Exhaustion and trepidation washed over O'Neill in waves as they entered a large wooded area. The group had walked all day, the men passing water skins among themselves, allowing Jack only enough to sooth his parched throat. The sun having descended an hour earlier, left the forest in complete darkness. Why couldn't they have reached the trees when the sun was trying to turn him into a french fry?

Anger burning through his veins, Jack jerked back as the bully yanked on the rope trying to pull him to his knees agains. The act of defiance earning him yet another driving fist to his stomach. It had been a cruel game the man seemed to enjoy. Knock O'Neill down...win a kewpie doll. His body ached, his head throbbing unbearably. He'd long ago lost the feelings in his hands. Hands streaked with blood from the ropes cutting into his wrists.

Gasping for air, Jack raised his head, his eyes searching the darkness as several soft whistles filled the night air. Ahead he could see the flickering of what appeared to be several fires, lighting the night. Evidently they'd reached their destination. He reluctantly climbed to his feet, stumbling along as the rope was jerked again, the harsh movement warning against any further disobediance on his part.

The village was made up of ramshackle huts scattered about a small clearing. Evidently the whistles had been a warning signal, for thirty or so natives had gathered to greet the returning band, each of them carrying a crude weapon.

The scene erupted into chaos as one of the men swung a heavy club catching Jack in the small of his back. The colonel struggled to keep his feet under him. As he was drug along the others used him for target practice, the spear tips piercing his flesh the clubs and rocks cracking ribs and bruising already tender flesh.

Pulling him forward, the man quickly untied his hands and just has quickly bound them behind his back before shoving O'Neill to the ground. With a disgusted look at the soldier, the man kicked him as he turned and entered the nearby shelter.

Coughing uncontrollably, Jack rolled onto his side, pulling his knees up to his chest. Forcing slow deep breaths, riding out the pain as best he could, the colonel coldly eyed the natives now standing motionless as if waiting for permission to move. Like his traveling companions, these men were all filthy, their skin covered with both open and scabbed over sores, with stringy hair and ragged clothes. The Touched had been in better condition than this crew. These guys made the Touched look like a church choir.

The natives suddenly scattered and Jack bit back another groan as a foot connected with his ribs. If possible, the man stooping in front of him was even larger than the one who'd dragged him half way across the planet. Once again, Jack was questioned in the gutteral language. Deciding keeping his mouth shut hadn't worked so far, Jack attempted to inform the asshole he couldn't understand a word they were saying. That action only served to earn him another hard blow to his face, causing the blood to gush from a gash on his cheek. With another punishing blow to Jack's midsection, the man issued orders to the men still standing around and disappeared into his hut.

*****

His tongue felt twice it's normal size and swallowing was becoming more difficult with each passing hour. Jack lay on his back, drifting in that grey area between consciousness and blessed relief. He was only vaguely aware his hands were bound, tied above his head to a scrawny tree which offered no protection from the blazing sun overhead.

The night had been interminable, the native assigned to guard him, kicked or prodded Jack each time the colonel began to drift off, but with the rising sun his nightmare had only intensified. Unable to give them the information, they sought, Jack had become the target of the leader's wrath, his pain a source of enjoyment for the tribe.

Twice O'Neill had been forced to run a gauntlet such as he'd only seen on old movies. With his hands tied behind his back, Jack had used his body, slamming his shoulders or head into the men lined up. He used anything he could to divert their weapons which were ready to tear into his flesh, or break his bones.

He'd survived. He would survive. His team would find him and then God help these bastards! That thought alone gave him the strength to continue his fight. "Please God let them get here soon." He prayed, a tear escaping from the corner of his eye, to silently slip past his temple nestling in the soft gray hair. "Please....someone come.....Please!"

*****

The excruciating pain ravaging his body, was shoved to the back of his mind the moment Daniel set eyes on Jack's seemingly lifeless body. His first and natural instinct was to rush to his friend's side, offering the comfort and help the battered O'Neill so desperately needed. He struggled with himself to suppress that instinct.

As it was all too often pointed out, Daniel wasn't military but in his years with SG-1, the other three had added a great deal of knowledge to the survival experience the young archaeologist had acquired working on digs around the world. They had each offered him the benefit of their expertise and training.

Now using that knowledge, he had found the encampment just before sunset, and with a certain amount of pride, slipped past the guards. Granted they weren't being particularly cautious, but it was still an accomplishment in his book.

Struggling he searched the archives of his pain befuddled brain, seeking the best way to handle their current predicament. He had to find a way to extricate Jack and get them both back to the gate....alive. He had to get his friend home where he could receive the medical attention he needed. But to save them both, he had to think like a soldier, act like a soldier. He had to get inside Jack's head.

Jack had rarely talked about his combat experience, and even more rare was a mention of the time he'd spent in Black Ops but the soldier had once said patience was the ultimate virtue in those assignments. Waiting, watching, gathering intelligence and using what was learned to form a viable plan. As much as he wanted to hurry to Jack's side, he knew he'd have a better chance at any rescue attempt after dark. With an impatient glance the sun which was still high in the sky, the younger man settled down in the bushes, his fatigues letting him blend into the shadows. Daniel stayed close to the huts where he could observe the natives and still keep a worried eye on his friend.

With no sense of time passing, Daniel's head jerked up as the sound of voices reached his ears. Oh God! He cast a quick glance at the sun which was slowly lowering. When had he dozed off? Guilt surged through the scientist. His friend had been tortured, could possibly be dying and he sat here sleeping.

"Why does Shaylar think that one has any knowledge? He came through the Circle of Punishment, just as we did!"

"Have you not learned it is unwise to question Shaylar?" The man glanced around nervously, checking to be sure they weren't heard. "They discovered him and another at the temple. Shaylar hopes to trade him to Maypel for our freedom."

Daniel felt as if he were going to vomit. They had taken his friend, beaten and abused him, all to make a deal with a dead Goa'uld! Shaking aside his disgust he continued to listen, a inkling of a plan beginning to form.

*****

Making sure the area was clear of natives, Daniel carefully pushed aside the scrawny bush which had been his cover. Keeping a sharp eye out for anyone who might still be wandering the camp, he quietly slipped into the shadows, making his way toward Jack, gratefully noting they had not posted a guard over the soldier.

Certain everyone was down for the night, freezing at every little sound and movement, it had taken the scientist well over two hours to work his way unnoticed around the camp to a position near the colonel. The sky was beginning to lighten and the sun would soon bring a new day and if Daniel's plan worked, it would also bring their freedom.

Slipping from cover, Daniel bellycrawled, the movement sending fresh shafts of agony through his back, to where Jack lay. Gently placing a hand over the colonel's mouth, cautious of the split, swollen lips, he was gratified to see Jack's eyes fly open in alarm and fear.

"Shhh.....easy Jack," His mouth near O'Neill's ear, Daniel's words were nothing more than an mere breath of a whisper. Removing his hand, Daniel placed the canteen to Jack's mouth, careful to allow only small sips. Not knowing how long the soldier had been without water, he didn't want to take a chance on making him sick.

"D-D-Danny....." The word was thick and slurred.

"Shhhh.....We'll be outta here soon Jack.....I promise.....Just hang in there....." Giving the older man's hair a comforting stroke, Daniel replaced the canteen. "Jack....no matter what happens....just go along......Do you understand?.....Just follow my lead...." Feeling the colonel's slight nod, Daniel, praying the soldier's radio was still working, turned the volume up to full and slipped back into the brush, remaining as close to his friend as possible.