal'c, resourceful and experienced as he was, kept his eyes on the progress Colonel Bayfield and Major Carter were making on the left side of the mountain. He also watched his surroundings; secure that no-one would be able to come close to the Jaffa, without him noticing it.

The Jaffa was worried, though. He didn't like being split up any more than Colonel Bayfield had, but also realized that there were not many alternatives. Traveling around the rim, as Major Carter had explained, would have delayed their escape and he had to agree with her that fanning back south would have been risky as well.

He hoped that Colonel Bayfield and Major Carter were able to clear the area, allowing them to pass through the valley safely. He had confidence in their abilities, but there was no way of knowing if there were Elite Forces waiting for them on the other side and, if so, in what numbers.

He had hidden Janet Fraiser and O'Neill well. It was the best spot he could find and he trusted on them to be safe. As long as no troops managed to approach them from behind they would be all right. Daniel Jackson was watching that area, and Teal'c knew the only civilian of the team was experienced enough to complete that task, and would alert him at the first sign of trouble.

Teal'c looked again at the mountain in front of him. His experienced eyes soon spotted Colonel Bayfield and Major Carter. They were already half way. Good. It wouldn't be long now.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Daniel Jackson sat on his spot, knowing where Jack and Janet were hiding, watching out to protect their backs. With one side covered by the mountains, he had three sides to guard and tried to keep an eye on all at the same time. The area was uneven, though, and pockmarked  with many places to hide for anybody who wanted to.

Daniel was lost in his thoughts. He was having a hard time coping with the situation. He had seen his friend, had seen the injuries and could imagine pretty well what had happened. It was exactly that which worried him the most. He could imagine parts and pieces, but would probably never know the rest. Knowing his friend well, maybe the best of all of them, he knew Jack wouldn't tell him the details, ever. Daniel knew how well the older man was able to bury the pain, the emotions, stuffing them away so deep that they wouldn't bother him again. Only that last part, Daniel knew, wouldn't last. He'd witnessed his friend having trouble sleeping on more than one occasion,, fighting off unknown demons, struggling with nightmares.  No matter how deep Jack tried to bury it, it would come back to haunt him.

Daniel made a vow to stay close, watching his friend carefully, so he would be there in case Jack needed him. He'd helped his friend out before, and was determined to repeat the process. No way was he going to sit back and let his friend drown; he was going to stay by his side, whether Jack wanted it or not. He...

A soft sound from behind startled him.

Shocked, Daniel looked over his shoulder...

... into the wrong end of a machinegun. He slowly raised his hands, cursing silently in twenty-three languages. His mind raced; how had this man managed to climb down behind him? Was he the only one captured? What would happen to Jack and Janet? How was he supposed to warn them and alert Teal'c?

The guard of the Elite Forces left him no time to come up with answers or a plan of action. He simply but quickly turned his machinegun around and hit it hard on the archaeologist's head, sending him immediately into oblivion.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Janet Fraiser bent over her patient to check his vitals. The Colonel was sound asleep, unaware of her ministrations. She wasn't surprised about that, he had had a rough night and was still exhausted. The sleep would do him good, she thought confidently. She was relieved that his temperature remained steady; it was still a bit elevated but nothing to worry about. He was responding well to the antibiotics she was giving him.

With her patient re-hydrated and the threat of a rampant running infection gone, she was less concerned. The only thing she needed now was to get the Colonel into a decent hospital to truly patch him up. For now, she just had to keep those infected areas open and get as much fluid into him as possible.

Janet got up and turned to get her pack. She decided to check O'Neill's arms and legs and change bandages while she had the time. Reaching forward, she almost jumped up and stifled a scream when a man grabbed her from behind, pushing the sharp top of what she thought to be a knife in her back and placing a firm hand over her lips.

She was roughly turned around and could now see her attacker. Shocked, Janet gasped for breath. She suspected it to be one of the Elite guards and he glared at her with dark, angry, piercing eyes. Her suspicions had been right as he waved a big shining knife at her. A soft cry escaped her lips and the man angrily motioned her to shut up.

The man didn't really let her out of his sight, even while he quickly visually checked out the still form on the stretcher. He solidly grabbed the doctor's wrist and twisted her arm on her back, forcing her on her tip-toes, pressing the knife under her throat. "Not one sound," he whispered in her ear.

When the man pushed her forward, into the direction of the sleeping O'Neill, she slightly panicked. Her eyes were wide with fear as she inwardly screamed. 'No! Leave him alone!' She tried to struggle in his grip but he shortly jerked at her arm, making her moan softly and she had to give up resisting. The Tyberian man pressed his foot against the still form and pushed. He got no response at all. Satisfied for now, the man whistled sharply, the sound acknowledged immediately, making Janet suspect that another guard had captured Daniel.

Shit.

Frantically wondering what to do, Janet realized she had no options. She wasn't trained for combat situations in the first place; she was unarmed, had a sick man to look after and therefore wouldn't stand a chance. Not to mention the fact that she was paralyzed with fear, her muscles stiffened and unresponsive, her increased breathing and her continuous trembling the obvious proof of how frightened she really was. Her only hope at the moment was directed at Teal'c, Colonel Bayfield and Sam. Hopefully they weren't captured and would find a way to get her out of this mess.

The man roughly threw her with her back against the mountain side. She groaned at the impact and her knees buckled as she slid to the ground. She looked up at her attacker, scared of what he would do, to her, or to the injured Colonel. The man looked at her, taking in her features, and the way she was crumbled up against the wall. The expression in his eyes changed drastically as a glow of lust shone through. Janet instinctively drew her knees up closer to her chest, and wrapped her arms protectively around them. She attempted to shove herself backwards, but with her sore back already solidly against the rocks she had nowhere to go. She wanted to scream, but her voice disobeyed every order her brains gave it. She wanted to jump up and blindly run away, but knew her trembling legs wouldn't respond either.

The man stepped closer, enjoying the fear he caused in the woman in front of him. With the knife in one hand, he pressed a finger against his lips ordering her to stay quiet. Throwing one last look over his shoulder to reassure himself that the injured man remained still, he licked his lips and knelt on one knee in front of the American female doctor.

At that moment, Janet Fraiser regained some control over her voice, managing to whisper only.  "No... no... no..."

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Colonel Bayfield and Major Carter climbed, crawled, descended and hiked over the west side of the left mountain, using every opportunity to hide, to check their surroundings and to plan their next move. They reached the other side without trouble and Bayfield used his binoculars to look back. He spotted Teal'c, knowing the Jaffa was also watching their progress. Now they would be out of sight for a while, though, as he and the blonde Major would fan around to check the ravine. "Let's go that way," he whispered, motioning the Major to follow him.

Carter followed him and soon they found another safe position to look down at the end of the ravine.

"Bastards," cursed Bayfield.

Sam peered down. There were three Elite Force guards positioned, one on the left side and two on the right side of the valley. From where they were positioned, they had a clear view over the canyon and could easily detect and secure anybody coming through.

The two Americans crawled back a bit to decide their next move.

Bayfield was thinking. "We can take them out, if we're lucky," he said, looking at his companion. "But I wonder if there are more."

Sam nodded. "Wouldn't they have guards positioned on the other side as well?" she reasoned logically and worriedly looked over her shoulder as if afraid they were being pinned down from behind.

Colonel Bayfield's face now wore a concerned expression. "We haven't seen anything on the other side," he frowned, trying to remember any detail that he might have overlooked at first. "It would make sense, though," he agreed.

"So?" Carter started.

"So let's hope Teal'c spots them before they spot him," Bayfield added grimly. "But, let's assume they are captured. That means we can't go back the same way we came."

"We can't go through the ravine as well," Carter added worriedly.

"Exactly," Bayfield cursed silently. "They're on their own, at least for now. We *have* to take these men out, Major. Then, with our backs covered, we'll come up with a plan to get back to the others."

"Maybe they'll come to us, Sir," Carter said hopefully.

Bayfield thought it over. "I don't think so. Camp Ockeloen is the other way," he reasoned. "I wonder whether they know how many of us there are, though."

"Do you think these guards know we're coming?" Sam wondered.

"I don't know. It's possible that they've been warned by the others. Let's keep our eyes open," Bayfield ordered. "I'm going to move around and come in from there," he decided. "I'll take those two. The one on this side is yours, Major. Can you handle that?"

Sam nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"Good. Give me twenty minutes. At my signal, we act, got it?" He waited until she nodded confidently then left to make his move around. He had to fall back and crawled around, staying out of sight, making no noise. Fifteen minutes later, he found himself safely behind the two guards, without being spotted. Taking out his knife, he let the sun catch its reflection and briefly shone into Major Carter's direction. Next, he took it between his teeth and slithered forward. He had a lot of experience in the field and despite the fact that he'd had a desk job for the past six years, he hadn't lost the touch. Bayfield easily managed to crawl close to the two guards without them noticing him. Using the benefit of surprise he hurried to his feet, taking the first guard out with one solid hit in the neck.

He then turned, having taken the knife in his right hand, and faced the second guard.

"Stop!"

A sharp voice from the left startled him and Bayfield briefly glanced over his shoulder in that direction. He saw Major Carter, held in a firm grip with a knife at her throat by one man, while the other warned the Colonel to stop.

Damn. There had been a fourth man. How could he have been so stupid? He cursed out loud as he slowly dropped the knife and raised his hands above his head.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Teal'c had witnessed as Colonel Bayfield and Major Carter reached the other side of the mountain. They were out of sight now, and he closely watched the ravine, looking for any sign of trouble.

The vague sound of a whistle startled him. It was soft, far away and any human wouldn't have heard it. Teal'c, however, had a very sharp hearing and immediately knew it was not a natural sound.

Trouble.

Coming from the direction where the others were hiding. He momentarily glared back to the other side, but saw nothing indicating that Colonel Bayfield and Major Carter had secured the area. He wanted to radio Daniel Jackson but was afraid to give their position away. Instead, he moved, fanning out to the east. His plan was to trek around the area and approach Daniel Jackson from the other side.

Passing a huge piece of rock, he stopped in mid-step.

Behind it sat a dark haired man, dressed in desert clothing. There was a still body at his feet and the man had his machinegun pointed at the prone form's chest.

The man sprawled out on the ground was Daniel Jackson.

"Hands up," the Tyberian man snapped with an evil smile twisting his lips.

Teal'c's mind raced. There was no easy way out of this. If only he knew what had become of Doctor Fraiser and O'Neill.

The man took in Teal'c's hesitation. "The others are captured as well. And look..." with one nod of the head the man motioned Teal'c to look to his right. There was another guard, flat on his stomach, well hidden but unmistakable pointing his machine gun at Teal'c as well.

Teal'c lowered his gun and slowly raised his hands.

The other guard jumped up, approached him from behind and forced his arms backwards. A couple of minutes later, Teal'c's wrists were securely tightened with a thick rope, leaving him no room to move his arms. After that, the man did the same with the arms of Daniel Jackson then jerked the awakening archaeologist to his feet.

Teal'c looked worriedly at his team mate. Daniel Jackson was slowly coming to, a small trail of blood rolling down his right ear. The man moaned softly then pried his eyes open. "What???" he stammered, confused and still dazed from the blows.

"You thought you could get away with this?" the smallest of the Tyberian men hissed, his eyes filled with rage. "Blowing up my camp, taking away my prisoner..." The man stepped closer and landed a hard blow on Daniel's left cheek, tearing up the man's skin with the heavy golden ring he wore around his middle finger.

Teal'c fought against the restraints, but stopped when he felt the solid prick of a gun in his back.

Daniel fell sideways, groaning, then struggled back up, quickly exchanging looks with Teal'c.

"I was *not* finished with the other man," snapped the man, hitting Daniel again. "But I've got him back. You two are just a nice bonus." The man faced the other guard. "Bind their feet as well," he ordered.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

"No..." Janet stumbled, watching with fear as the dark-haired man in front of her drew closer. He sat on one knee while undressing her with his eyes. Bending forward he stretched out his hand.

Janet pulled back, inhaling sharply. "No," she mumbled again. "Leave me alone..."

Anger suddenly replaced the smile and the man waved his knife threateningly in front of Fraiser's face.

She trembled uncontrollably as her breathing increased while her heart tried to skip a couple of beats.

Again he reached out. His fingers touched her face, following the lines of her profile, scrolling from her forehead, over her temples, across her cheekbones and finally coming to rest under her chin. He sniffed, enjoying the natural scent of her body and then moved his hand to his mouth, slowly licking his fingers.

His hand came back, this time caressing the soft skin of her neck, and, making a game out of it, his fingers moved, over her shoulder, down until they reached what he couldn't keep his eyes off. His thumb increased pressure as he probed the soft tissue of her breast, her frightened gasps only adding to his pleasure. Without paying attention to her rejection, the weak shaking of her head and her soft whispers asking him, pleading him, to stop he bent forward to press his body over hers.

She drew her knee up, hitting him hard between the legs, frantically started slapping him in the face. "Get off me," she hissed angrily, having regained some control over her trembling body. Temporarily stunning him with her unexpected resistance, she stuck out with her fists, aiming for his eyes.

He was stronger though. He lifted one hand up and slapped her hard on the cheek, sending her head backwards, colliding against the rocks. His hand rose again and this time he used the back of his hand, slapping her other cheek.

Janet moaned, dizzy from the impact and felt her cheeks burning while her head pounded unmercifully. Gasping for breath she watched as the now furious man brought the knife forward, pressing the blade against her throat.

She was paralyzed.

His eyes were spitting fire, outraged as he was. Holding the knife in place, he pressed the woman down with his other arm. "Do not move," he snapped in her ear.

Pinned down, terrified with fear, Janet weakly kicked with her feet. When she smelled his breath, feeling his tongue licking her ear, having no room to draw her head away from him, she sobbed in silence. "No..."

He continued to let his tongue run over her face, his movements increasing, and pressing her down with his upper body, he now drew one knee up and used it to force her legs apart while his free hand started fumbling with her clothes.

Janet struggled weakly but the man left her no room to move. Tears welled up in her eyes and started rolling down her cheeks. He licked them up, groaning with pleasure. She stammered. "No. Please, no..."

She hadn't heard him approach but caught the movement from the corner of her eyes. The slightest shimmer of hope now visible in her eyes drew her attacker’s attention and he moved, just as another arm slid around his neck.

The sudden change in position made it impossible for O'Neill to take his opponent out with one move as planned but he still managed to jerk the attacker backwards and off Janet.

The Tyberian man's eyes opened widely, shocked by the interruption.

Janet felt the fading pressure, the knife leaving her throat and took advantage of the situation, immediately crawling sideways, out of her attacker's reach.

Colonel O'Neill, still weak from his injuries, lost his balance but was determined to get this man away from Janet Fraiser. "The lady said no, you bastard," he snapped angrily.

The man fought back now, and two bodies rolled over and over, leaving Janet to gasp in shock at the fight.

O'Neill was at a disadvantage with having only one functional arm, but he still managed to block the other man's blows. While attempting to sit up, he also landed his fist hard on his opponent's chin before falling back, gulping in air as the man kicked him full on the abdomen.

The Tyberian guard jumped to his feet, his knife ready as he approached the American still recovering on the ground. O'Neill forced one leg up, kicking hard against the man's wrist and the knife fell out of the now damaged hand. The guard threw himself onto O'Neill, who was now struggling to get up, directing his blows to the other man's already damaged arms; apparently aware of his opponent's weak spots. He managed to lift his knee, landing it hard against Jack's immobilized arm, the force of the impact sending the Colonel back to the ground. Before O'Neill had the chance to recover, a large boot landed solidly and heavily against his legs. The Colonel groaned out loud, hitting his opponent hard in the knees in the meantime with his free arm by swinging it forward.

The man fell; reached out to grab the knife and swept it in O'Neill's direction. The Colonel had managed to sit up and ended up blocking the approaching knife with his right arm, the blade slicing his skin, leaving a bleeding gash. Jack staggered as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed him. He glanced at the other man through half-opened eyes, anticipating the guard’s next move and how to respond. The man jumped up and lifted the knife once more, certain of his victory. Jack was ready to react and, leaning backwards on his right elbow, he brought his left leg into position to take his opponent down with one well-aimed kick.

A dull sound echoed and the man's eyes flew wide open in shock. He stopped in the midst of his movement, and then clutched his chest before his knees buckled. He slid into a motionless heap on the ground.

O'Neill pushed himself back to a sitting position, stunned, taking in the still form in front of him, only now recognizing the man. It was one of the guards who had struck him repeatedly when he was captured. He looked up.

Janet Fraiser stood, her legs slightly spread, both arms still outstretched, the gun locked in her hands. Her eyes didn't move; she just stood there, frozen, shocked and momentarily unaware of her surroundings.

Jack somehow managed to get onto his feet, bent forward to check on their attacker, relieved but not surprised to find him dead. Janet had shot him straight through the heart. He now limped forward to the doctor and slowly pushed her arms and the gun down, sliding the safety on. "It's okay, Doc. It's okay," he soothed.

Her eyes suddenly turned to him. "I killed him..." she stammered.

"It's okay... If you hadn’t, I would have," he softly said and caught her as she buried herself against his chest, trembling uncontrollably. He gently stroked her hair, taking in the swelling of her cheeks and winced in sympathy. "Sshhh. He's not going to hurt you anymore."

Janet shook her head briefly, pushed herself out of his safe embrace and went straight back into doctor mode. "You're bleeding," she stated, taking hold of his right hand to look at the damage on his arm. She looked up to face him and saw the tightened lips and the grim expression as he stared at the dead body. "You knew him?"

"We've met," Jack answered shortly and scanned the area. "Where are the others?" he demanded. He wasn't about to give in to his exhaustion and pain before he knew their status.

Janet didn't listen but busied herself instead with visually examining her patient while wiping the blood off his arm.

"Janet," he urged, pulling his arm back. "Where are the others? I need to know..."

His eyes met hers and she was taken back by the deadly serious expression she found there.

"We ran into a situation. Bayfield took Sam to clear the area and left us here. I think Daniel was captured. Teal'c was over there," she rambled, pointing into the right direction.

Jack bent to pick up her gun. "A silencer. Nice. At least nobody heard it. That could be to our advantage, but we need to move."

"I need to dress that arm and check you over," she protested, having taken in the way he limped and how he pressed his free arm protectively around his chest.

"Doc, now's not the time. I need to see what has happened to the others and help them. *That* is my job. When we're safe, you'll have plenty of time to do yours," he ordered sharply. He hadn't meant to scare her, but needed her fully alert and aware of the danger they were still in.

She seemed to have understood as she quickly wrapped some gauze around his arm to stop the bleeding and then lifted her pack, fastening it on her back. "Let's go," she said, her voice steady. She followed him as he led the way, but stopped momentarily to look back over her shoulder at the dead man on the ground.

O'Neill grabbed her firmly by the chin and stopped her while locking his dark brown eyes on hers. "Never look back at the inevitable, Janet," he said, his voice rough. "Concentrate on the task at hand."

She nodded, understanding that he was trying to help her cope, in his own, brisk but unique way.

"You gonna be okay?" he asked. His voice was tenderer now as he studied her thoroughly, a concerned frown etched on his face.

"Yes, Sir, " she said firmly and followed him.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Colonel O'Neill took point, motioning for Doctor Fraiser to stay close behind him. He surveyed his surroundings, fanning out to the west to search the area thoroughly. Soon they approached the spot where Teal'c and Daniel were held captive by three guards. O'Neill spotted them through his binoculars; lying on his right side since flat on his stomach was no longer an option with his immobilized left arm strapped across his chest.

He crawled back to where Janet was waiting, his face grim after recognizing one of the guards. He softly explained the situation to her. "There are three guards." O'Neill took a small branch and drew a crude map in a sandy spot on the ground. "Here, here and here." He marked them with an 'X' and then looked up at her with a deadly expression over his face. "Are you in for some serious shooting, Doc?"

She shivered involuntarily, but nodded firmly. "Yes, Sir. What's the plan?"

"You're the only one with a silencer. I'll use my knife. I don't want to attract the attention of the guards on the other side of the ravine," he looked into that direction before turning his attention back to the ground. "I want you to stay close behind me. We'll make our way in through here.” He indicated the point on the map. “”I think I can reach the first guard without being noticed while you wait there," he showed her the spot.

"I'll take him out. Your job will be the second guard," he tapped on the marks. "Remember, shoot to take him out. After taking that guard down, I want you to get over to Teal'c and cut him loose as fast as you can. Got that?"

"What about you, Sir?"

"Don't worry about me. I'll be working on the third guard and will see to Daniel. You just make sure to get to Teal'c."

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Colonel Bayfield was lying flat on his stomach with his hands bound tightly on his back. His head was pounding from the blows he'd received during their capture. He glared to his left through half-opened eyes.

Major Carter was lying next to him, in a similar position, her hands also bound on her back.

She stared back at him, her face blank, although he thought he could see the disappointment in her eyes.

Now what? There were four men holding them, they were captured and incapacitated and there was no way of knowing what had become of the others.

Bayfield calculated that the men would eventually lead them back through the ravine. It made sense, since Camp Ockeloen was located in that direction. The only reason why they weren't on their way just yet most likely would be that the Tyberian guards weren't sure their colleagues had everything under control on the other side. It was only a matter of time until they found out one way or the other.

As long as that was the case, there was hope, he thought idly. He just had to be ready to respond to any situation, taking advantage of the moment when it was there.

Bayfield shifted slowly. There was a small piece of rock digging into his hip underneath him and he intended to get it in his hands, without drawing the attention of his captors.

When he was certain that nobody noticed he moved, inch by tiny inch. He had to roll to his side, which was barely possible without being spotted. Every time he shifted too much, one of the guards looked up; watching him closely and he had to stop from moving.

This wasn't getting him anywhere.

He needed some sort of distraction. His eyes darted from the left to the right, searching, even as his mind was racing. Involuntarily he sighed deeply, and inadvertently sucked in air and dust as his chin was still resting on the ground. The dust and tiny little grains of sand itched under his nostrils and it irritated the hell out of him as he was unable to wipe it away. Bayfield moved his tongue, ready to lick the tickling dust from his upper lip, and then suddenly stopped. 

Cautiously Bayfield started sniffing; slowly drawing in more air filled with dust until he felt the itching sensation of an upcoming sneezing fit growing. He snuffled some more, closing his eyes in an attempt to control the almost uncontrollable reaction of his body to get rid of the dirt that had nestled itself inside his nose.

"Atchoe!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Unable to stop it Bayfield gave in, rolling to his side, drawing his knees to his chest as he sneezed and sneezed.

Two guards jumped up; one pressed a gun against the prisoner's temple. Bayfield's body jerked for the third time as he sneezed again and then the burning sensation in his nose eased. He let out a deep sigh.

One foot pushed him roughly in his back and rolled him over until he was lying on his stomach once more.

The guards, satisfied that all was well, returned to their original positions.

Bayfield closed his eyes and fought to get his breathing back under control while he slowly, very slowly, moved the thumb and pointing finger of his right hand. There, he held the piece of rock he'd managed to grab with his little distraction and now he patiently and secretly started working on the knots.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

O'Neill crawled, or tried to move in a way similar to crawling with his immobilized arm, making sure Fraiser stayed close to him at all times.

It took him a lot of effort as his abused muscles weren't cooperating one-hundred percent, but eventually the Colonel reached the position he wanted without being spotted. Now came the tricky part. Here, he had to move the last yard to the right, while Janet had to head left. He had no choice but to depend on her, despite that she had no field experience, hoping that she knew what to do and could manage her task.

There was no way he could eliminate the two guards at the same time with his knife only. Knowing there was no other way; he just had to trust on faith and the alertness of his captured team mates. Maybe they would manage to hold one of the guards off long enough for him to act.

He made eye contact with Janet for the last time, and mouthed a silent 'good luck' at her as she nodded affirmatively; pointing into the direction she planned on going. He waited until she was where he wanted her, then gritted his teeth and sprang into action.

The first guard went down, fully taken by surprise as the knife did its job.

From the corner of his eyes, Jack noticed that Janet had indeed shot the second, the guard in question staggering backwards.

The third guard was quick, though. He had Daniel in a firm grip before Jack could reach him.

The second guard, not fatally wounded, struggled back to his feet as well, but Janet had managed to free Teal'c before the guard regained his bearings and the Jaffa finished the job silently and efficiently.

Daniel, meanwhile, acted before the third guard could force Jack to lower the knife. The linguist swung his head backwards, the impact of his skull hitting home on his opponent's chin making his own stomach turn. The linguist then let his knees buckle deliberately and the guard was unable to hold his grip on him.

Jack had already moved and grabbed the guard from behind, pressing the knife against his throat, but hesitated as the memory of this man and what he’d done blocked the Colonel’s movements.

Daniel struggled back to his feet and studied the sudden stoic, blank expression on his friend's face.

O'Neill stared at nothing, holding the man still, and then his hand started trembling uncontrollably. Before the guard could take advantage of his temporary reprieve, Teal'c was there to take care of the situation while Daniel gently took the knife out of Jack's cramped fingers.

"Easy," the linguist tried to calm his friend. "Teal’c’s got him now. It's okay, Jack."

Fraiser was already there, looking worriedly at the momentarily unresponsive Colonel. Before she could do anything, though, he snapped out of it, shaking his head as if to throw the weariness off. His eyes were filled with rage as he watched how the Jaffa dragged the three bodies together. He then blinked twice to regain control and looked from Daniel to Janet and back again. "You guys okay?" he asked softly, visually checking them over.

Daniel nodded, relieved that the events had taken a turn for the better, although he eyed his friend with concern. "You?"

"Fine," O'Neill waved him off. "Where are Bayfield and Carter?"

"I believe they are captured as well, O'Neill," Teal'c said. "They have not returned from their exploration of the other side of the crevasse."

O'Neill quickly assessed the situation. "So we can't move through the ravine."

"No. We have to think of something," Daniel agreed, exchanging looks of concern with Janet.

"Sit down, Sir," Fraiser ordered, holding a canteen in front of the Colonel. "I want you to rest a bit and drink something while we come up with a plan."

O'Neill reluctantly lowered himself to the ground, unwilling to give in to his fatigue, the pain and the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him after seeing the commander of Camp Ockeloen killed. Using every technique he'd learned in the past, he focused on the part of the mission that still was lying ahead of him by pushing his feelings to the background.

Fraiser carefully examined her patient visually, deliberately refraining from touching him, although her fingers itched to start checking his injuries. Somehow she figured that now was not the time and only pressed the canteen into his hand. "Drink, Sir," she repeated softly. If nothing else, he needed fluids for his kidneys.

He did, slowly lifting the canteen to his lips and sipped absentmindedly while his eyes searched the area, scanning, taking in the situation. "Do you think we could move around, maybe over one of the rims?" Jack asked, facing Teal'c.

"We would have to move carefully, O'Neill, but it can be done. Colonel Bayfield and Major Carter have succeeded by moving that way."

"Wouldn't the guards on that side expect these guards to let them know something?" Daniel asked.

"We have to split up," Jack said, his mind still racing.

"Wouldn't it be logical for them to head this way?" Fraiser queried, trying to help.

"If they knew it was safe," nodded Daniel, rubbing the sore spot behind his ear with one hand. "Maybe we can lure them."

"They will know something is wrong soon enough," Jack thought out loud. "Unless.."

"Unless?"

"There are three guards, with two male and one female prisoner, plus one down, right?" Jack said. "They don't know I'm up. Daniel, maybe you can switch clothes with one of these... dead guys..." another shiver ran over his spine as O'Neill looked at the Tyberian guards. "I'll hike to the other side while you guys set up a scene, making them think that the guards captured us all. Daniel, you can wave at them, getting their attention."

"O'Neill, I do not think that is wise," Teal'c stated.

"Why not, Teal'c," the Colonel objected. "We can't go straight to them and we can't risk climbing that way when they have probably spotted Carter and Bayfield there to begin with. They only have to head this way through the ravine to stay out of reach. We'll have to come in from both sides."

"What if they don't buy my act and stay on that side, Jack?" Daniel questioned.

O'Neill shrugged tiredly. "I'll think of something."

"I will accompany you, O'Neill."

"Negative, Teal'c. First of all I want them to think you're all captured on this side and for that I need you here. If they are going to pass through the ravine, it will be hard enough for one man to approach them from behind without being spotted. You'd be of more help from this side." O'Neill let out a deep breath, suppressing the waves of pain spiking from more than one part of his body. He needed to think, but it was getting harder to concentrate.

"Jack," Daniel's face lit up. "We still have our packs. There's some C4 in there, isn't it? Can't we use that? Maybe we can set up an explosion here once you're behind them for distraction?"

"Mmmm, good idea, Daniel," Jack nodded, mentally kicking himself for not having thought of their equipment. "If they don’t seem to be biting, you guys try that and stay out of sight. That will make them come. Teal'c," he turned to face the Jaffa, "place some bundles on the sides, over there as well. We might need that, too."

"Can't we set off anything on the west rim and make it look natural, like a rock fall or something?" Daniel rambled on, thinking out loud.

O'Neill waved it off with a slight movement of his right hand. "Too dangerous. We could mess up the way through and we'll be split up for good..."

Teal'c bowed his head. "That would be too much of a risk, Daniel Jackson. We will need to proceed as O'Neill planned." The Jaffa searched through the packs and handed O’Neill a side-arm, extra ammunition and some C4. “You should take these, O’Neill.”

The Colonel outstretched his hand to take the equipment from Teal’c, wincing as the muscles in his arm protested the movement. He stuffed the ammunition and C4 in the pocket of his pants and stuck the gun underneath the waistband against his back.

Teal’c, meanwhile, had gathered some tape and, positioning the sheath of the knife against O’Neill’s calf, he taped it securely in place. This way his friend would be able to take the knife along and reach it quickly without too much effort. O’Neill nodded in satisfaction and started to move, ready to leave.

"Sir," Fraiser started, raising one hand when he tried to silence her. "At least let me give you a painkiller, Sir. And you really need the next dose of antibiotics as well."

He slowly nodded at her and Janet moved swiftly, grabbing what she needed before he changed his mind.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

O'Neill reluctantly left the others, not liking it but not seeing another way. They needed somebody on the other side to close the enemy in and he was the best choice. He was sure the guards on the north side had binoculars and would search for the dark features of the Jaffa at the least; that's why he hadn't agreed on Teal'c's offer to come with him.

Besides, who would look after Janet and Daniel? There was no way he would leave them without some protection.

At least the pain wasn't inhibiting his movements anymore. Doc's happy pills were doing their job and, except for the immobilized left arm, he was able to move freely, albeit stiffly.

O'Neill took every precaution to reach the north side without being spotted; hoping Daniel would manage to distract the guards when he was nearly there.

He suddenly remembered that the guards would most likely have a radio as well and wondered briefly why he hadn't anticipated on that. The thought just hadn't crossed his mind. Must have been the exhaustion, he figured. Nothing he could do about it now, though. He just had to trust that Daniel and Teal'c would come up with something creative to solve the problem.

While crawling and hiking over the west rim, his mind wandered off thinking about the past days. The image of Marc being shot in front of his eyes haunted him, even when he was wide awake. Jack was glad he had something to focus on, enabling him to push the bad memories to the back of his mind, pretending they didn't exist. There was no time to deal with them. Not now. Not yet.

Focus. Get the others out safe. That was the only thing that mattered right now.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Daniel Jackson was busy. He searched for the right clothing, looking for the pieces that would be the easiest to rearrange. When he'd made up his mind, he let Teal'c assist him in manipulating the body to remove the pieces he needed.

Quickly he took off his own clothing and changed into the other garb. Teal'c managed to get Daniel's things draped around the body of the Tyberian guard.

Next, Daniel ran a hand through his hair. "Would they see that my hair isn't black?" he asked.

Janet switched from the dark hair of the guard to Daniel. "I don't know," she doubted. "Can we use anything to darken it? There's no soil here anywhere..."

"I guess it will have to do."

"I could cut it," Janet offered, noticing the linguist's hair being longer than that of the body.

"Mmmm," Jackson hesitated but nodded. "Do it."

With Janet cutting Daniel's hair, Teal'c examined the surroundings for the perfect spot to set up their scene. He soon found what he was looking for; they could use the rocky terrain to act out their little charade, leaving just enough in sight for the guards on the other side to detect them but still hidden enough to hide what they wanted. Teal'c moved back to where O'Neill and Doctor Fraiser had been hiding and carried the stretcher, one end sliding over the solid ground. Once in position, he rolled one of the other guards on to the contraption, covering him with a blanket. He had it all planned. He already knew where he was going to prop the other bodies up, to make it look like they were sitting.

Then, a radio burst to life.

The words he did not understand took him by surprise and he lifted one brow as he searched for the radio on one of the bodies. Retrieving it, he hurried to Daniel Jackson and handed it to the linguist.

Daniel quickly grabbed it, having heard the message coming through. He pressed the button and altered his voice while speaking. Without finishing his sentence, he scratched the radio over the solid rocks then said something again, before smashing it completely on the ground.

"What?" Fraiser demanded, frowning in surprise.

"That was one of the others," Daniel explained. "I told them we had everything under control, and faked losing the transmission... That should do it," he shrugged when he looked at the ruined radio next to him. "Better check if there are more, Teal'c."

"I will see to it immediately," Teal'c said and left to search the bodies while Janet finished her handiwork. She took advantage of the situation to quickly rinse the gash behind Daniel's ear with antiseptic then sealed it off with a butterfly strip.

"Thanks," Daniel said. "Let's get this show on the road. Jack must have nearly reached the other side by now."

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

O’Neill safely arrived on the other side of the ravine. He was sure the guards hadn’t discovered him and slowly he made his way around until he was positioned behind them.

He kept quiet for a moment to catch his breath and loosen his stiffened muscles. Although he didn’t have much strength in his right arm, Jack massaged his right leg, grimacing while he did so. All the crawling and hiking hadn’t done his damaged limbs much good. His right leg especially had been causing him trouble, giving away underneath him whenever he put too much weight on it.

After his brief rest, the Colonel visually scanned the area, looking for a safe way to move closer to the enemy in order to be able to observe them. He soon found a spot he could climb on to look down and, half limping and half crawling forward, he made his way to the top.

Peering over the edge O’Neill noticed how Bayfield and Carter were lying face down on the ground, hands bound on their backs. Two guards were keeping an eye on them while two others appeared to be busy signaling with the guards on the other side.

Which would be Daniel, Jack knew.

One of the guards was searching the other side of the ravine through his binoculars and then apparently discussed the situation with his partner. Jack couldn’t see what his team mates were doing but at least they had managed to confuse the guards. A smile formed itself on his lips as Jack realized that if anybody could pull this off, it would be Daniel.

Now it was up to the guards. Jack watched them argue and tried to predict their next move. The four Tyberian men were heatedly discussing the situation until finally one of them seemed to make a decision, pointing with his arms in all directions while giving his orders.

The guards rose and forced their prisoners to get up. Jack watched closely, ready to react, his face grim as he saw Carter staggering.

The guards forced them to march, one leading them and two behind them, pushing their weapons into the prisoners’ backs. The fourth man turned and walked into another direction.

Shit.

The fourth guard headed for the west rim.

Three guards were going to pass through the ravine while the fourth would move around and approach from the other side.

Jack’s mind raced. He couldn’t follow the three guards now. If he tried now, he would be discovered by the fourth man on the rim and that guard would be able to signal the others. If he followed the fourth, however, he wouldn’t be where he needed to be, behind the other three.

Now what?

He recalled one location he’d seen on his way over here, on the rim. That would have to be it. Although it wouldn’t be easy, he could descend from there down into the ravine. He would follow the fourth man, take him out somehow and then climb down behind the enemy.

With no time to lose, Jack moved.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Teal‘c carefully positioned all the bodies after having placed the explosives on what he figured to be the most effective sites. One of the bodies was levered into a sitting position and made to look as though keeping watch over Teal’c.

Janet was seated behind the stretcher and moved now and then, pretending to check her patient.

The body dressed to resemble Daniel was lying in a supine position next to the sitting guard. The real Daniel Jackson, now dressed up as one of the guards, paced with his weapons drawn, pointing them at his ‘prisoners’ to keep them quiet.

In his other hand, Daniel held the broken radio and pretended to try and contact his colleagues on the other side. Faking an angry mad-fit he cursed in Arabic and threw the radio on the ground, wildly moving his arms during the whole scene.

Then he started gesturing, waving to the other side of the ravine, pointing at his prisoners and ending with movements designed to imply a question-and-answer session. Finishing his act, he started pacing again, poking Teal’c in the chest to direct his so-called anger.

They waited patiently, anxiously, hoping their efforts would work.

“They’re debating” hissed Fraiser, who had the best view over the valley.

“Let’s hope they hurry,” Daniel mumbled, unable to control his nerves.

“You are doing well, Daniel Jackson,” Teal’c encouraged the younger man.

“Hope so, Teal’c. Hope so,” Daniel murmured under his breath and faked another outburst of anger, aiming it at the female doctor who feigned shuddering with fear.

He was about to wave again as Fraiser’s voice stopped him. “They’re moving!”

He glared and watched as the five people hiked toward the ravine, one guard leading the way, the two Americans behind him followed by two additional armed guards.

“I don’t see Jack anywhere,” Daniel hissed, scanning the area through half-open eyes.

“Is it not O’Neill’s intention to remain undetected?” Teal’c asked solemnly.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

O’Neill stealthily followed the fourth member of the Tyberian Elite troops. He had to risk being detected as he needed to get closer for a sudden attack. Failure was not an option and he couldn’t allow himself to make a lot of noise or commotion on the west rim if he wanted to make sure the other guards wouldn’t notice something amiss.

It was difficult as the other man moved swiftly and efficiently, not hindered in his movements by un-cooperative body parts.

O’Neill, however, was having some trouble with only one functional arm and wobbling legs. Determined, he continued his trek; meanwhile thinking of a way to pull this off. He needed some distraction, something that would stop the other guard and make him turn around.

Then he came upon the perfect spot. He was approaching several decent hiding places and quickly bent forward to pick up a handful of gravel. Swinging his arm backwards he threw the gravel to the left, the grinding sound of rock capturing the guard’s attention. O’Neill had already ducked out of sight, his next move planned, and his knife already in his hand.

He heard the guard approaching, slowly and hesitatingly. Then the soft scraping of boots over the solid rocks stopped and Jack lost track of the man’s location.

There were three possibilities, Jack calculated. The guard could be standing in place, listening carefully for anything amiss. He could be sneaking to the left side, where the gravel had hit home. He also could be moving around to the right, in which case he would end up behind O’Neill’s back.

O’Neill softly turned, with his back reclining against the rocks so he could cover both sides. He pricked up his ears but heard nothing.

It was all a matter of reaction. He predicted odds might weigh in his favor if he moved to the left, anticipating the man would be there somewhere. Carefully he moved, sliding one foot in front of the other, scanning the area and making sure not to step onto anything that would make even the faintest noise. Years of training and experience helped him as he managed to change his position without making one sound.

The guard wasn’t standing on the path. He had to be either in front of Jack or coming up from behind. With his senses on full alert Jack moved further into the planned direction.

It was instinct alone that warned him. Quickly, Jack spun around and thrust his knife upwards. The guard, appearing out of nowhere, ready to jump on him, fell backwards after being stabbed in his midsection. Before the Tyberian man had the chance to react Jack acted, finishing the job.

O’Neill straightened his back, fighting to regain control over his ragged breathing. He then continued his trek, knowing he had to hurry to reach the others in time.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Daniel kept in sight of the guards heading toward them still acting like he was one of the guards. He kept a close look on the approaching group and searched the area behind the moving people, knowing Jack had to be out there, but not spotting him. It was making him really, really nervous.

Janet, who also had a good view over the valley, had been glancing into the same direction as well. "I don't see him," she hissed, the distress evident in voice.

"Me neither," Daniel answered. "I don't trust this..."

"I am positive O'Neill will be there. I will see if I can detect him," Teal'c offered, trying to calm his friends.

"Okay. I’ll knock you down so you can get out of sight for a while," Daniel agreed and put up an act being mad at his prisoner, shoving the huge alien down.

Once out of sight, Teal'c quickly rose to his feet and worked his way around to get a better view over the valley. Only minutes later he returned. "O'Neill is located on the left mountain side. He appears to be coming this way."

"Why would he be up there?" Daniel questioned.

"Maybe something happened? Maybe the guards were on their way before he reached the other side?" Janet joined in.

"O'Neill must have had a good reason," the Jaffa stated resolutely.

Daniel looked back. The guards, along with their prisoners, were half way to them and he tried to estimate how far he could let them approach before they would see that they were being tricked. "What do we do now?"

"We improvise, Daniel Jackson," Teal'c said.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

O'Neill hurried over the mountain side, taking the risk of being seen but needing to do so or he would arrive too late at his destination.

He was almost behind the group trekking through the valley now and couldn't go any faster. Passing them would be too dangerous. He was breathing in short gasps now and sweat beaded his forehead. Absentmindedly, he wiped them off with his sleeve as he carefully continued.

He longed for a real rest but couldn't give up now. Not now when he was so close. Bayfield and Carter needed him. Catching himself with his right arm as his leg buckled once again he pushed himself back up, determined to finish the job.

There.

This was the spot he was looking for. A slope through the rocks and stones formed a crude path down into the ravine, and it was still mostly out of sight for anyone looking back over his shoulder. It was steep, it probably was slippery but it could be done. It was the only chance he had.

Jack figured he needed to climb down backwards, his stomach facing the path, like climbing down a ladder. That way he had more control over his weight, more chances to detect places to hold on and therefore it would be the safest way.

If only that arm wasn’t in the way.

He quickly started pulling on the bandages around his torso, fidgeting with them until they came loose. Struggling with one hand he succeeded in pulling them off and freeing his arm.

Pain shot through his elbow, all the way up into his shoulder from the sudden lack of support, making him groan deeply.

Jack bit on his lip, closed his eyes and slowly, agonizingly moved his arm, stretching it bit by tiny bit until he had it into a position so he could climb without the injured limb hindering him. He knew the arm really needed the support, but he also realized that if he fell on his stomach during his climb down it would damage the arm as well. Besides, he didn't intend to use it.

Cautiously he started his descent, slowly placing one foot underneath the other, feeling for the most solid spot to step on. He'd placed the knife back in its sheath so he had his right hand free to hold onto every protruding part of rock for balance.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

The three Americans carefully studied the approaching group of enemy guards. It looked like Colonel Bayfield and Major Carter had their hands bound behind their backs, but other than that they looked all right. It was now all a matter of estimating how close they could let them approach and what their next move would be.

"We can't let them come too close," Daniel said, looking back at Teal'c for ideas.

The Jaffa surveyed the situation and tried to think of a way to turn events in their favor. O'Neill was coming this way over the west ridge and would not make it in time. They also couldn't keep up the act as the guards would soon discover that their own men were dead and that the Americans had taken their places. They needed a distraction without risking the chance that the group might turn around to head back to the north side.

"I will set off the first explosives," said Teal'c. "When it blows, we can all retreat, out of sight of the approaching guards. We will see what needs to be done after that."

Daniel nodded and peered into the valley as the group was getting closer and closer. He waited a bit longer then hissed. "Now would be good, Teal'c."

Teal'c pressed the remote control. A huge explosion on the east side of them caused rocks and stone to fly through the air, rolling down the mountain, the ground trembling under the force of the blast.

Daniel didn't have to act startled by the explosion. He almost jumped up for real then started yelling and waving his arms, pushing the female doctor backwards.

Teal'c meanwhile dragged the bodies with him until they were out of sight then helped Doctor Fraiser finding a better hiding spot.

Daniel ran back and dragged the stretcher with him, motioning for the approaching guards in the valley to hurry. He dropped next to Teal'c. "Did they buy it?"

Teal'c had his binoculars and watched. "They are confused, Daniel Jackson. They appear to be discussing what to do next."

"They won't go back, will they?" Daniel said, his brows lifted in a worried fashion.

"I do not think so," Teal'c responded. "One guard is moving forward now. Two are remaining, with Colonel Bayfield and Major Carter."

"Damn," cursed Daniel.

"Now what?" asked Janet.

"We must wait," said Teal'c. "When this guard is close enough, I will subdue him."

"What about the second set of explosives?" Daniel suddenly remembered. "Can we use that?"

"We cannot. It will damage the passage for O'Neill," Teal'c said as he surveyed the area where he thought O'Neill would be.

"What do we do with the guards holding Bayfield and Sam?" Daniel asked.

"I will have to move to a better position and shoot, "Teal'c said simply. "Hopefully Colonel Bayfield and Major Carter are able to assist us." He pressed one finger in front of his lips to silence his companions then left.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

After the explosion, the guards had forced their hostages to stop. Bayfield glanced at Major Carter, frowning. What would have caused the explosion? Would it have been their own people, or more Tyberian guards?

After discussing things one of the guards moved forward to explore the situation, while the two remaining guards kept them covered.

Bayfield still had his piece of rock and continued scratching the ropes. He wasn't free yet, but he could feel the knots loosening a little bit.

The two men that were still guarding them were nervous. Their body language was clearly conveying that message and Bayfield had enough experience with people to pick it up. He could tell it by the way they stood, by the way they exchanged looks, and even by the way they drew breath.

He wondered what had become of the fourth guard on the west rim. He hadn't seen him, but maybe the man deliberately stayed out of sight. It was almost impossible that that man would have reached the other side yet, though.

A quick exchange of looks with Major Carter told him she knew what he wanted her to do. Her job would be the guard on their left; his job would be the other. Although her hands were also bound, Bayfield knew the Major had enough combat training to manage her task. Now he only had to wait for the right moment. Everything depended on the situation on the mountain.

He kept an eye on the guard that had left to explore the situation.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Teal'c was ready. He had found the perfect spot to wait for the approaching guard and heard the man coming by the scraping of boots over solid ground.

The man probably never knew what hit him as the huge Jaffa landed a hard blow on the guard's head. Without making a sound the soldier went down, unconscious and with a bleeding gash on his skull.

Teal'c quickly rolled him closer and bound his hands and feet tightly together.

With a gun at the ready, the Jaffa moved to a lower position and aimed at the remaining guards still in the valley. They were within shooting range, but the guards were positioned behind their prisoners so Teal'c couldn't get a clear shot. He had to wait for the right moment.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Everything happened very quickly from there.

Bayfield jerked at his hands, breaking the ropes. He spun around.

At the same moment Teal'c figured he had a clear shot at the man behind Carter. He fired.

Carter, who was waiting for a sign from the Colonel, moved too, taking her guard by surprise.

The bullet from Teal'c's gun, meant for the guard, scratched the Major's upper arm and she staggered from the impact.

Bayfield hit the guard hard under the chin before the man realized what had happened.

The second guard was fast. He caught the stumbling woman, pulled her close against him with one arm threateningly around her neck. "Back off," he hissed at Bayfield, who wanted to finish taking out the first guard.

The man in question took advantage of the situation and aimed his gun at the Colonel. Bayfield slowly raised his hands in the air.

Teal'c came running down. One yell from the guards stopped him, however, and he helplessly watched as the two guards started to move backwards, back through the ravine, back toward the other side.

Carter struggled but the arm around her neck was strong and the guard dragged her with him, backward, while the other guard forced Bayfield to move.

Suddenly, another figure appeared out of nowhere. Jack jumped out of his hiding spot, onto the guard's back and slid his arm around the man's neck, twisting it quickly before the man could harm Carter. In one fluid motion he tossed the body to the ground and drew his gun, aiming it at the second guard.

The man had Bayfield in a similar grip as his partner had Carter. Only this man pointed his gun at Bayfield's temple, his eyes spitting fire at the American intruder. "Don't shoot," he hissed, threatening to pull the trigger.

"Do it, Jack," Bayfield snapped urgently.

"Don't!" the guard warned.

Jack kept his gun aimed at the guard, with Bayfield in the line of fire. "Give it up," he reasoned. "We've taken out all others. You've got nowhere to go."

The guard's eyes darted to the rim before locking on the people in front of him.

"Don't count on that one. He's dead, too," Jack said, knowing where the guard looked. "You're the only one left."

The guard hesitated.

Bayfield took advantage and threw himself to the left.

O'Neill responded and fired.

The guard staggered as the bullet hit him high in the shoulder. Bayfield swiftly moved to take control and then it was all over.

O'Neill turned around and looked worriedly at his Second. "Carter, are you all right?"

The blonde Major grimaced as she pressed her hand over the bleeding wound on her arm, but still a smile appeared on her lips. "Yes, Sir. Nice job."

O'Neill sighed in relief. All the adrenaline that had kept him going was fading now that they were all out of danger and he suddenly felt drained, exhausted and weak. His legs started trembling but before they could buckle, an arm slid around his waist for additional support.

"Easy, Jack," Bayfield said, gently guiding the man down. "Let's sit down for a moment while we wait for the others." He already saw Teal'c, Daniel and the doctor coming their way, the linguist dragging the now empty stretcher with him. "Major, you, too."

It didn't take the others long to reach the three people and Janet planned to kneel beside the Colonel but with one nod of his head in the Major’s direction he ordered her to check Carter first. Sighing, she obeyed and knelt by Sam to treat her arm.

Daniel sat down next to Jack, watching him in surprise. "Where did you come from?"

With one movement of his head, O'Neill pointed into the direction of the slope. "Climbed down there."

"You climbed down?" the archaeologist stammered, looking at the slope in question. "Jack, that was dangerous!"

O'Neill tiredly shrugged his shoulders, wincing as stabs of pain shot through his left shoulder and took the canteen that Teal'c held in front of him. Slowly he sipped then threw some of the water over his right hand and wiped his face.

Janet had finished field dressing Sam's arm and moved over to O'Neill. She took his pulse and touched his brow before turning her attention to his left arm. "What happened to the immobilizer?" she asked, pointing at the drooping limb.

"I took it off. Couldn't climb down with it," he said apologetically.

She nodded in understanding and gently touched the swollen elbow, probing it to check if the joint had remained in place.

O'Neill flinched.

"Sorry, Sir," Janet said hastily, pulling her hand back. "It's still in place but I need to immobilize it again." Her eyes ran over the troubled areas on his arms and legs, taking in the blood seeping through the bandages on his thighs. Making sure her field dressing on his right under arm was still securely in place, she turned to face Colonel Bayfield. "I take it we need to move?"

Bayfield nodded. He wanted to get out of here, and gain more distance in the right direction. He couldn't be sure there weren’t more troops hunting them and the sooner they would reach the border the better.

"I'll clean you up later, then," Janet said to O'Neill. She took out another painkiller and, noticing he'd lost the previous IV ports during his climb, injected it straight into his upper arm. "No more walking, though. And try to keep that arm still, Sir."

With Teal'c's help, O'Neill soon was strapped to the familiar stretcher and the group started their trek through the ravine, heading north.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

General Hammond sat in his office, deep in the bowels of Cheyenne Mountain and stirred his coffee absentmindedly.

He'd just heard that the second pick up attempt in Tyberia had come back empty. There had been no sign of the missing group; neither in the planned spot nor in the surrounding area as the helicopter had risked circling around a bit to make sure they didn't miss their load.

There was still one other pick up scheduled, so there was still hope.

Hammond dropped his spoon, sipped from the already cold coffee and pulled a face at the taste of it. Pushing the cup away from him, he rested his elbows on the desk and supported his head with the palms of his hands. Sighing out loud he closed his eyes.

They would make it. They had to.

Although he was on one hand glad that the remaining part of SG-1 had volunteered to go with Colonel Bayfield on the unofficial rescue mission, he'd also doubted his decision to let them go from the second they'd left.

What if they didn't return? What if they wouldn't succeed?

O'Neill happened to be one hard-to-kill, stubborn son-of-a-bitch but that didn't actually make him immortal. SG-1 might have pulled off more successful missions than any other team, but wasn't their luck slowly running out?

They had to make it. He just had to keep hoping. And if they didn't, he had at least given them the opportunity to die as a team, just like they would have wanted it. In that case he would die with them, bit by bit.

The sound of the gateroom alerting the base for incoming travelers shook him out of his thoughts. Frowning at the unscheduled activation, Hammond rose and headed toward the control room.

The Lieutenant behind the computer screen detected a signal.

"Who is it?" Hammond demanded.

"It's the Tok'ra, Sir," the Lieutenant announced as soon as the computer recognized the signal.

"Open the iris," Hammond ordered then turned to walk down the stairs.

He stood at the bottom of the ramp and watched for the umpteenth time as the gate spun then locked and the squirming liquid formed, establishing the wormhole. Normally he loved to be a witness to what he still considered magic but now he was completely unaware of the beauty that unfolded in front of him.

One figure emerged through the gate before it shut down. Hammond immediately recognized General Carter, his friend and the father of Major Samantha Carter. Stepping forward, Hammond extended his hand. "Jacob. What a surprise. Everything all right?"

Jacob Carter gently shook the proffered hand. "George. I'm fine, actually. I planned to take Sam on a little trip to visit my son and grandchildren." Carter immediately sensed that something was amiss and closely studied the face in front of him. "Something wrong, George?"

Hammond shortly placed an arm around General Carter's shoulders and motioned with his other arm into the direction he wanted to go. "We better go to my office, Jacob."

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Two hours after they'd left the ravine Colonel Bayfield decided that they'd made enough progress to allow his people a brief rest. He knew they were all tired and he also knew O'Neill needed medical attention but only now he felt safe enough to give into those needs. "We'll take one hour, people. Then we'll be moving on."

Bayfield ordered Carter to sit down and rest then put Teal'c, Daniel Jackson and himself on guard to cover all directions, knowing Doctor Fraiser was perfectly capable of taking care of the injured teammates by herself.

Fraiser turned her attention to Sam, ready to remove the makeshift bandage to replace it by another one, but Carter waved her off. "It was just a scratch. Take care of the Colonel first."

Nodding, Fraiser now stooped down beside the stretcher to take the sleeping man's vitals. Taking in the worried looks Sam was throwing into her direction she softly updated the Major about the most elementary discoveries. "He's sound asleep, which is not a surprise after these last events. He must be exhausted. So, I don't think he will complain about my ministrations..."

Sam grinned briefly.

"His temperature is rising again, which I expected ... elbow swollen, but the joint seems to have held... I need to clean the knife wound, maybe put in some stitches..." Janet lifted O'Neill's arms to examine the back of them. "I need to re-open some infected areas here, and probably on his legs as well. Now let's check his belly..." Lifting his shirt, she carefully started probing his abdomen, feeling for anything unusual, like hard spots where they needed to be soft or possible swelling.

"What do you think?" Sam broke the silence, too impatient to wait for Janet to start talking.

"Hard to tell. I don't feel anything wrong, which is a good sign. But there were traces of blood in his urine this morning and he took a couple more hits today, so we'll really have to wait until we reach a hospital with the proper equipment," Janet meanwhile shifted the sleeping man into the right position to be able to roll him over. "I'll treat the knife wound and infected areas first and I'll immobilize his left arm again but then it's your turn. I need to clean that arm properly, okay?"

Sam made herself as comfortable as possible while watching the progress as Janet did her job.

First Fraiser removed the field dressing from the knife wound. It was only seeping blood now, and luckily for O'Neill it was a long cut, but not too deep. Rinsing it with disinfectant she settled for tightly taping it together, wrapping it up with bandages when she was done. Janet then lanced the skin on the infected areas on the Colonel's arms and legs, patted them with some clean tissues then bandaged them lightly, allowing the wounds to drain. After rolling O'Neill back on his back, she prepared to guide his left arm in the proper angle to be immobilized in order to steady the still healing elbow joint.

The Colonel suddenly thrashed, flinging his right arm, caught in delusion or bad dream.

The movement scared Fraiser off and she all but jumped backwards, barely able to suppress screaming out in fear.

"Janet???" Carter queried, taking in the extreme reaction of the female doctor to the sudden movement of her CO. "Are you all right?"

Fraiser quickly got a hold on herself, shrugging off the sudden flashback of the Tyberian guard who'd attacked her that morning. She reassuringly placed her hand on the Colonel's shoulder and briefly faced Sam. "I'm fine," she said and turned back to the now tossing man. "Colonel, it's okay. Wake up. Sir?"

O'Neill blinked his eyes, confusion evident in his features.

"Sir? Are you back with me?" Fraiser asked, gently rubbing his arm.

"Doc?" he mumbled.

"Yes, it's me," she wiped his face with a cold cloth. "Your temperature is rising again. I'm nearly done, Sir. Just need to immobilize your arm, okay?"

He stared from her to Carter, remembering his whereabouts. "Carter? You okay?"

"Yes, Sir. It's just a scratch. I'll be okay," the Major reassured her CO.

Visibly relieved now, O'Neill looked back at Janet. "You? The others?"

"Fine, Sir," Janet said quickly. "Don't worry. We're fine." She helped him sit up and handed him the canteen along with a pair of antibiotic pills as she had run out of the shots, waiting while he sipped the water and swallowed the medication. Next she expertly immobilized his left arm and guided him back down, watching  him wearily close his eyes as he slipped back into darkness. She finished her work by sponging his face and neck before turning her attention to Carter's injured arm.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

General Hammond had explained the whole situation to General Carter as the two men sat in Hammond's office.

"So, Jack's in trouble again," sighed Jacob. "How the hell did he end up in the hands of the enemy. And in *that* country..."

"He was the only one with enough experience to go in," Hammond reasoned.

Jacob smirked. "The only one foolish enough you mean. Why do you think the Forces didn't send another team, huh? It was too dangerous, I'd tell you. Holy Hannah. Tyberia. That's a country the whole world tries to avoid and he just marches in all by himself. What was he thinking?"

"Major Crook, the leader of the missing team, is a close friend of Jack. I don't think Jack really had a choice," Hammond defended his Second.

Jacob Carter sighed, raising his hands helplessly in the air. "I know, I know, I know. I've got to admit that I admire his determination and devotion. But you know what? Sometimes I want to kiss him on one cheek for that and slap him on the other."

General Hammond gave him a weak smile. "I think I know that feeling. I really wish I had better news for you, Jacob," he apologized. "I shouldn't have let your daughter go."

Jacob Carter raised his eyes, searching those of his friend. "I can't say that I'm happy with this whole mess, George. But I'm damn proud of her, for whatever that's worth."

Hammond blinked a moment in surprise.

"A good team always takes care of each other, no matter how dire the situation. She's got the right attitude, not to mention the guts, too." The pride was visible in General Carter's features.

"I think she has learned something from her old man then, don't you think?" Hammond said with a smile.

Jacob straightened his back, looking a bit uncomfortable now. "So all we can do now is waiting, right? Waiting sucks. Is there anything else we can do?"

"If Sel'mac will allow it we could say a little prayer," suggested Hammond. "You never know which God will listen to it."

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Colonel Bayfield pushed the small group forward until it became too dark to continue. He divided the night watches between the linguist, the Jaffa and himself, knowing the Major needed her rest because of her injured arm. Satisfied with their progress he estimated they would be able to reach the Turkish border the next day. There was only one thing left to do, but that had to wait until the next morning.

Before taking his position Bayfield stopped by the female doctor. "How's O'Neill doing, Doctor?" he asked, throwing a worried glance at the prone form on the stretcher.

"All things considered, not too bad, Sir," Fraiser said, tiredly running a hand through her short hair. "He's exhausted, but with that whole rescue operation of today that's no surprise. He's running a fever from the infections but I think I can keep it under control. As far as I can tell, he hasn't damaged his elbow any further by climbing down that mountain, which is a small miracle if you ask me. I'm worried about the damage the shrapnel has done to his legs, however. I don't want him to do any more walking than absolutely necessary, today's exercise was too much already. We also have to see what damage has been done to his kidneys or liver, I can't tell without the proper equipment. That's about it, Sir."

Bayfield pointed at the bandaged underarm. "And that?"

"Nothing to worry about, Sir. It's a cut from a knife but none too deep." Janet looked down.

Colonel Bayfield eyed her closely. He still had no idea what had happened to all of them. Now was not the time to find out, though. He would get the full story when they were safe. He turned to walk over to the spot where he would stand guard, but quickly looked back over his shoulder. "Make sure you get some rest, too, Doctor. We have another long day ahead of us tomorrow."

"Rest. Yes, Sir," Fraiser mumbled.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

The night slowly ebbed away quietly. Janet stayed with O'Neill, making sure his wounds remained open to drain. Using the same methods as the night before she tried to cool him down as his temperature rose, although she estimated it to be less this time.

The Colonel was sleeping quietly most of the time, only now and then tossing and turning restlessly due to the fever.

Knowing she needed the rest, too, Janet curled up next to O'Neill, and attempted to get some sleep. She couldn't, however, as every time she closed her eyes, *he* was there, the guard with those scary dark eyes. She relived the horrible events over and over, as in her imagination she once again watched him move closer to her until she almost could feel his body pressing on hers again. Breathing in short gasps and trembling all over, Janet sat back up; terrified she would start screaming the next time she would try to sleep.

She stared at the dark sky and watched the stars, forcing back the urge to break down and cry. She couldn't; not here, not now. She would just have to deal with her demons when they got back home. Hadn't Bayfield said so? Concentrate on the mission and deal with the rest when we're safe.

Janet had no idea how long she sat there, silently staring into the dark night, trying to banish the bad memories. The sudden movements of the sleeping man next to her startled her, forcing her to concentrate on the here and now.

Suddenly, O'Neill's breathing increased as he gulped in air. His body started trembling badly and he thrashed, waving one arm uncontrollably. Before she could move closer, he jerked to a sitting position, his eyes wide open, his expression that of plain horror. Drops of sweat rolled down his temples, cheeks and along the bridge of his nose. He opened his mouth, but not a sound made it to his lips.

"Colonel?" Janet approached him carefully, softly whispering to the shaking man. "Colonel? It's okay, Sir. You're safe."

Without responding to her he shook his head, furiously, and mumbled softly. "No. No. No...." Suddenly his eyes closed and O'Neill moved his free arm to cover his face with his hand. "Marc..." he choked, his voice trembling just as the rest of his body.

Janet gently placed her hand on his shoulder, unsure of what to say.

"Oh, God," he breathed. He drew his knees up, placed his free arm over them and dropped his head, burying it deeply.

Fraiser softly rubbed his back and had a hard time keeping control over her own emotions. She forced herself to steady her voice. "I'm sorry, Sir. I know Major Crook was a friend."

He remained silent for a long time. She didn't withdraw her hand, but kept rubbing instead, wondering whether she should pull him closer in a hug but uncertain of how he would respond to that. It took a long time for the tremors to ease, for his breathing to return to a more steady rhythm but then he started shivering from the cold. Janet quickly moved away from him to grab a blanket and draped it over his shoulders.

"I don't know if this is the time to say it, Sir, but I'm really, really sorry about Major Crook."

He stiffened for a moment, then let go. "Yeah..." He lifted his head and stared forward.

"Were you there, Sir?" Janet asked gently.

He bit his lip, throwing her a quick haunted glance before dropping his head again. "Yes."

Janet despairingly closed her eyes as she heard his muffled, soft answer. She wondered if she needed to continue, asking him more questions now. "How?" she asked softly, realizing now was as good as ever with this man.

She watched, stunned, shocked, as he raised his head slowly. His eyes dark and distant he slowly lifted his arm, using his pointing finger and thumb to turn it into an imaginary gun. Touching his temple with the tip of his finger, his lips formed a silent 'BANG'.

With that he closed his eyes, sank back to the ground and curled up on his side, drawing his knees up.

Janet sat still for a long time, silently dealing with what she'd heard. Although the Colonel hadn't been specific, she figured they had shot Crook in front of O'Neill, unable to believe the alternative: that the Major had shot himself. Slowly she moved closer to reposition the blanket until it covered the still shivering man then checked his pulse and brow. He didn't respond at all and Janet knew she had lost him for now.

Somewhere during that long awful night filled with his and her demons, Janet must have drifted off. She woke up, startled, shocked to see the sun already rising and quickly sat up. Brushing her hair out of her face with one hand, she looked around in confusion, searching for her patient.

Daniel sat nearby, leaning with his back against the rocks, pressing one finger against his lips. O'Neill was curled up between the archaeologist's drawn knees, his head leaning against Daniel's chest. Daniel had one arm wrapped around the now sleeping Colonel. "Bad dreams," Jackson mouthed at Janet. "He's finally asleep again."

Blaming herself for falling asleep when her patient needed her but silently thanking Daniel for being there, she nodded in understanding. "Did you get some rest?" she queried.

"Teal'c took my watch, so I could sit with him," he whispered at her.

She looked over her shoulder at the Jaffa, standing vigil on a higher spot to allow him to survey the area. Bayfield was arousing now as well, and only seconds later Carter woke up. Letting the Colonel sleep undisturbed for as long as possible the team had breakfast, then cleaned up. While Carter and Bayfield started gathering up all their equipment, Janet brought Daniel his share of breakfast. The archaeologist gently lowered the sleeping man to the ground allowing himself to stretch his stiff muscles, finish his meal and get ready.

Fraiser ran a quick vitals check to find O'Neill's temperature only slightly elevated at the moment. When she took his pulse, he stirred, moaning softly.

"Morning, Colonel," she greeted him as he opened his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

Jack looked around, blinked a couple of times then shrugged slightly saying nothing. He struggled to sit up, and then silently took the canteen and pills Janet handed to him.

"We'll be leaving soon, Colonel. You need some dry clothes and I need you to fill this," she watched him swallow the pills and handed him an empty jar. "Drink a bit more, Sir," she urged.

He suddenly locked his eyes on hers. "Did you sleep at all?" he demanded, lines of worry etching his face.

"I did," she reassured him. If she would have had a mirror to look in, she would probably have understood his concern. The female doctor had dark circles around her eyes, a haunted expression on her face and a pair of now turning dark-purple bruises on her cheekbones in a sharp contrast to her otherwise utterly pale skin.

Rummaging through the packs, she came up with the last clean shirt. "Let's get that wet shirt off, Sir," she moved closer to temporarily remove the immobilizer and helped him out of his with sweat soaked shirt. Soon he had a dry shirt on, his arm was securely in place and Fraiser was pleased to find not much more blood in his urine than the prior day. She still hoped that his kidneys or liver were only bruised and not dangerously damaged.

Bayfield, who had everything ready to go, walked over with a map in his hand. "Morning, Jack," he visually examined the man sitting in front of him. "Rough night again, huh?" he said, already updated by the doctor and Daniel Jackson. "We've missed the scheduled pick-ups, but we'll reach the Turkish border somewhere this afternoon. Marc Crook's men told me the coordinates of where to find the hidden box. They didn't actually see Marc hiding it, but I think you'll be able to find it. What do you say?"

Fraiser wanted to voice a protest, and then took in the suddenly deadly expression that floated across the Colonel's face.

Daniel objected without giving it a second thought. "We can't do that! We need to get Jack to a hospital as soon as possible. Can't we send in another team?"

Bayfield shook his head. "Too dangerous. The Elite Forces will be patrolling the borders as soon as they find out we're gone and that we killed some of their men along the way."

"Plus the commander of the camp," Jack added, without looking at anyone.

"The commander?" Bayfield demanded sharply.

Jack slowly nodded, a shiver running over his back. "He was there... Teal'c took care of him."

"Damn," cursed Bayfield. "That will slow them down a bit but as soon as they've got their act back together we're in some serious trouble. We need to get out of here fast."

"We'll pick up the package first," Jack said determinedly.

"Jack, we can't," Daniel protested.

"We have to, Daniel," O'Neill insisted. "As Bayfield said, we won't get another chance. And I don't..." he looked up now, swallowing a lump in his throat while searching the archaeologist's face. "Marc's death would be..." the Colonel's voice trembled and he looked down at his equally shaking hand which he tried to fold to a fist. "I owe it to him, Daniel. Please, don't let his death be in vain..."

The linguist slowly nodded, giving in as he understood why this was so important to his friend.

"We better go, then," Bayfield clapped his hands and got up.

O'Neill struggled to get up, too, but was stopped by Janet. The doctor firmly held up her hand. "Oh, no, Colonel. We're going, but you are *NOT* walking. We need you to conserve your strength, in case we really need to run."

Bayfield grinned. "You heard the lady, Jack. Lie down, relax and enjoy the ride."

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Around ten in the morning, they reached the location indicated by Crook's men. The small group stopped, and Teal'c immediately took position to stand guard. Bayfield ordered Daniel Jackson to watch the other side, so they wouldn't be surprised.

"Well, Jack?" he asked, noticing the injured man had gotten to his feet to scan the area.

"They were so close," Jack sighed, realizing that the team had been only half a day away from safety.

"I know," Bayfield said softly, placing a comforting hand on O'Neill's shoulder. "You knew Marc well, Jack. What would he have done with the box?" Bayfield started searching the area, looking for possible places to hide a small box.

"We have to remember he was in a hurry," O'Neill thought out loud. "Marc knew he was being surrounded. There wasn't much time... Look for it in an unexpected place. Marc would have chosen a spot in sight, instead of hiding it. When people are searching for something that's supposed to be hidden, they tend to overlook the places they don't expect it to be..."

Carter, Fraiser, Bayfield and O'Neill searched the area, looking on, under and behind rocks, everywhere they could think of.

"It's got to be here, right under our noses," Jack said, absentmindedly looking over his shoulder to the area they'd already searched. "Come on, Marc? What did you do with it, buddy?" His eyes suddenly scanned the path they'd walked on. The path was uneven, with lots of loose pieces of gravel and rocks. They had been stepping through, naturally searching for the best spots to place their feet on. Jack now stepped back to examine an uneven section of gravel and his face lit up. "Marc, you son of a gun!" Kneeling he shoved some gravel aside with one hand. The box, covered with a layer of dust and sand only fitted half in a natural hole in the ground, but Marc had covered the rest, making it all look like it was another bad part of the path.

Bayfield quickly joined O'Neill, a huge smile on his lips as he picked up the box, shaking the sand and dust off before opening it. "It's all there," he said, sighing in relief. "Well done, Jack. Now, let's get the hell out of here."

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Around five that afternoon an exhausted group of Americans carrying one of their own on a stretcher crossed the border between Tyberia and Turkey. Although not entirely safe yet, Bayfield allowed the group a longer rest.

"Now what?" asked Daniel, when they'd found a spot to rest a couple of miles north of the border, out of sight of possible passing Elite troops. They had lowered the stretcher with a now sleeping O'Neill to the ground, leaving Janet to treat his wounds, while the rest planned their next move.

"Now we hope O’Neill’s friend, who promised to wait near the border, finds us, so we can travel faster," answered Bayfield.

"Why don't we use our radio to call for back-up?" Carter asked.

"How far away from civilization are we here, Major?" Bayfield asked. "We may be across the border, but if the Elite Force picks up our radio signal, and send some troops here to capture us, who do you think is going to stop them?"

Carter lowered her eyes. "I haven't thought about that, Sir," she apologized.

"That's okay, Major. You couldn't have known. We just have to get away from the border, and head further to the west. We'll be safer then. Hopefully this Abdul Radzir finds us soon, which would spare us some hiking." He rose to his feet. "Get some rest, people. We'll hike some more before dark."

He moved over to where Doctor Fraiser was working on O'Neill. "How is Colonel O'Neill doing, Doctor?"

She finished re-dressing his arm and looked up. "Asleep for now. His fever is rising again, so we're in for another restless night, I'm afraid. I just re-opened the infected areas, which should help. Apart from that, there's nothing I can do right now."

Bayfield nodded and patted her arm. "You're doing great. One more night, Doctor. We'll have him in the hospital tomorrow."

"Yes, Sir," she answered.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

That evening an open truck approached, bumping over the unpaved and uneven road. Although it had its headlights turned off, the sound of the engine alerted the small group. While the others kept out of sight, Daniel crawled forward to get a better look at the driver behind the wheel. It took him awhile because it was already getting dark and he'd seen the man only once, but then Jackson recognized the silhouette of Abdul Radzir.

The archaeologist jumped up and waved with hands to draw the man's attention. Radzir seemed to have recognized the man next to the road as well as he quickly pulled his truck off the road, parking it out of sight.

"Daniel Jackson," Abdul Radzir greeted him.

Daniel's face lit up with excitement. "Abdul Radzir. You've kept your word! Thank you. We really need your help."

"Where is Major Jek?" Radzir demanded, his eyes searching the area.

Daniel used an outstretched arm to guide the Turkish man into the direction of the other Americans. "He's right here. He's hurt and we need to get him to a hospital as soon as possible."

Radzir walked up with Daniel and soon shook hands with Colonel Bayfield, Teal'c and Major Carter. He glanced worriedly into the direction of the prone form of O'Neill, and the woman rinsing a piece of cloth to place it on the injured man's brow. "I told him it was too dangerous. He still had to go," Radzir stated, shaking his head. "Not that that surprised me. Nothing can stop that man when he has set his mind on something. Will he live?"

Carter smiled at the apt description the man gave them of the Colonel. "Yes. But he needs more medical care."

"How far is it to the closest city?" demanded Bayfield.

"We can drive that way," Radzir pointed with his hand, "for about two hours. Then it will be safe to use the radio and call the American base in Adana. They can send for transportation. But we will have to wait until dawn. It is too dark to see the path."

Bayfield nodded in agreement. "That sounds like a plan. If we leave first thing in the morning we can have O'Neill in the US Army Hospital in Landstuhl, Germany, by the afternoon."

Radzir joined the group of Americans, shared coffee with them and soon, after some questions from Carter and Daniel Jackson, was talking about how he'd met O'Neill and why he was helping him.

"He saved my brother's life," Radzir said simply. "So I owe him."

"Your brother?" Daniel glanced at the man who was staring into nothing, lost in his memories.

"What happened?" Carter asked gently, curious for any information about her CO's past. They didn't often get the opportunity to talk to somebody who knew bits and pieces of the Colonel's background.

"My brother, his name was Cetin, was a Major in the Turkish Military. He was older than me; I was a Lieutenant back then, serving in the same unit. After the Gulf War, the Turkish government needed to develop a border security system between Turkey, Tyberia and Iraq. They requested the United States for help. The United States have experience with such systems with the border with Mexico. Your government assigned somebody to help us explore the border, set up a basic monitor system and test it." Radzir turned his head into the direction of the restlessly sleeping man, slightly nodding to point him out.

Sam and Daniel exchanged looks of understanding.

"Cetin paired up with Major Jek and they came up with an additional plan, based on suggestions from Major Jek. According to him the landscape near the borders demanded another security system. He used methods used in the so-called Bosnia model instead. I, too, was helping, along with three other men. Major Jek taught us how to use electronic sensors, barb wires, all that stuff," Abdul Radzir continued.

"What about surveillance from the air?" Carter queried.

"That would become part of the final plan, but was not used in the test phase," Radzir explained. "It was all very experimental. We needed something to proof to our government that such a security system would be affective. You can imagine a fully operational border security system would cost a lot of money."

Carter nodded. "They wanted results before they made a large investment."

"Yes. They wanted us to find out if the system had the desired result. Namely detecting anything or anybody that would cross our border."

"What went wrong?" Daniel tried to get to the point.

"Cetin and Major Jek went on a mission into Tyberia. I was to test the system. They would check if the electronic sensors could be picked up by the Elite Forces from a distance and would try to cross the security system without being spotted," Radzir told the two attentively listening Americans.

"Oh, God," breathed Daniel.

"Something happened across the border," concluded Sam.

"They did not return," the Turkish man said, raising his hands in the air. "We did not know where they were. We had no idea of what had happened."

"Did you send in another team?" Carter asked.

"No. Maybe the Elite Forces had picked up on our activities. They were suddenly heavily patrolling near the borders. We could not risk it. We were ordered to stay put." Radzir fell silent, his eyes dark and his face grim from the memory. Taking his canteen, he slowly sipped some water, while Sam and Daniel impatiently waited for the rest of the story.

"Unfortunately, my brother had fallen down a cliff and was badly injured. Major Jek managed to get Cetin out and kept him alive. He splinted both my brother's broken arm and leg, and treated his other wounds. He made something for my brother to lie on and dragged him through the mountains. Because of the troops, Major Jek was forced to head into other directions and hide. It was six days after their leave that they returned to us."

"Wow," was all Daniel could come up with.

"That must have been awful," Carter searched Radzir's face, softly placing a comforting hand on his arm.

Radzir looked back at her. "I still do not know how Major Jek has done it. They had not enough water for six days. He managed to find enough to keep them both alive."

"Colonel O'Neill is very resourceful," Carter told him, a touch of pride shining through in her voice.

"He gave almost everything to my injured brother. Major Jek ended up in the hospital in a more serious condition than my brother. He was badly dehydrated and suffering from a heat stroke. He just collapsed at my feet, as soon as he knew Cetin was safe," Radzir's voice trembled, filled with emotion.

"Yeah. That's Jack for you," Daniel commented, not really surprised but still slightly impressed.

Falling silent, they all watched as Doctor Fraiser was working hard to keep her patient's temperature under control by cooling him with pieces of damp cloth.

"Who was he saving this time?" Radzir broke the silence after a long time.

"A team of four was captured by the Elite Forces," Carter informed him. "The Colonel managed to rescue three of them. The fourth man, a personal friend of him, unfortunately didn't make it."

A concerned frown appeared on the Turkish man's face. "He will blame himself for that."

Daniel looked up in surprise. "You know Jack pretty well," he concluded.

Nodding, Radzir looked down. "It was an honor working with him." He glanced at his watch. "It will also be an honor to help you get him to safety."

"Thank you," Daniel said sincerely. He hesitated briefly before asking, "What... happened to your brother?"

"He died, on a mission last year," Radzir said, leaving it to that.

"I'm sorry," Carter responded.

"Me, too," came the soft reply as Radzir scrambled to his feet. "Now, let's get some rest. It will soon be time to leave."

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

That night three SG-1 team members took turns in sitting with their CO, trying to keep him in the here and the now, although they weren't really succeeding. Janet Fraiser did what she could by keeping the infected wounds open and draining; although the fever plus the psychological condition still caused delirious dreams and frightening nightmares.

Early in the morning Abdul Radzir started his truck. Teal'c carefully lowered the now silent O'Neill in the back. Bayfield took the seat next to the driver while the rest crawled in the back, leaving enough room for Fraiser to watch over the sleeping man.

Two hours later Radzir stopped the truck on a hill. Bayfield went to work to gain radio contact with the US Air Force base in Adana. It took the helicopter only twenty minutes to get there.

Radzir watched how the man who'd once saved his brother's life was being carried inside the chopper. He turned to the female physician, held out his hand until she took it, shaking it gently. "Please, take care of him, Doctor" Radzir said simply. "Tell him he can come back and ask for my help anytime."

Fraiser smiled tiredly at the man in front of her. "I will do that. Thanks for the transportation." With that, she turned to climb into the chopper.

The flight back to Adana was only fifteen minutes, and another plane was waiting there for them to fly them directly to Ramstein Air Base. Another chopper got them to Landstuhl, where, eleven days after he was captured by the guards in Camp Ockeloen, O'Neill finally ended up in a real soft, comfortable bed in the safe surrounding of the Army Hospital. Doctor Fraiser wasted no time and immediately started preparations for the much needed medical treatment.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

General Hammond stood up, the receiver of the phone still in his hand. His face showing the widest smile he'd had the last couple of weeks, he thanked the person on the other end of the line and placed the receiver down.

Leaving his office, Hammond walked through the corridors of the SGC to the guest quarters and knocked on General Jacob Carter's door. "Jacob!!!"

Carter opened, hopefully glancing at his friend. "You have some news, George?"

"They're coming home. They're safe," Hammond said, smiling widely.

Carter sighed in relief. "Thank God," he breathed. "Everyone's all right?"

"Unfortunately they weren't able to save Major Crook," Hammond reported, his smile fading as it was replaced by a look of sadness. "They got Colonel O'Neill out, though. They're being transported to the Army Base Hospital in Landstuhl as we speak. As soon as Doctor Fraiser declares Colonel O'Neill stable enough for traveling, they'll be flying home."

A shadow darkened Carter's face. "So Jack has lost his friend. Damn... How about my Sam?"

"Apparently she was shot through the arm, but I've been assured she's fine. We'll get all the details later."

Carter carefully examined his friend, noticing the exhaustion shining through in Hammond's features. The commander of the SGC probably hadn't gotten much sleep lately, with his first team once more out there in another life-threatening situation. "Why don't you get some rest, George," he said, gently placing a comforting hand on Hammond's shoulder. "I'm sure you can sleep now, knowing they're safe."

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Fraiser immediately took control, as the Chief of the Army hospital reluctantly assigned a staff to this apparently important female doctor and her mysterious patient.

Ordering the first nurse that stepped beside her toward the bed to take blood samples and to send them off to the lab for evaluation, Fraiser inched O'Neill out of his clothes, using scissors to cut the material away after removing the immobilizer. Then she prepared her patient for an ultrasonic examination, still worried as she was about the blood in his urine caused by severe beatings on his back and in the abdomen. Studying the results on the monitor, she sighed out in relief. The image showed only minor free fluids in O'Neill's abdomen, confirming her hopes his kidneys and liver weren't too seriously damaged.

Next, Janet ordered X-rays. "I want a visual on his skull, thorax, arms and legs, and detailed ones from his left shoulder and elbow," she summarized, her hands slowly moving O'Neill's damaged left arm into the proper position for the first set of pictures.

The movement tore a groan from the dazed Colonel. Stepping closer to come within eyesight, she gently touched his cheek. "Sorry, Sir. We're taking a couple of photos, just try to relax..."

"Make sure to get my good side," O'Neill mumbled weakly, unaware of the grin that appeared on the doctor's face.

"I'll be right back, Sir," Janet said encouragingly and then stepped away while the machine did its job.

The monitor showed her photos one by one, revealing two cracked ribs, the already healing shoulder joint and the damaged elbow, which, although set, appeared to have a broken bone within the joint.

Fraiser walked back in to find the Colonel having dozed off again. She tiredly turned to the nurse. "Prep him for surgery. Dr. Westenberger can start removing most of the shrapnel out of his legs and arms now. I'm going to clean up and get some rest. Wake me when I'm needed."

Satisfied her patient was well taken care of and that there was nothing more she could do for him at the moment, Janet gave in to the fatigue. Using the hospital's facilities, she took a nice, long hot shower to scrub the dirt from her weary body before curling up on the bed to hopefully catch some sleep.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Carter, her arm expertly bandaged and in a sling in order to let it heal, walked over to the temporary quarters in the hospital where they were spending their time until they could go home. Bayfield had offered them a flight home, but in unison the three members of SG-1 had refused, unwilling to leave without their friend and team-leader.

Daniel and Teal'c were already present; all cleaned up and checked over by the medical personnel. The wound behind Daniel's ear was covered with some gauze, with tape to keep it in place. Daniel looked tired, Carter realized as she visually checked him over. Teal'c, on the other hand, looked like his usual self, his face stoic as ever.

"Any news on the Colonel?" Carter asked.

"Janet came by to tell us that he's in surgery," Daniel informed her. "She was relieved that there was no major damage to Jack's kidneys and liver, and has handed him over to Dr. Westenberger to remove the shrapnel from his arms and legs. Janet is resting at the moment. That's all we know."

"So now we wait. You look tired, Daniel," Carter said worriedly. "Why don't you get some rest, too?"

The linguist stubbornly shook his head. "Not before I know how Jack is doing. Besides," he added, "you could use some rest as well. So?"

Carter sighed. "So we wait," she repeated. "I assume Colonel Bayfield has informed the General that we're safe?"

"Indeed, Major Carter," Teal'c acknowledged. "He has contacted General Hammond before he left."

"Your dad is at the SGC, waiting for you," Daniel said.

"My dad?" Sam asked in surprise.

"Yes. Apparently he wanted to spend some time with you. Talk about timing..." Daniel explained. "Colonel Bayfield has assured him that you are fine, and Jacob will wait for us to get back."

Carter's face lit up. "It will be good to see him again," she said. "It's been a while..."

"We'll be home soon, Sam," Daniel soothed. "How's the arm?"

"Oh. Fine. Healing. Sore, but fine." Carter sank down in a chair and grabbed a magazine to pass the time.

It was already evening when Dr. Westenberger came in. "The Colonel is in the ICU now," he explained. "We've removed a lot of shrapnel from his arms and thighs but I've decided to leave the rest. Digging those smaller pieces out would probably do more damage than leaving them in. Due to the wounds on the Colonel's arms we had to use an external fixation device to secure the elbow bones."

"Can we go and see him?" Daniel asked.

Dr. Westenberger nodded. "Yes, you can. He won't be awake, though. The Colonel was exhausted, so I expect him to sleep through the night. Follow me, please."

The trio followed the doctor to the ICU, where he showed them O'Neill's room before returning to his regular duties. Surprisingly, the trio found Janet Fraiser inside, checking the Colonel's chart. She briefly looked up to see her friends coming in before moving to check the monitors.

"Janet!" Carter said. "Weren't you supposed to be resting?"

"Couldn't sleep," the doctor brushed her off. "Besides, I needed to know how the Colonel was doing."

"As did we all, Doctor Fraiser," Teal'c agreed.

Daniel approached the bed and took a good look at his friend. Jack was sound asleep. He was hooked up to the monitors and two IV-lines pumped dark red and neutral fluids into his veins. His arms were heavily bandaged and there was a metal construction with pins entering his skin around his left arm, supporting the broken elbow-joint. "That looks scary," Daniel shuddered.

"I know. But it's nothing unusual, really," Janet reassured him. "External fixations are used on many occasions, and in this case, with the tissue damage from the shrapnel, it was the only possibility."

"Won't those entry wounds get infected?" Sam wondered, worriedly taking in the pins that were used to secure the bones.

"I don't think so." Fraiser pointed at the IV-bags, continuing her report. "We're giving him some extra blood, extra fluids and pain medication, too. His shoulder appears to be healing just fine, he's got two cracked but not broken ribs, his liver and his left kidney are bruised from the beatings and kicking... but it will all heal in time. Now we just have to wait for the infections to clear, as the antibiotics kick in. Then, his fever will come down and we can go home."

"What about the shrapnel they haven't been able to remove?" Carter wanted to know.

Fraiser shrugged. "We'll see. It doesn't need to bother him in the future. When we're back at home, and I've stitched the wounds up, the Colonel will have to go through some intensive therapy to get some strength and movement back into his arms and legs. If some pieces appear to be problematic, we can still try to remove them."

"When will he wake up?" Daniel inquired, dragging a chair closer to the bed to sit on.

"Hard to tell. He really needs the rest in order for his body to heal. He hasn't had a proper night's sleep for the last couple of weeks..."

"What about the nightmares?" Carter asked.

Janet looked up. "We'll just have to wait and see. I really don't want him to make any sudden moves... I suggest we take turns staying with the Colonel and make sure to wake him up properly if he starts having bad dreams."

"I will remain here now, Doctor Fraiser," Teal'c said simply.

"Thank you, Teal'c. Why don't you two get some rest," Fraiser then said to Carter and Daniel. "I'll call you in the morning."

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

That night and the next day the team took turns in staying with their friend. O'Neill was out of it most of the time and managed to stay awake for only short periods. Each time he woke up, he hardly remembered where he was and what had happened, sipped some of the proffered water and drifted off again. The nightmares had been back, but his friends had managed to calm him down; although once, his movements had been so sudden that Teal'c barely had been able to keep him from falling out of bed.

The second day Janet was pleased to find her patient's temperature slowly falling, and the moments that he was awake and lucid became longer. O'Neill seemed to remember everything now, but was mostly quiet and refrained from talking about what had happened. Resigned, he endured all of Janet's ministrations and tests and didn't even complain when she had to draw another blood sample.

That afternoon, Janet stepped back inside his room. While Carter and Daniel were in the middle of a game of chess, Teal'c was nowhere to be seen. Janet assumed he had found a private spot to withdraw to do his meditations.

Colonel O'Neill was awake, the head of the bed elevated allowing him to sit up a bit. His eyesight was much clearer than the day before, but he still looked pale and exhausted.

"I've got some good news, Colonel," Janet said with a smile as she approached the bed. "You're making enough progress for us to go home first thing in the morning. The arrangements have been made; our flight leaves at ten thirty."

He briefly looked at her then faintly nodded. "That's good."

"Hey, that's great," Daniel responded, looking up from the chess board.

Carter just smiled happily.

Fraiser checked the monitor, the IV-lines and chart before grabbing a chair to sit beside the bed. "I've talked to Colonel Bayfield, Sir. He said..." she hesitated for a while, trying to make eye-contact with O'Neill. "He said that they're waiting with the memorial service for Major Crook until you're doing better, Sir. I thought you'd want to know..."

He swallowed and closed his eyes. Grimacing, he struggled to move his right hand and managed to bring it to his face. Rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand, he sighed. "Yeah..."

Janet watched how O'Neill slowly lowered his hand, clenching and un-clenching it. His eyes opened, blinking a couple of times, but his gaze was dark and distant, aimed at the wall. "Sir?" she asked softly, trying to get through to him, but unsure of how to handle this.

"It should have been me..." he whispered.

Janet closed her eyes for a second before moving her hand to touch him, gently rubbing his leg. "I'm sure there was nothing you could have done, Sir."

"Hmmm." O'Neill closed his eyes and refrained from opening them again.

Fraiser waited a long time and watched how his breathing slowly returned to a normal rhythm, knowing that this was all she was going to get from him at the moment.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

The flight home took twelve hours. O'Neill slept through until they were about half way and, after waking up from another nightmare, refused to go back to sleep. Unaware of the worried glances from his friends he sat, supported by pillows and covered by a blanket, staring silently out of the window.

Janet, respecting his need for privacy, checked his vitals and changed his bandages without talking. She held out his medications for him and he took them, along with the canteen, swallowing the pills without making objections at all.

Carter exchanged looks with the female doctor, her brows questioningly lifted.

Fraiser shrugged. "Give him time," she mouthed silently and took her seat, grabbed a magazine and tried to concentrate on some articles.

It was already evening when they finally arrived at Cheyenne Mountain. Two medics stood waiting with a gurney and Fraiser and the rest of SG-1 walked behind them as they wheeled the Colonel directly to the infirmary.

The two Generals were waiting eagerly for the arrival of the small group. Hammond's face lit up as he spotted them, although he threw a worried glance at his Second spread out on the gurney. "Welcome home, SG-1, Doctor Fraiser. It's good to have you back. Well done."

"It's good to be back, Sir," Sam spoke for all of them before stepping closer to be enfolded in her father's embrace.

"Hi, kiddo," Carter said before letting her go to turn to the man lying on the gurney. "I heard you were in trouble, Jack. Glad you made it."

O'Neill blinked. "Yeah, a trouble magnet. That's me, Sir," he responded with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Okay," Hammond called it a day. "Doctor, I suggest you see to it that the Colonel gets settled in. Please report to my office afterwards.  We'll debrief in the morning."

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

The briefing room was filled with SG-1, minus their team leader, Doctor Fraiser and Colonel Bayfield. General Hammond entered the room, ordering them all to sit down. "Good morning, people. Welcome, Colonel Bayfield. Thank you for joining us. Doctor? How is Colonel O'Neill doing?"

"Under the circumstances the Colonel is doing fine, Sir. He's responding well to the antibiotics; his fever is gone and the infections are clearing. I expect to be able to suture the wounds soon, maybe tomorrow. His kidney and liver are recovering as expected, luckily there's no permanent damage done. His elbow needs a couple of weeks more to heal," Fraiser summarized.

"Good. Anything else? How is he coping?" General Hammond asked.

Fraiser shrugged her shoulders. "That's hard to say just yet, Sir. Colonel O'Neill is not one to open up easily. He's been having some rough nightmares and as far as I know hasn't spoken to anyone about what has happened."

Hammond looked around.

"Jack hasn't said anything to me, but I also haven't asked him about it," Daniel stated. "I think Jack needs some time."

"O'Neill has not revealed anything," Teal'c said.

"I doubt it that the Colonel would ever tell me what happened, Sir," Major Carter shrugged.

"He'll be fine," Colonel Bayfield told them confidently. "As Dr. Jackson said, Colonel O'Neill needs time. Let him do it the way he wants to."

Hammond silently studied his Second's former CO, then decided to give it a rest for the moment. "Colonel, what happened out there?"

Colonel Bayfield rose to his feet and took out a map of Camp Ockeloen. It was the same one he'd used earlier to point out the details before the team went to Tyberia. Indicating the directions, he explained how they'd reached the camp, the location where he'd left the others before searching the mine field with Teal'c, how they'd managed to get inside. He stumbled, his voice filled with emotion as he told how he'd witnessed Major Crook's burial, then explained how they'd rescued Colonel O'Neill.

Major Carter filled in her part, of how the remaining trio had retreated to the second meeting point, and then moved on to the part where they'd reached the ravine.

Colonel Bayfield explained why he'd decided to split up, how he and Major Carter had reached the other side of the ravine and how they were captured.

Hammond stared from one person to the other before finally letting his eyes rest on Dr. Jackson. "What happened next?"

Daniel looked up, glancing at Teal'c. "I was covering the spot where Jack and Janet were hiding, but soon got knocked out," he said apologetically. "When I came to, Teal'c was captured as well..."

Teal'c slowly bowed his head. "Indeed, the Tyberian guards forced me to surrender."

"How did you get free?" Hammond demanded.

"Colonel O'Neill and Dr. Fraiser were successful in freeing us, General Hammond," Teal'c explained.

Hammond lifted his brows in surprise. Colonel Bayfield responded equally. All eyes were now directed at Dr. Fraiser, who nervously fumbled with the documents in front of her on the table.

"Doctor?" Hammond asked gently. "What happened?"

Fraiser refrained from looking up. "There was one guard...," she started, her voice trembling. "He..."

All eyes watched her with concern as she fell silent, resting her face in her hands. The silence was unnerving and the only sound that was heard was the increased breathing of the SGC's CMO.

Carter, suddenly remembering the frightened way her friend had responded to sudden movements, moved forward to gently touch the doctor's wrist. "Janet?"

"He..." Fraiser started, mustering up the courage to reveal her worst nightmare. Dropping her hands on the table, she lifted her head to face the General and resolutely but hastily told the rest. "Colonel O'Neill was asleep when the guard appeared. He threatened me, but before he could do anything to harm me, the Colonel woke up and managed to get him off me..."

"Oh, my. Janet, that must have been awful," Sam said sincerely, carefully studying her friend's face.

"Take your time, Doctor," Hammond gently responded. "What happened next?"

"I..." Fraiser hesitated before lowering her eyes. "I shot him, Sir."

Carter gasped, Daniel just stared at the female doctor and Bayfield sat there, shaking his head.

Hammond decided that that was enough information for the moment on that part. "And then you went to rescue the others," he concluded.

Fraiser slowly nodded. "Yes, Sir. Colonel O'Neill planned it all and told me what to do. My job was to take out the guard keeping Teal'c while he took out the other two."

"Dr. Fraiser managed to shoot the first guard and free me," Teal'c filled in. "Colonel O'Neill eliminated the second guard and together we managed to overpower the third man."

"Which appeared to have been the commander of Camp Ockeloen," Daniel joined in.

"The commander?" asked Hammond. "The one responsible for Major Crook's death?"

Daniel nodded. "Oh, yeah. Jack was having a little problem with that, but soon regained control again."

"Colonel O'Neill had also recognized the guard that was threatening me," Fraiser said. "He didn't give me more information, though."

Hammond sighed. "Your escape doesn't appear to have been easy at all... How did you manage to rescue Colonel Bayfield and Major Carter?"

"That was another idea of Jack’s..." Daniel started. "We set up a scene to draw the other guards' attention, with the dead guards propped up against the rocks and one on the gurney taking Jack's place. I changed clothes with one of them, while Jack climbed to the other side to come in from behind."

"The act seemed very believable," Colonel Bayfield joined in. "We had no idea what was going on, but the guards forced us to walk back through the ravine. One of them didn't come with us, but decided to take the same route Colonel O'Neill had taken before him. Somehow, the Colonel must have captured him."

"The group was coming closer and we were afraid they would see through our act. Teal'c moved around to turn events in our advantage again," Daniel continued.

"One guard was approaching us. The other two remained with Colonel Bayfield and Major Carter. I had also noticed the location of Colonel O'Neill and realized he could not be of assistance. I captured the guard and took aim at one of the other guards still holding Colonel Bayfield and Major Carter. Unfortunately, I hit Major Carter instead."

Carter smiled at him. "It's okay, Teal'c." She then turned to look at the General. "Colonel Bayfield had managed to get his hands free, Sir. Then one of the guards grabbed me by the throat, dragging me backwards while the other pointed his gun at the Colonel..."

Hammond glanced questioningly from one person to the other.

"That's when Colonel O'Neill appeared, Sir. Somehow he'd climbed down the slope and jumped in on us from behind, taking out the guard that was holding me. The last guard followed shortly, Sir," Carter finished her part.

"What can I say," the General said after a moment of silence. "Apart from well done..."

"Thank you, Sir," Bayfield said. "But we wouldn't have made it that far without Colonel O'Neill's active role in the whole rescue operation."

Nodding, Hammond smiled. "Colonel O'Neill is well known for his abilities to never give up."

"He hasn't lost the touch," Bayfield agreed with a smile before finishing the report. "We encountered no more trouble after that and carried the Colonel out of the country. We made one little detour to pick up the package Major Crook had hidden before he got captured and finally crossed the border into Turkey. An old friend of Colonel O'Neill’s drove us to a safer area where we could call for a chopper."

The General wearily rubbed his eyes. "I'm glad you made it home safe. And although we all regret Major Crook's death, we should not forget that this whole operation saved three people's lives. Thank you all. You're dismissed. Doctor Fraiser? My office, please."

Once in Hammond's office, Fraiser closed the door behind her before looking at the General.

"Doctor, I cannot even imagine what you've been through out there. Although I realize it must be hard to talk about it, I need to know how you're doing. I can tell you haven't slept well lately and I think you should see someone to help you through this."

"I'm okay, Sir," Janet said, although she realized she didn't sound convincing. "It's not easy, I admit that, and I have some trouble sleeping. But I will be all right..."

Hammond studied the woman in front of him, trying to determine what to do. He shook his head slightly. "I still think Doctor Warner should take over the infirmary for the time being. You need time."

"Sir, with all due respect, Colonel O'Neill needs me. He's been through a lot and I'm the only one he really trusts enough to eventually talk to. I've worked enough with the Colonel for the past four years to know how to help him," Fraiser protested.

Hammond thought it over for a second, then nodded. "All right. I'll allow you to continue Colonel O'Neill's treatment; however, Doctor Warner will take over the rest of the infirmary. I will re-evaluate my decision one week from now."

Janet's face lit up. "Thank you, Sir."

Hammond smiled at her. "I trust you to help Colonel O'Neill get back on his feet, Doctor. Just don't disregard your own needs in the meantime. Please... Talk to someone." He walked her to the door, placing one arm comfortably around her shoulder. "You know my door is always open, don't you?"

Fraiser smiled. "Yes, Sir," she said. Then she left to return to the infirmary.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

General Carter walked through the corridors of the SGC. He would be leaving soon and decided to stop by the infirmary to check on Colonel O'Neill. Although he hadn't been present at the briefing Hammond had held to get the whole story, he'd heard bits and pieces and had a pretty fair idea of what had happened.

From his daughter’s comments he knew O'Neill was not his usual self; withdrawn, silent, bad-tempered and resigned. Nobody had dared to use the term depressed, but after hearing what the remaining members had to say about their CO's state of mind, it was exactly that word that came to mind.

Carter had his own history of missions gone wrong, of losing colleagues and good friends and struggling to get his act back together. He also was a good judge of character and knew that O'Neill would recover completely; not only physically, but psychologically as well. It only would take time. And maybe a little help from a friend, he thought idly.

Relieved to find nobody with O'Neill when he stepped into the room, Carter displayed a wide smile. "Morning, Jack! How are you doing?"

O'Neill, sitting up with the head end raised, absentmindedly made a waving gesture with his right hand. "Morning. Fine."

Without paying attention to the short reply, Carter grabbed a chair and seated himself near the bed. "You look better this morning, although they don't seem to feed you properly here."

O'Neill frowned in surprise. "Err?"

"You're so skinny that even my cargo ship flying over could knock you down... I don't suppose they serve pizza here, do they?" Carter joked.

"Unless you smuggled one in... that would be a no, Sir," Jack responded, smiling a little now.

"I'll order Sam to get you one," Carter said, his eyes twinkling. More seriously, he pointed at O'Neill's bandaged arms. "How's everything healing?"

"Pretty good. Fraiser said she would start stitching parts this afternoon."

"That's good," nodded Carter. "The sooner that's done, the sooner you can get off that lazy butt of yours and help me nail some Goa'uld again."

Another grin made it to O'Neill's face. "Yes, Sir."

Enough with the playing around, Carter thought. "Jack, I stopped by to tell you that I'm really sorry about your friend." Carter carefully examined the Colonel's face.

O'Neill swallowed and he dropped his head.

"He didn't deserve to die," started Carter.

"Damn right he didn't," O'Neill softly, but firmly, joined in.

"And I'm sure there was nothing more you could have done," the General continued.

O'Neill remained silent, the sound of his increased breathing the only evidence that he'd heard what Carter had said.

"Was there, Jack?" Carter demanded, a bit sharply.

O'Neill stared at the blankets, one hand clenched to a fist.

"Feeling guilty, are we, Jack?" Unmercifully, the Tok'ra General pushed on, without taking his eyes from the person in front of him.

O'Neill let out a deep sigh while covering his eyes with the palm of his hand. "Damn it, Jacob..." he murmured.

"Well, since you're beating yourself up over this..." Carter said defiantly. "What happened?"

O'Neill's hand, still covering his face, was trembling now. His chest was heaving as he gulped in air, still refraining from talking.

"What happened, Colonel? The commander of the base, he was playing a little rough, wasn’t he? What did he want?"

"The box Marc had hidden..." Barely audible, O'Neill responded, his voice muffled by his own hand still pressed over his mouth.

"Is that why he beat you up as well?" Carter demanded. "Or was there something else?"

Dropping his hand back on the blankets now, Jack inhaled deeply before shrugging helplessly.

"He was pissed," Carter guessed, taking in the face O'Neill pulled. "Why? Because you came marching in, rescued three of his prisoners and messed up his camp. Figures." Carter nodded, the Colonel's body language confirming his conclusion. "Then what?"

O'Neill looked away, biting on his lip. Both his hands were folded to fists now.

"Then what, Jack? Another interrogation session? For the both of you?" Knowing from Fraiser that the Colonel had been present when Marc Crook was shot, Carter kept pushing, asking and guessing for details. "Did he dislocate your shoulder then?"

O'Neill slightly shook his head.

"No? That was already done?" Carter went on; noticing the brief glance O'Neill threw at the elbow secured with the external fixation device. "Okay, so he did that. What did he do to Marc Crook?"

O'Neill closed his eyes.

"Come on, I doubt it that this man treated Marc Crook any better than he treated you. What happened?"

"He played around with Marc's already broken ribs, okay?" O'Neill snapped in sudden anger, as he briefly looked at the General, his eyes filled with rage, before turning his head again. Another sigh followed and then O'Neill lifted a trembling hand to run through his short grey hair.

The General closed his eyes in despair. Knowing he had to continue, he forced himself to steady his voice. "What happened next?"

Refusing to say more, Jack stared at the wall.

"Colonel?" Carter demanded sharply, after waiting for a while.

"We tried to bust out..." O'Neill softly answered, his voice filled with emotion. "Didn't work, though..."

Impressed that the two men still had the spirit to fight back at that moment, Carter nodded. "That must have pissed the commander off even more, then." He studied O'Neill's features carefully, wondering how far he could push this man and whether it would be worth it in the end. His voice softening, he asked, "So?"

Surrendering, O'Neill fumbled with the sheets. "One bullet, three shots." He never looked up, and failed to explain the harsh words.

Carter frowned. "One bullet, three shots? What do you mean?"

"One bullet, three shots," repeated the Colonel solemnly. Then, unable to explain as his voice caught in his throat, Jack raised his hand, put one finger against his temple and closed his eyes.

"You mean he played Russian roulette? With you?"

Barely visible, O’Neill nodded his head.

"Holy Hannah," breathed Carter. His mind raced as he tried to guess what had happened. "He actually pulled the trigger?" He searched for answers by carefully watching how O'Neill reacted and thought to detect a slight shaking of the head. "He didn't? He made you do it yourself?"

This time no answer was forthcoming, although the shaking arms and the beads of sweat appearing on O'Neill's forehead told him everything he needed to know. Carter could only imagine what that must have been like, being forced to pull the trigger like that. He leaned back in his chair with half closed eyes, giving the other man time to regain his composure as well as needing it himself to deal with the new information.

After a while, O'Neill shifted and drew his knees up until he could lean his right arm on them and buried his head. His voice was harsh, soft and unsteady, as he told Carter the rest. "After three times, the commander was outraged. He grabbed the gun and fired it at Marc's temple..." Unable to continue, O'Neill continuously hit himself on the knee with his clenched fist.

Carter leaned forward and grabbed O'Neill's hand, forcing him to stop hammering. "Jack," he started, "I can't even imagine what it must have been like. I am so sorry." Carter searched for the right words. "There was nothing you could do about it, Jack. Nothing. That man wasn't planning to let you live either. You know that, don't you?"

O'Neill lifted his head and for the first time during this conversation he searched the General's face. His eyes were dark and anguished. "It doesn't make it easier."

Carter made a nodding gesture. "I know. It doesn't. But you've got to accept that there's nothing you could have done in this case, Jack. Go and ask yourself what would have happened if the bullet had been in the third chamber. You would have been dead and Bayfield would have rescued Marc. Or the commander would have killed Marc, too. What difference does it make? It didn't happen that way; and it would all have been horrible, so stop blaming yourself. There's no use."

O'Neill sat there, silently letting Carter's words sink in.

Carter's chin dropped to his chest as Sel'mac took over. The General's head was lifted again and his eyes searched those of O'Neill, while the Tok'ra spoke up. "There is no greater evil than the craving for total power. You cannot reason with a maniac blinded by his needs to dominate others. You cannot justify this insanity. For the sake of every living creature in the universe, however, we must keep fighting it. We cannot give up. Don't let the evil win, O'Neill. Don't take yourself down over the actions initiated by those who think they are Gods. If you do that, you give the devil fuel to survive. If you don't, you have achieved something. You have gained, maybe not enough, maybe you wanted more, but it was all you could get this time. Eventually the good will overcome the bad. You've got to believe that."

O'Neill stared at the General with the Tok'ra in control, but the head slowly dropped again and Carter was back, a weary smile forming on his lips.

The General gently placed a hand on O'Neill's shoulder as he rose to his feet. "Take your time, Jack. Get well and come back to us. There are lots of people who need you."

Although his voice was still rough from emotion, O'Neill nodded slowly. "Yes, Sir. Thank you."

With a final farewell General Carter walked out of the room, surprised to find Janet Fraiser standing there in the hallway. Motioning to her, he waited as she followed him and they stepped inside her office. "How long were you there?"

"Long enough," Fraiser shrugged. "I'm sorry but..."

Carter lifted one hand up. "You don't need to apologize to me, Doctor. He *is* your patient..."

"I'm surprised that you got all of that out of him," Fraiser started, still shaking in shock from what she'd learned listening to the conversation between the two men.

"You know, the worst thing for O'Neill is to drop this whole mess on his friends' shoulders, especially after what you all have been through to rescue him. He would prefer carrying the burden alone. From what I know of him, he won't be comfortable with talking to somebody he doesn't know either," Carter took in the affirmative nods of Fraiser. "I happen to be somewhere in the middle. Besides," he smiled now. "Jack still sees me as a General. And although you might think otherwise, he still has a hard time disobeying direct orders. So when I say talk, he has to talk..."

Frasier grinned, agreeing that General Carter had a point. The grin quickly faded, however, to be replaced by a concerned frown. "Will he get over this?"

Carter's eyes locked on hers. "In the end," he nodded confidently, and then turned to leave. "Give him time."

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

"I don't *want* to calm down! I don't want to lie down! I want to get out of here. Don't you get that?" O'Neill shouted agitatedly at the nurse. The Colonel was sitting on the edge of his bed, his face red from anger and he thumped his fist into the blankets.

"Please, Colonel," the nurse tried to reason again. "You can't just yet, Sir."

"Yes, I can, and I will." Determined, O'Neill jerked the IV-line loose, completely ignoring the fact that he tore the skin of his hand while doing so. Trying to move his still stiff and uncooperative arm forward, he got tangled in the IV-line that lay across the bed and angrily pulled hard on it until the whole pole fell to the ground. He then tried to stand up, swaying dangerously as his body struggled to get accustomed to a standing position after having been flat on his back for so long.

"Sir," startled, the nurse rushed forward to help, noticing O'Neill had a hard time staying upright.

O'Neill grabbed the nightstand for support, since that was closest within reach but it rolled away under his weight. Staggering, O'Neill cursed, meanwhile grabbing the bed frame and managed to stay on his feet. A solid kick against the nightstand rolled it further backward until it loudly crashed against the infirmary wall.

"What's going on in here?" Janet Fraiser entered the room, alerted by the noise. She looked around, taking in the fallen IV-stand, the nurse desperately shrugging at her and the very, very angry Colonel. Motioning with one hand toward the door, Janet quickly turned to the nurse. "I'll take it from here, Susan. It's okay."

Susan sighed in relief and headed for the door.

Janet now turned her attention to the Colonel. "What's wrong, Sir?" she asked gently.

"What's wrong? What's wrong?" he snapped. "Everything is wrong. I've had enough of it already and I want to go home. Now."

She eyed him in concern. O'Neill looked pale and fragile, yet stood there, determinedly, angrily glaring at her as if daring her to object. She was about to tell him the facts; that he was still in the early stages of his recovery, that the sutured wounds were only just healing and that he couldn't go home just yet.

She suddenly thought the better of it, though, as the words spoken by Colonel Bayfield echoed in the back of her mind: 'O'Neill is usually pretty good in telling what he needs. You just have to look for it...’

She had to find out what he needed and telling him things he didn't want to hear wasn't going to get her anywhere, so she tried a different approach. "Why?" she asked softly.

"Why?" The anger slowly eased as it was replaced by surprise. He obviously hadn't expected that question.

Janet stepped forward, bent and picked up the IV-stand to put it back in place. "Yes, why. I know you don't like being here, Sir. I know you also know that I won't keep you here any longer than absolutely necessary. What's so important now, then?"

O'Neill hesitated, then helplessly shrugged. "I just need to be alone for a while. It's..." he pulled a face at her. "No offence, Doc, but I can't even *sigh* out loud without somebody coming to check if I'm all right..."

She threw him a faint smile and moved to put the nightstand back into position, placing everything on top back in order. "We're worried about you, Sir."

"I know. And I appreciate it." He sighed and wearily brushed a hand through his short grey hair. "But..." Without finishing his sentence he dropped his head and stared at the floor.

Standing in front of O'Neill, she studied him closely, trying to understand what he was telling her. Come to think of it, he had been acting different all day, barking at everybody coming too close, even chasing his team out of his room. It seemed somehow very important that he had some time in private. Would it harm him if he spent one night outside the infirmary, she suddenly wondered. "*If* I let you go home temporarily, you'll come back tomorrow?"

He lifted his chin to face her, stunned at her question. "What?" he stammered. Taking in the serious expression of the woman in front of him, he shrugged. "Well, I'd rather not... but... yes."

She nodded, her decision made. She would risk it, letting him go home for one night. He could do without the IV fluids and the medication he needed was available in pills, so that shouldn't be a problem. She patted on the bed. "Sit down, Colonel."

He complied without losing eye contact with her, probably already tired from standing up.

"There's one condition, Sir," she spoke firmly. "Well, apart from the usual stuff like don't do anything your body isn't up to yet, no alcohol and all; but I'm sure you know that... I'm coming over to your house tonight to see how you're doing. If needed, you'll come back with me then. Otherwise, I want you back tomorrow before noon. How does that sound?"

His face lit up like a kid who had just opened up his Christmas present. "Deal, Doc," he said quickly, afraid she would change her mind.

Janet smiled. "I'll ask Daniel to give you a ride home, then, Sir."

Annoyed, O'Neill glanced at her. "I need to be *alone*, Doc," he objected.

Fraiser frowned then nodded in understanding. "Right. I'll have an airman drive you home, instead." She grabbed his hand, examining the damaged skin then rose to get some equipment. "Let's clean this up, then we'll get you in some proper clothes. And please, no sudden movements or you're going to pull some stitches loose."

He touched her wrist, hesitatingly. "Thanks, Janet..."

Smiling, she put a butterfly strip over the damaged skin. "You're welcome, Sir. Just take care of yourself, and call me if you need me. Promise?"

He nodded slowly. "Promise."

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Janet Fraiser pulled her car into O'Neill's driveway, parking it close to the front door. It was almost nine in the evening and she was extremely tired. With the Colonel gone, she'd been helping out Doctor Warner all day. She got out, noticing there were no lights on inside the house.

Having a pretty good idea where he would be she walked around the house and climbed up the ladder to the roof. Although it was already getting dark, the sky was clear and the stars and moon brought enough light on the roof to see. She found her patient sitting on the floor of the telescope platform, comfortably leaning with his back against the railing, his face lifted as he was glancing at the stars.

He looked down into her direction as she stepped onto the roof. Janet noticed that all tension and agitation from that afternoon had vanished and that his face now showed a peace nearing serenity. Whatever he'd been doing, it had helped him. Relieved that her decision appeared to be a good one, she approached him. "Hi, Colonel. How are you doing?"

"Fine," he watched her coming closer. "I needed this. The solitude. Thank you."

She knelt next to him to take his pulse and check the healing wounds at the back of his arms, using her flashlight for a better view. "You’re welcome," she said, pleased to find nothing amiss. "Have you taken your meds?"

"Yes," he acknowledged, slightly annoyed.

She smiled, knowing he hated it but glad he had followed all of her instructions.

"And what about you, Doc?" O'Neill suddenly demanded, eyeing her in concern. Even in the dim moonlight he noticed the paleness of her skin and the dark circles under her eyes. "When was the last time you had a good night's sleep?"

Janet shrugged. "I'm fine, Sir," she tried to wave him off.

"Uh!" He raised his finger. "Don't lie to me, Doc. You're not fine. You're exhausted, I can tell. Any problems sleeping?"

She glanced at him, realizing he knew her better than she thought. She sighed heavily and lifted her hand to brush the hair out of her face.

Jack grabbed her wrist with his free arm, completely ignoring the way the sudden movement pulled on some stitches at the back of his arm. "Janet?" His face filled with concern, he looked at her, questioningly.

She shrugged as a shiver ran up her spine. "I, I keep seeing him. When I close my eyes, he's there." Her voice trembled and suddenly Janet found herself unable to keep her emotions under control as tears started to well up in her eyes. "Nightmares, Sir. I'm sure you know all about it..."

He pulled her closer with a sad look in his eyes. "Come here," he said gently, laying his arm around her shoulders as she sat down next to him. He briefly hugged her. "I know. It's okay, Doc... "

"No, it's not," she cried out. "I killed him... I killed him..."

"Yes, you did," O'Neill responded calmly. "If you hadn't, I would have, or he would have killed us. There was no choice, Janet."

"I am a *doctor*!" Pressing one hand firmly over her face she sharply inhaled, tremors racking her body. "I am supposed to *help* people getting better. I'm supposed to *save* people's lives, not take them!"

O'Neill closed his eyes and swallowed, briefly wondering how he was going to deal with this. Pulling her closer, he rubbed her arm. "There's no way we can turn events around, Janet. It happened and now we just have to deal with it. Think of it as being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But always remember that he was the one who started it, he made the choice to do the things he did. You didn't. You had no choice at all. Don't go blaming yourself for being forced into a situation you never asked for, okay?"

The woman sobbed, finally giving in to a long repressed desire and need to break down and cry. During the whole rescue operation she hadn't allowed herself to give in to that. After returning to the SGC she had been occupied with patching up O'Neill, being there for him while completely ignoring her own needs. Now, after having slept for only a few hours a night since their return, she couldn't hold it back any longer. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she shook, gasping irregularly for breath.

O'Neill just held her, quietly stroking her hair. "That's it.... Let it all out, it's okay. Have you talked to anyone?"

She shook her head, her shoulders still shaking as she cried.

"Didn't think so," he murmured. "You'll be okay, Doc... It takes a while, but the nightmares will wear off. As soon as you've accepted that whatever happened, happened. That's the first step."

"Accepting?" she asked through her tears.

O'Neill blinked, staring at the stars. "Yes. You'll keep butting your head against a brick wall if you can't accept the facts, if you know what I mean..." The older man paused for a while. "Acceptance comes first, and believe me, that's the hardest part. It's all downhill from there. You'll see..."

With one hand, Fraiser wiped the tears away to look him into the eye. "Are you sure?"

He nodded confidently. "Promise. I'm an expert in this, remember?"

She smiled wearily through her tears.

With his thumb he brushed her cheek, wiping away another tear that rolled down there. "You're going to be fine." Pulling her closer he hugged her again and she buried her head into his embrace.

O'Neill just sat there and continued gently rubbing the Doctor's back until the shaking stilled and her breathing eased into a more regular rhythm. Looking down, he realized she had fallen asleep, probably feeling safe for the first time since the day of the attack. He smiled sadly, partially glad that she was asleep at last, but hating it that there was nothing else he could do for her, not to mention that he hadn't been able to prevent this whole ordeal to begin with.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

She didn't know what roused her, but something forced her to wake up at once as she jerked her head up, opening her eyes to find nothing but darkness around her.

Where was she? Fraiser couldn't remember at first but then felt the arm around her shoulders that held her close, and the hand that softly rubbed her back.

"Hey," a familiar voice broke the silence.

Still dazed and confused Janet sat up straight, pulling herself loose from the comfortable embrace, her eyes, accustomed to the dark, now darting from the stairs she'd climbed on earlier that evening to the man that had held her in his arms, or one arm in this case, while she slept.

"Colonel..." she stumbled, suddenly embarrassed. Thankfully it was too dark for him to see the color of her cheeks as she felt them burning uncomfortably. "I think I fell asleep..."

"Nooooo..." he teased her, slowly stretching and bending his arm as his muscles had stiffened from all but carrying Fraiser's weight while she resteed against his chest.

Janet rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands and then let her fingers run through her hair. She glanced at her watch, pressing the little pin to enlighten the plate. "Four in the morning!" she choked. "Heavens, I've slept..."

"Like a baby, Doc," O'Neill grinned.

"Oh, my God," she breathed, shaking her head in disbelief. Watching him flex his legs with a grimace he couldn't hide, she quickly leaned forward. "You, Sir?" she queried, gently placing the back of her hand against his brow. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," O'Neill answered simply.

His face was calm, his skin cool under her touch and she felt him shiver from the cold. Janet moved her hand to take his pulse. "Have you slept, too?" she demanded.

He shook his head.

"Let's get you inside, Colonel," Janet decided. "You're too cold and you need to rest."

"Actually, I need to take a leak," he said, grabbing her outstretched hand and then scrambled to his feet.

"That, too," Janet chuckled and followed him, climbing down the stairs to get inside the house. She was surprised how he carefully and slowly climbed down, managing with only one functional arm but then she realized he'd had a lot of practice in the past. While he used the bathroom, she went into the kitchen to boil some water. Five minutes later she walked over to the Colonel's bedroom, two cups of hot steaming tea in her hands. "Here's something to get warm, Sir," she announced.

He sat on the edge of the bed, motionless, sadly staring at something he was holding in his hand.

She stepped closer, frowning. "Colonel?"

He looked up. His eyes were dark and distant but he quickly shook it off and placed the piece of paper on the bedside table, smiling wearily at her. "Thanks, Doc..." he dropped his head. "For everything..."

She approached him, worrying. "You're welcome, Sir," she said. "I need to check your stitches; can you lay down for me?"

He did, after letting her help him undress, which was still difficult to manage alone with one arm trapped in an external fixation device and stitches in both of them. Carefully he maneuvered himslef, placing the arm with the metal construction on a pillow, until he was on his stomach, allowing her to check the back of his thighs.

She was pleased to find the wounds steadily healing. The swelling was slowly ebbing away and the dark purple stains now had faded into lighter colored patches. The stitches were holding well and could be removed within a couple of days, she guessed. Satisfied, Fraiser wrapped the bandages back around the healing areas. "Everything is still healing nicely, Sir. Let's get you under the blankets."

He carefully turned around and then, with clenched teeth, slowly moved into a sitting position until his back was leaning against the bed frame.

Fraiser pulled the blankets over his legs before turning her attention to the back of his free arm. "I'll have to pull these closer tomorrow," she sighed, realizing her presence on the roof that night must have had something to do with the stitches not holding like they should have. "Otherwise, it's looking fine, too. Try to keep that arm from moving too abruptly, Colonel." She handed him his tea.

"Are you staying?" he asked.

Fraiser sat on the foot of the bed, holding her cup in one hand. She nodded, slowly sipping the hot tea. "No point in going home now. Cassie’s staying with a friend, so I might as well catch some more sleep on the couch."

He finished his tea, tiredly placing the empty cup aside before cautiously crawling under the blankets. His eyes were slowly closing as sleep threatened to overwhelm him. With a faint nod of his head he motioned to the paper on the bedside table. "I want you to read that," he said wearily.

Frowning, Janet picked the piece of paper up. "What is it, Sir?" she asked in surprise.

"A letter. From Marc," O'Neill mumbled. "Bayfield brought it to me this morning..."

Fraiser stared at the Colonel, waiting for more but nothing came as she watched his breathing slowing down, his eyes completely closed now until he was sound asleep.

Certain that her patient was all right, she tucked him in before switching off the light. Walking slowly to the living room, she folded the paper open, her eyes scanning the handwritten text. It started with 'Dear Jack'.

Sighing deeply, Janet sank down into the cushions on the couch, pulled her knees up until she was comfortable and started to read.

            Dear Jack,

You didn't expect a letter from me, did you? Well, buddy, it is from me, and you receiving this means I'm dead. Damn. Did I die before you? How did I manage that, huh? Must have screwed up, then.

Crap.

            Are you surprised that I've chosen you to write my final words to? Nah. When you think back at everything we've done together, everything we've been through, but most of all, everything we've meant to each other, you'll know why, Jack. Don't you?

            I can almost picture you, sitting there, shaking your head in disbelief. Marc dead? No way. Impossible. Not Marc, not if you could help it. Right, Jack? Because that's who you are and what you've always meant to me. Being there, doing everything possible to keep me safe, and sane, too. You made a difference, Jack. A difference for me as well as for my family. That's why I write to you, you know. You are the only one I trust enough to look after Laura and Trish. Although I hate dying, at least I'm sure that they're going to be all right. That's a relief for me, because leaving them behind sucks the most of the whole dying part.

            I'm sorry, Jack. I'm sorry for a lot of things, but most of all for leaving you behind in Iraq. Although I just recently died for real, I can honestly tell you that I already died inside after our return from that fateful mission. That was the most terrible day of my life, losing you, but it got worse, so much worse, after we've been informed that you were still alive, there, slowly dying in that hell.

            I know you never blamed me. But I did. I never stopped blaming myself, Jack. Ever. The what-if’s and should-have's have been messing with my mind since that very day. I couldn't make that difference to you; I couldn't be there for you, right there, right when you needed me most.

            I'm sorry about your kid, too, Jack. I have never dared talking to you about it, knowing you weren't ready, but now you just have to listen to me, okay? Listen to me carefully. Charlie was a good kid. He had the best dad in the world. Sure, you weren't there all the times he needed you. Sure, you have these stupid ideals about what makes a perfect dad. The media shows us, we look at each other, thinking the other is doing a better job... Nonsense, Jack. I'm a dad, too, and believe me: you did great. You've spent more precious time with Charlie than many dads with a regular office-job I know. Remember, it's the quality of attention that counts, not the quantity. And God knows you gave that kid the best. I know you did. So stop blaming yourself, stop beating yourself up over something you can't change. Charlie wouldn't have wanted you to.

            I'm sorry about this dying-bit, too. To be honest, I'm scared to death of dying alone. It's part of that unwritten rule of ours, to never leave one behind: I guess we're all afraid of dying alone. Now, having my own team, I know that it's a great responsibility to carry. I've watched you, learned from you, and have been trying to live up to you and your high standards, hoping I could make a difference, too, to my team. It also means that while keeping them safe, I've got a bigger chance of dying alone myself.

Double crap.

            I hope that, whatever happened, my team got out safe. I hope they don't blame themselves. I'm sure everybody did everything within their power. I just wish... silly, huh? I just wish you could have been there. Dying would have been a whole lot easier. But I'm being selfish. I should be glad you weren't there. Knowing you, you would blame yourself over my death, forever, as well, and you really don't need another burden like that in your life. Not now, now that you've got everything back under control.

            Enough rambling from me. One final apology and I won't bother you anymore. I'm sorry to drop this whole load of shit on your shoulders. I know you. I know you're going to have a rough time dealing with losing another friend. But, Jack, know that I did it because I respect you more than I've ever respected anybody. Not to mention that you're the most stubborn SOB I've ever known. So if anybody can get through this, it is you.

            Be safe, Jack. I'm confident that Laura and Trish will be in the best hands I could wish for beside my own. Thanks. I owe you,

                        Marc.

Janet dropped the letter to the floor, tears rolling over her cheeks for the second time that night. She sobbed, quietly, one hand in front of her mouth, not wanting to wake the sleeping man in the bedroom.

Bayfield had brought it to him in the morning, he'd said. No wonder he'd been agitated all day, no wonder he'd needed to be alone. Knowing O'Neill, Janet realized he must have had a hard time controlling his emotions being locked up in the infirmary, unable to give in to the disastrous feelings with an audience.

Slowly, Janet regained control over her breathing as the trembling stilled and the tears dried. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand she bent forward to pick up the fallen letter, folding it neatly before placing it on the table.

She looked at it, wondering why the Colonel had asked her to read it. This was so private, so personal, opening up so many deep wounds; yet he'd let her in. God, he trusted her. This man, who trusted no-one but his team and a few select others. It had been plain luck that she'd allowed him to go home that afternoon. She didn't know why she'd done it in the first place, had it been gut feeling? Or had it been trust? Trust in him? Knowing he realized what he'd been asking, but wouldn't have unless he had an absolutely good reason?

Probably the latter, Janet realized now. She'd trusted him and he'd returned the favor by letting her in into the reason why he needed to be away, alone, by himself. Now she just had to figure out what to do with it. How to continue helping him. What had he said to her? Accepting, that was the first step. Here she was, the doctor, and he had been helping her instead of the other way around.

If he could do it, so could she, she told herself. She was no good to him when she was unable to deal with her own demons. The Colonel was right. Things happened the way they happened and there was nothing she could do about it anymore. She just had to accept that.

Janet lay back on the couch, pulled a blanket over herself and closed her eyes, confident that she would be able to sleep without bad dreams this time.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

It was nearly noon before she heard some commotion coming from the bedroom, telling her the Colonel was awake. She'd already prepared his breakfast and carried it inside. "Morning, Colonel," Janet said cheerfully, placing the plate on the bed, rushing forward to assist him in sitting up.

O'Neill blinked a couple of times, then rubbed his eyes. "Morning. What time is it?"

"Ten to twelve, Sir. I'm glad you slept well," Fraiser informed him all while taking his pulse.

He stared at her. "You look better, Doc. Slept some more?"

"I did, as a matter of fact. Are you hungry?"

Nodding, he accepted the plate Fraiser handed him and started eating.

Fraiser pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down. "I've read the letter from Major Crook, Colonel. Thank you. I can now understand why you needed to be alone."

"Mmm," he said, briefly looking at her before lowering his eyes again. He took another bite of bread.

"I..." Fraiser hesitated. "I also overheard your conversation with General Carter..."

"I know," he nodded.

Fraiser looked up, stunned. "You know?"

"Of course, I know," he said, a little bit irritated. "What did you think, that I didn't hear you? I'm supposed to hear somebody approaching me, Doc."

Embarrassed, Fraiser sighed. She should have realized that. "I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you, but..."

"It's okay." All irritation gone, his voice was softer now.

She stared at him.

"Actually, I was glad you overheard us," O'Neill explained. "Now I don't have to tell it again..."

"Oh," Fraiser said, understanding. "I was wondering, Sir...” She hesitated, staring down at the blankets, wondering if she could ask him this now. She looked up and searched his eyes. “What was going through your mind when you had to pull the trigger?"

He dropped his bread, staring at the wall. One hand clenched to a fist and he bit on his lip. "I..." He fell silent, his hands trembling as he continued staring at the wall.

Fraiser didn't break the silence, but waited patiently, carefully examining his face.

"I gave up, Doc. I wanted to die..." O'Neill finally said so soft that she barely heard him.

Lifting her brows in surprise she tried to think of what he'd said. "Knowing you, that's hard to believe, Sir."

"I wanted to die," he repeated, his voice rough from emotion. "I was hoping to be reunited with my son... I gave up, just like that..."

Studying him closely, she tried to comprehend what he'd been through. "You didn't give up Sir. You think you did, but you didn't." Taking in the way he glanced at her, she tried to explain. "Colonel, you are trained to deal with almost every situation. The fact that you accepted the possibility that you might not get out of this one alive has nothing to do with giving up in my book. You knew the game you were forced to play, there was no way out and you realized that there was a pretty fair chance that you'd be killed. The fact you wanted to be with Charlie was just to make the acceptance easier, don't you see? It's only logical that you found something positive for yourself, something to cling onto..."

He silently thought it over without dropping his eyes. "You think so?"

"I *know*..." Janet said, gently patting his leg. "You are well trained, Sir. I think sometimes you tend to forget... It's what you do."

He still doubted. "It feels..." he started.

Fraiser firmly raised one finger and waved it in front of his face. "Uh! You did *not* give up. You'd keep butting your head against a brick wall if you can't accept that, Sir."

That brought a smile on his face. "Yes, ma'am."

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

It was a sober morning, the sky looking depressingly grey because of the soft rain pouring down. The chapel where the memorial service for Major Marc Crook was being held was overloaded with people. In front of the altar, they'd placed a casket, containing one of Marc's military outfits and some personnel belongings. The American flag was draped over it and on top of it stood a simple bouquet of white lilies.

The closest family members of Marc Crook and his wife occupied the front row in the church, Laura and her daughter Trish seated in the middle. The girl was sobbing uncontrollably with her mother holding her close, one arm draped around Trish's shoulders, offering comfort. Although Laura desperately tried to regain control over herself, tears continuously rolled down her cheeks, tremors shaking her body as she sucked in air between the sobbing.

Colonel Bayfield, the members of Crook's team and other colleagues from Special Forces were seated on the left side behind the family and personnel friends. A small delegation of the SGC was located on the right. Besides SG-1, General Hammond and Dr. Fraiser also attended the memorial.

After the Homily and the prayers the chaplain signaled Colonel Bayfield, who rose and walked up to the front. "Every day, I have to send my people on dangerous missions throughout the world. It's what we do, it's what we chose to be and it's what we're trained for. We do this to protect the most valuable possession of this country. Freedom. Every day we face the possibility that we might not come back alive, and pray that we do. Sometimes, as in this case, our prayers just aren't enough. Major Marc Crook died out in the field. He died, doing his job, serving his country. Now all there is left for us is to pray for his soul."

The first sounds of the hymn Amazing Grace started and soon everybody was softly joining in on the song, humming along with the slow melody. The song ebbed away, and Colonel Bayfield unfolded a piece of paper.

"Major Crook was one who never failed to look at the bright side. His thoughts were always positive and his spirit will forever live on in our unit. In is memory, I'd like to read a poem to you. It's a poem, by Mrs. Lyman Hancock, called, When I’m gone....

When I come to the end of my journey
And I travel my last weary mile,
Just forget if you can, that I ever frowned
and remember only the smile.

Forget unkind words I have spoken;
Remember some good I have done.
Forget that I ever had heartache
And remember I've had loads of fun.
Forget that I've stumbled and blundered
And sometimes fell by the way.
Remember I have fought some hard battles
And won, ere the close of the day.

Then forget to grieve for my going,
I would not have you sad for a day,
But in summer just gather some flowers
And remember the place where I lay,

And come in the shade of evening
When the sun paints the sky in the west
Stand for a few moments beside me
And remember only my best.”

Colonel Bayfield stepped back while the crowd brushed away a tear or two. Then, the recessional song was played and everybody stood, military personnel saluting and civilians holding their right hand across their heart as the pallbearers carried the casket outside. The chaplain directed everybody slowly out of the chapel, to the gravesite, for the interment.

As soon as everybody had found a spot around the grave, Colonel O'Neill, still moving stiffly, stepped forward. He stood straight, fiercely, swallowed a couple of times, then briefly searched the eyes of Laura before locking his gaze on the casket.

"Dear Marc," he started. "You and I have gone a long way back. We've worked together, pulled each other out of trouble on more than one occasion. You were there to save my sorry ass in South America. I got you out from that stinkin' Asian prison. We returned from a trip to paradise after two weeks when nobody believed we were still alive... remember that? We've managed to pull off the impossible, as if luck was on our side forever. We counted on each other, relied on each other with our lives. We lived by an unspoken code, a silent promise. We would never leave anyone behind, no matter what. It was the only certainty we had."

O'Neill paused to catch his breath, then continued. "So when Colonel Bayfield came to me with the news that you were in trouble, I didn't hesitate. I went after you, my friend, to keep that promise... But luck ran out on us. And although I wasn’t able to save you, I'm glad I could at least get your team out, something that I know was very important to you. I couldn't give you your life, I couldn't even bring you back to your family and I'm sorry for that. My only consolation is that you didn't die alone. Although I should have known, I never realized that that was one of your biggest fears, Marc, to die alone. So if that was the only thing I could give you out there, then so be it. You didn't die alone, buddy. And by God, giving you that much was worth everything. We played the game and we lost, but at the same time we won. You did great out there, my friend.  Now go on and rest in peace. No regrets, no IOUs. You are and will always be...  my friend..."

By then O'Neill's voice was trembling, so he gave a slight nod to the chaplain to indicate that he was finished. Slowly, O'Neill stepped back in line, completely unaware of the tears his speech had caused many people. The seven riflemen fired their salute before the bugler played Taps and the honor guard folded the flag. The chaplain handed it to a sobbing Laura, and then at last, everybody gave her their condolences before returning to their cars and homes.

/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\

Major Carter looked around, nodding at Teal'c, standing vigil at the campsite, watching as Daniel made preparations to start their meal. She threw a quick glance in the direction of her Commanding Officer. Colonel O'Neill tiredly sank to the ground, drawing his knees up, and wrapped his arms around them, staring absentmindedly at the fire.

"We're all set for spending the night here, Sir," Carter reported.

Startled, O'Neill lifted his head to look at her. "Good, Major."

SG-1 had set up camp to spend their first night on PX4-375, a planet with two suns and that, according to the observations made by the MALP, never knew darkness. Daniel had lit the fire, not only to heat dinner, but to provide them with additional warmth during the night as well. Nights weren't dark, they had discovered, but they would be cold.

It was the team's first mission after the rescue operation in Tyberia nearly two months ago. The determination and devotion the Colonel had shown during therapy and work outs to regain his strength had contributed a great deal to his recovery and he'd recently been declared fit for active duty by Doctor Fraiser. General Hammond had sent them on a routine exploration mission to get them into the swing of things.

The hike from the Stargate to their current location had been long, rough and difficult, and Carter had secretly kept a close eye on the Colonel. She was pleased to see that he'd managed well during the day. Now, he just sat there, quietly, which worried Sam. "Are you all right, Sir?"

"I'm fine, Major. Thank you. Just tired, I guess."

"It was a long hike, Sir," the Major offered.

"Yes, it was," he agreed, reaching to take the proffered plate from Daniel. "I'm starving... Let's eat."

They all sat down, eating their meal, while Sam and Daniel discussed the structures they'd seen during their hike across the planet. They were almost done when Carter glanced at her CO again. He hadn't finished his meal, but, with the plate resting on his knees, was picking at it with his fork, while he drew lines in the sand next to him with his other hand. Carter frowned, then exchanged looks of wonder with her other teammates.

"Jack?" Daniel inquired.

"Hmmm," O'Neill shook his head wearily to look up at the linguist. "What?"

"Are you sure you are all right? You look so distant," Daniel asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Jack replied, sounding a bit annoyed. "Stop worrying, okay? I'm fine... It's just that I realized how good it feels to be back..."

"We're glad to have you back, Sir," Carter responded.

O'Neill placed his plate on the ground, looked around at each of his team members separately, and then stared at his hands. "I..." he hesitated, "...I guess I've never actually thanked you guys for coming after me..."

"You are welcome, O'Neill," Teal'c said.

"You would have done the same for us," Daniel reasoned.

O'Neill still didn't look up. "I know it must have been hard on you guys as well. You did good out there. I know you were worried. And I'm sorry... for being a bit... difficult... lately..."

"It's okay, Sir. We understand," Carter reassured him.

O'Neill dug up a handful of sand and let it softly flow through his fingers, repeating the procedure over and over. "It's just that talking about what happened is hard for me, okay?"

"We know that. And if you ever *do* want to talk, you know we're here for you, right?" Daniel said.

O'Neill nodded, then, in one fluid motion, slipped out of his shirt.

Carter's eyes widened in surprise. Teal'c lifted his brows.

"Err... Jack?" asked Daniel.

Moving slowly, Jack pointed at the still reddish marks at the back of his now bare arms. "See? It's all healed nicely. The scars won't go away anymore, but Doc has assured me that they will fade in time." He stopped to bend and stretch his arms a couple of times. "See? The remaining shrapnel is not bothering me in my movements. The elbow is still a bit stiff, but otherwise I'm fine. Really. And if you don't mind I won't drop my pants, but I can assure you that the scars at the back of my thighs look similar to this."

Teal'c frowned. Carter stifled a grin.

O'Neill lifted one finger at her. "No giggling, Major," he said, his eyes twinkling.

"I think we've seen enough," Daniel said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Hey, just wanted to show you guys that I'm all right. Although I've got some scars left, everything is healed. So you can all stop worrying about me. Besides..." O'Neill pulled a face. "I still look good, right?"

Daniel grinned. Teal'c wisely refrained from commenting.

Carter, preparing to pick up the empty plates to clean up before turning in for the night, chuckled. "Yes, you do, Sir," she said. She collected everything, rose to her feet and headed off, whispering to herself, "Better than ever, Sir... Better than ever."

Parts of this story take place in the Middle East. I deliberately chose a non-existent country and called it Tyberia. The idea came to me when my son was playing a computer game, Command and Conquer, Tiberian Sun. I have done some research to make this story look as realistic as possible (or had the research done: thank you, Sandra) so I hope I did a good job at describing. However, I'm no expert, better yet, I know nothing about mines and disarming them, hopefully I'll never be confronted by them at all, so any mistakes in this story are mine (the personal mine, not the AP-mine, LOL). There is a poem in this story somewhere. The poem is not mine. It’s written by Mrs. Lyman Hancock, and I found it on the net somewhere. It suited the situation well, that’s why I used it. Many, many thanks for my beta readers, who have stayed with me for a whole year with this story. That’s how long it took me to get this done. So I hope you’re going to enjoy it

© March 2002 The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp. The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.