Milk Run

By BadgerGater

E-mail: [email protected]

Category: Action, adventure

Summary: O'Neill gets sent on a routine mission with a team of rookies

Season: Three, or there abouts

Pairings: None

Spoilers: None

Rating: G

Warnings: Not much, this time

Disclaimer: Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions; all the powers that be, not me; This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement intended. The story is the property of the author and may not be posted elsewhere without the author's consent.

Author’s note: Sometimes, I think we fanfic writers give the Colonel far too little credit for his leadership and military skills-- he is damn good at what he does, or he wouldn't be leading SG-1. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

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"General, you don't really mean this, do you, Sir?" asked an incredulous Jack O'Neill, staring across the briefing room table at his Commanding Officer.

"You heard me, Colonel."

"I heard you but I can't quite believe it, Sir. You want me to babysit? For crying out loud," he muttered disgustedly.

Hammond let a little of his own exasperation express itself. "Colonel O'Neill, taking a team of young men on their first trip through the Stargate is not babysitting. None of them are children."

"Yeah, right."

"Colonel, why do you have a problem with this?"

O'Neill threw his hands in the air. "Problem? Problem? Why should I have a problem with shepherding a band of children..."

"Colonel, they are *not* children."

"General, when it comes to gate travel and off-world missions, that's *exactly* what they are."

"We all have to learn sometime. You took Daniel Jackson."

"That was different."

"Oh really? How?"

O'Neill shook his head, turned away.

"Even you were a rookie once, Jack." Hammond tried to soothe his best team leader.

O'Neill turned back to his CO. "I was never that green. And my first trip through the Stargate was far from my first risky mission," he said. Realizing the growing frustration evident on Hammond's face, he hastily added, "Sir."

"Colonel O'Neill, assisting in assessing and selecting new team members and team leaders is part of your duties as Second in Command of this program."

"I didn't know that meant I had to personally hold their hands and wipe their noses on their first mission."

"Colonel, when you went on your first special ops mission, who went with you?"

"Ahh, that's not relevant, General."

"Oh, yes it is, Colonel. A senior officer, an experienced non-com, *someone* babysat you the first time, Colonel, and now it's your turn to return the favor." Hammond tried to calm his number one team leader by softening his voice. He knew O'Neill liked to bluster and voice his objections, but he was confident that the Colonel would give in when he realized it was inevitable. "Look, Jack, it's a simple mission. Just go to PXR-774, pick up some rock samples and come back. We've had a team on the planet once before, and they encountered nothing unusual. No natives, no dangerous wildlife. Pleasant weather. Scenic terrain. Think of it as a vacation. Maybe you can get some fishing in. Just check out the ability of these young airmen to handle off-world situations. Let them do the work, keep an eye on them and assess their skills. It's a milk run."

"There are no milk runs in this job, Sir."

Hammond frowned, the irritation showing on his face. "Now you're being melodramatic, Colonel."

"Sir..." O'Neill rolled his eyes.

Hammond's patience was rapidly disappearing, and the bantering tone left his voice. "Enough, Colonel. Your objections have been noted."

"And ignored," he muttered under his breath.

Okay, so calm and reasonable hadn't worked. Hammond put his best command tone into his voice. "That's enough, Colonel. You will take the assigned team to PXR-774."

"Yes, Sir, General." He said with exaggerated crispness. O'Neill picked up the folder listing the members assigned to his temporary team, and opened it. "Oh for crying out loud, Sir. Lt. Simmons?" Jack shook his head.

"He's been on the waiting list the longest, Colonel. He wants to go off world."

"Right. We all want things we shouldn't have."

"Jack, give the boy a chance. He's kept a cool head through some pretty wild events here in the gateroom."

"General, he's a computer geek, a baby-faced, wet behind the ears, scientist..." O'Neill uttered the final word with contempt.

"And Carter's a scientist and you once called Dr. Jackson a geek, I believe."

"Ahh, but a geek with potential, Sir."

"Simmons has potential, too, Colonel. Now, if you're done with your little tantrum, can we get down to business, Jack?"

"Yes, Sir." O'Neill turned the page to see the list of the other officers assigned to the mission. "And what about these other three?"

"All new to the SGC."

"Don't I get to take any of my own team?"

Hammond's patience had worn thin. "What, Colonel, you need them to babysit you?"

O'Neill glared at his CO. "No, Sir. I'd just like to be able to trust at least one of the people guarding my back."

"Your back shouldn't need guarding on this trip, Colonel. It's a milk run."

"Right. Heard that before. About a little recon of a radar installation to Iraq," the gray haired officer muttered under his breath.

"Colonel," Hammond's tone held warning, and O'Neill realized he'd pushed his superior about as far as he could go, even with the General's fatherly tolerance.

Resigning himself to the inevitable, the SG-1 team leader returned his gaze to the personnel folder atop the stack lying in front of him on the table. "So, who and what is a Lt. Arnesco?"

"A geologist with additional degrees in biochemistry and botany. SG-8 needs someone with a science background."

"Ah, huh." Picking up the second file, O'Neill questioend, "And Lt. Rodriguez?"

"He has two engineering degrees. He's been designing weapons as a liaison from the Pentagon to arms manufacturers. I expect he could be very good at adapting Goa'uld weapons and technology."

"And a fifth, General?"

"Woskowicz needs the experience, too, Jack. He's a good computer tech, and he'll benefit from some first hand experience. He's an expert on equipment like the MALP, UAV and GDO."

"Right. Another babbling scientist. Do any of them shave yet or can we just leave that piece of equipment out of the packs this trip, Sir?"

"Colonel..." Hammond shook his head. "Even you and I were young once."

"Never that young," Jack muttered under his breath, staring at the pictures. "Two scientists and a pair of computer geeks. Oy. Why me?"

"You have your assignment, Colonel," said the General, ending the meeting.

"Yes, Sir," said O'Neill, picking up the personnel folders and his mission orders and heading for his office to begin a long, long night of planning.

--------------

Good news and bad news, thought Lt. Graham Simmons. The good news, the spectacularly good news, was that he was actually, finally going to be going through the Stargate, something he'd been desperately wanting to do since the first moment he'd become aware of the existence of the giant alien artifact. And he was going with SG-1, the program's premiere team.

The bad news was that even though technically he was going off world with SG-1, only one-fourth of SG-1 was going, and that one-fourth didn't include Major Carter. Who it did include was Colonel O'Neill. Lt. Graham Simmons wasn't scared of the Colonel, no he was not. He was terrified, downright utterly completely through and through outright terrified. He'd endured the man's sarcasm, had heard his anger, and witnessed the man's obsession with doing things the right way which meant his way.

Graham Simmons admired and respected the SG-1 team leader, but he was scared to death of him, too.

--------------

At the best of times, which this most assuredly was not, Jack O'Neill did not like briefings.

This one was particularly awful, he thought sadly. He had to go over every single detail with his team of children, every little, tiny, teeny thing that was in their packs, from toothbrushes to toilet paper. How to balance a pack. How to put on their haz-mat gear. Didn't they teach anyone anything in basic anymore? Was he going to have to teach them to tie their shoes, too? Geez, hadn't any of these guys ever gone on a camping trip in their lives? He shook his head in despair.

Finally, he got to the weapons. "Any of you guys know what this is?" he asked, holding up his 9mm handgun. At least all of them had taken basic weapons training. Rodriguez knew his way around ordinance, and Simmons surprised the Colonel with his range scores. Arnesco and Wosko-who-sis, well, they were just plain hopeless. Scientists, Jack sighed with contempt.

"Okay kids, let's take a break. Meet back here at 1300 to go over the mission plan." They all just sat there looking at him. Oh, yeah, right. "Dismissed." They all saluted smartly, and left.

-------------------

Daniel grinned. "Finding them a bit difficult, are you?"

"Difficult? They're clueless." O'Neill rolled his eyes in despair.

"Like I was?"

The Colonel laughed. "Nah. Worse."

"Jack, you're always complaining that they send guys in here who don't know anything or come with a bucketful of bad habits. Look at it this way. You get to show them how to do it right. Teach them the O'Neill method of planetary exploration."

"Which is?"

Daniel's face turned suddenly serious. "Bring 'em back alive."

"My God, they're children."

"And you're great with children, Jack. Think of it as high school."

"I hated school."

"Sure, but now you're the teacher, not the student. You get to make the rules."

-------------

By this time, SG-1 Preschool, as O'Neill was starting to think of them, was getting about as fed up with the Colonel as he was with them.

"Does that guy ever let up?" asked Rodriquez.

"I don't think he knows how to smile," added Arnesco.

"I mean, I always heard he was a hardass, but geeesh," lamented Woskowicz.

Simmons smiled at his lunch companions. "Colonel O'Neill can be a bit intimidating."

"Intimidating? The man's a, a, a... dinosaur."

"He must be 45 years old, at least."

"That's as old as my father!"

"And what's a guy at his age doing leading a field unit? Shouldn't he be retired by now?"

"He was once, but General Hammond recalled him," said Simmons.

"There, see, I told you he was over the hill."

"His team is awfully good," added Graham, finding himself in the surprising role of defending the

Colonel and SG-1. "I've seen some of what they've done."

"Just 'cuz you've got a crush on that hot Major Carter."

Simmons blushed. "Guys, we better hurry. Wouldn't want to keep the Colonel waiting."

"Yeah, O'Neill will probably have us working on our coloring books if we're late," Arnesco said with a snicker.

-----------------------

The afternoon briefing didn't go much better, O'Neill thought wryly. He'd had to go over every step of mission procedure with them, detail what each one of them would be doing at every second.

He was shaking his head sadly as he dismissed them and they packed up their notebooks, covered with pages of detailed notes (notes! God, what were they thinking? Were they going to take their damn notes along to consult while walking? Tell the Goa'uld to hold on a second while they checked their notes for what to do when encountering hostile aliens? Kids!). And then he overheard them in the hall.

O'Neill couldn't make out which voice it was that said, "what is that guy thinking? All we're doing is going on a glorified camping trip."

"Yeah, about as dangerous as my own backyard," another of the young voices answered.

Furious, he stuck his head out into the hallway. "Arnesco, Rodriguez, Woskowicz, Simmons, get in here," Jack snapped in his best I'm-a-Colonel-and-you're-not voice.

They spun around, surprised, but trooped back into the briefing room.

Angry, ooh, he was angry. "Gentlemen, I do not make it a habit to listen to and be concerned about conversations I overhear in a hallway. But, lieutenants, I could not help overhearing and I do not like what I overheard just now..."

"Sir..." started Simmons.

The Colonel shut him up with a glare that could have turned water to stone. "What I heard out there concerns me greatly, airmen, because my butt is on the line as much as yours out there," O'Neill said, turning to wave at the Stargate in the room below him. "Any time any one of us steps through that alien device, we are risking our lives. It may seem routine, it may seem like your own backyard, but it is *not*."

"Sir," protested Arnesco, "there have already been teams on the planet and they encountered no one and nothing hostile."

"Right, Lieutenant, nothing hostile. At that time," O'Neill spat. "Just because things were fine and dandy last month or last week or two hours ago when the MALP showed us the scenery, doesn't mean they will stay that way. It's a big planet."

"We know that, Sir."

"Do you?" O'Neill did not like Rodriguez's condescending tone. He did not like their cavalier attitudes. He did not like any of these people and he did not like this whole mission. Shit.

Jack turned his back to them, heard them shuffling uneasily, and didn't know if his little tantrum would impress them at all. Gate travel was no damn picnic. Never had been, never would be. He'd seen too much out there, seen good men die....

Shaking his head, the Colonel turned back to his young crew. "Dismissed," he said finally. Three left. Wearily, Jack waved a hand at the young lieutenant who remained. "Simmons, I said dismissed."

"Colonel O'Neill, I believe you, Sir," Simmons said quietly, and headed out the door.

-----------------

Part Two

Colonel O'Neill was pacing and fuming. When he said 0900 he meant it, well actually everyone on SG-1 knew that it really meant 0855.

For the tenth time, he glanced at his watch. 0901 and the only member of his 'team' who was on hand was that baby-faced Simmons. The others were probably still trying to figure out how to lace their boots, O'Neill thought disgustedly.

Easy, Jack, easy, he told himself. This isn't SG-1, he reminded himself. These were kids, first timers, not his team. His team knew to be early, well, all of them except Daniel who had a tendency to come bouncing in at 0859. But he would be there, Jack could always count on him being there.

He didn't like going off world with these kids, and he threw a look of barely concealed resentment at General Hammond. He understood the rest of his team was busy, Daniel working to decipher the inscriptions on an important looking scroll they'd found on their last gate trip, and Teal'c was helping him. Carter was working on that naquada reactor thingy Merrin had helped her create, in anticipation of O'Neill's 'team' bringing back some ore that promised to hold naquada. Hammond could have let her come along, at least, Jack thought sullenly, but no, the General wanted him to babysit. O'Neill paced past his Commanding Officer and shot the man a dark look. "Children," he spat, under his breath, just loud enough for the General to hear.

Hammond, knowing his second was just letting off steam, ignored him.

Finally, the errant members of SG-K for kindergarten, as O'Neill was beginning to think of them, arrived. The Colonel's mood didn't brighten. Arnesco was barely able to walk straight, his pack was so out of balance. And Rodriquez wasn't much better. Woskowicz was still carrying his in his hands. Disgustedly, O'Neill turned to Hammond, "General, Sir, permission to delay our departure. I think we'd better stand down for an hour, Sir, while I straighten out this little parade."

"Okay, Colonel. One hour. Then your people better be ready to go."

-------------------

It took them every bit of that hour to repack backpacks, after O'Neill checked the contents of each, making Woskowicz leave behind his 15 lbs. of books, ordering Arnesco to carry more than one clip of ammo and advising Rodriquez to omit the camera. "No sightseeing, no pictures for the grandkids. Got it?"

O'Neill was in a foul mood by the time 1000 rolled around, when once again the chevrons locked for PXR-774.

"Okay, campers, ready now? Everyone? Now each of you, hold hands and look both ways before you cross the street. Got it?" Jack turned to Hammond, waving a hand in the direction of his young charges. "Push them through if they don't follow, will you, Sir?"

"Colonel, see you in four days. Have fun."

"Oh, I will Sir, I'm certain of that," said Jack, sarcasm dripping.

The Colonel stepped up onto the gate ramp and turned once more to check his four tag-alongs, "Everybody pack their airsickness bags?" he questioned without enthusiasm, and jumped into the wormhole. The four young airmen walked up to the shimmering event horizon, reaching out to touch it, but it was Simmons who stepped through first, the others following behind.

General Hammond watched the youngsters follow O'Neill into the wormhole, sighing as he did each time a team departed, knowing, no matter how simple the mission seemed, that he would worry every minute until they returned. He shouldn't of course. The Colonel would take care of those kids, there was never a doubt of that in his mind. Despite the complaints about the mission, George Hammond knew he'd sent this team of rookies out on their first mission in the best of hands. It was no accident Jack O'Neill was the SGC's number one team leader. He was the best at what he did. Those young lieutenants were about to get a real, first hand learning experience from the best teacher he could have found for them.

-----------------

O'Neill popped out of the wormhole onto PXR-774, into bright sunshine, stumbling on the rough stones at the base of the gate, moving quickly out of the way, eyes alert to his surroundings. In a few seconds he heard Simmons come through. Jack spared him a quick glance, seeing the young man catching his balance, noted the green color, but also saw that the kid was doing a credible job of fighting back the nausea and looking around him with a bit of wonder. Simmons caught his eye, tried to smile, and then doubled over to lose his breakfast.

Within minutes, the other three were through the gate and equally sick.

Jack gave them a couple of minutes to collect themselves. "You okay?" he asked each, reminding them to drink some water to ease the bitter taste and, most importantly, re-hydrate themselves.

"Okay, let's move," he said.

"Already?" asked Arnesco, still looking pale.

O'Neill already had him pegged as a whiner, and that was something the veteran officer despised. "Yes, already, airman. It's never a good idea to hang around by the gate. We do make a noisy entrance through that thing. It has a nasty tendency to attract anyone or anything around," he explained.

Reluctantly, they got up.

"Wosko-whatever, have you checked the DHD?"

"It's been used before. Looked fine on the MALP tape."

"Never trust *before*. Take a look, Lieutenant."

The blonde soldier walked over to the DHD, examined it, and nodded back at O'Neill.

"So, Arnesco, you're our designated rock expert. Which way to those delightful rocks we're here to pick up?"

The young man looked around a minute, then hesitantly pointed toward a row of large hills. "Uh, that way, I think, Sir."

"Okay, then, that way we go." O'Neill looked around, shaking his head. Simmons looked like the best bet. "Simmons, you take point, I'll be on the six. The rest of you, ahh, in the middle," he waved them into position. "Don't pick up anything. Don't touch anything. Don't wander off." God, why did he feel like he was traveling with four young Daniel Jacksons?

-----------

They walked for three hours, then took a break. While they drank from their canteens, snacked on ration bars and rested, O'Neill took the opportunity to check up on his charges' observational skills. "So Rodriguez, what did you see so far? Or not see?"

Rodriguez looked at him blankly. "Sir?"

"What did you see, Lieutenant? What didn't you see?"

"I don't get it, Sir. How do I know what I didn't see if I didn't see it?"

Cripes, he sounded like Daniel. "What things might you have expected to see that you didn't? Okay, let's do the easy stuff first. What things did you see?"

"Nothing..."

"Nothing? What are you walking on? What are you breathing? Look around you. What's that?" O'Neill cocked his head, pointed to a nearby hill.

"A hill, with trees or something like trees. And there's dirt and rocks. Grass. Sky. Ordinary stuff..."

"True. What else?" O'Neill waved a hand, looking around at the others. "Feel free to chime in, kids. Anytime."

"The sky color is a little different."

"Good observation, Simmons. Anything else?"

"The air smells different," that, surprisingly was Woskowicz.

"And..." the Colonel prompted.

"Insects, I saw something like a butterfly. And birds, over toward those trees," added Simmons.

"Good. What didn't you see?"

"No large animals, cattle, deer, elk..." Wosko said.

"No humans," Simmons reported.

"Any sign of humans?" O'Neill asked pointedly.

Head shakes, all around, no wait, not quite, one was sitting still, and thinking. "Simmons?"

"I saw what looked like a footprint, Sir, back there a ways."

"Good observation." O'Neill didn't miss the way the kid beamed under the praise. "But it's important to tell the rest of us when you see something like that. What kind of footprint?"

"Looked like one of ours, Colonel. Standard issue boot."

"Okay. Likely assumption, knowing SG-4 was here only a week ago. But assumptions can be deadly out here. Always, always speak up. Okay?" The Colonel looked around, hoping the lesson had made an impression on them. He wasn't too sure. They all just seemed to take everything in stride, way, way too casual, he thought, as they packed up and prepared to resume their march.

"Rodriguez!"

The man looked up at his team leader in surprise. "Sir?"

"Just as it's important to look for signs that others were here, it's equally important not to leave any obvious evidence of your own passage," he stated, pointing to the ration bar wrapper lying at the lieutenant's feet. "Pick up after yourself, son."

----------

What with their late start and the short day on PX-something, they made an early camp. Everyone managed to heat their own MREs, lay out their sleeping bags and settle in for the night. O'Neill decided to take both first watch and last, that way he could double up the others on the other watches. "Arnesco and Rodriquez, you're on watch after me. Three hours, then wake Simmons and Woskowicz. I'll pick up last watch as well. Got that?" He checked for a nod from each one.

---------

Part Three

The Colonel sat before the fire, sipping his coffee, listening to the night sounds. He could hear all four of them sleeping peacefully, like babes in the woods, Jack thought idly.

Truth be told, they were making him feel old. Such youth and innocence. God, he *was* old enough to be their father. When had that happened, Jack O'Neill getting old? Well, not old. He didn't feel old, usually. Felt the same as he did ten years ago. Could still outfight and outrun the bad guys, that was all he needed. Just a bit more experience to go with it, an advantage, really, getting older.

Yeah right. Who are you kidding, O'Neill?

Those kids were making the Colonel feel old, ancient, the way they looked at him, like he was as out of date as an Edsel. Hell, he snorted, they probably didn't even know what an Edsel was. Jack threw the dregs of his coffee on the fire, got up to stretch his legs, prowling around the fringes of the campsite, too restless to stay put. That's what you get for thinking, O'Neill.

The senior officer went back to sit beside the fire again, thinking about these boys. He'd been this young once, never this innocent, though. These kids had grown up in a whole different world, computers and space travel and the Internet and microwave ovens and satellite communications-- routine things, not modern wonders. Vietnam and Lebanon and Grenada, the Cold War and the Gulf War, were things they read about in the history books or watched on TV, not front page news they'd lived. He had more in common with Teal'c than he did with these children, Jack thought sadly.

Unconsciously, he rubbed his aching knee, one of those things that became a fact of life when you were his age, had been through the things he'd been through. There were days, and nights, when he ached in a lot of places, he thought.

O'Neill looked again at the peacefully sleeping young men. So much life ahead of them, so much to learn. He hoped things turned out better for them than they had for him, he thought.

Morbid tonight, O'Neill, aren't you, he mused?

Well, he checked his watch, then went to rouse Arnesco for his watch. "Lieutenant." O'Neill shook the young man's shoulder. Shit, the boy had let him walk right up to him, totally oblivious. Not good, not good at all. "Lieutenant," he said more loudly, but not wanting to wake the others, finally getting a groaning response.

"Wha--?" the youngster asked sleepily.

"It's your watch, Arnesco. Wake Rodriguez."

The kid, still sleep befuddled, rummaged around in his pack, then finally climbed to his feet. "Get yourself some coffee. Stay awake," O'Neill warned.

The Colonel slid into his own blankets, but didn't rest. His senses were on hyper-alert, not that there was anything in their surroundings that had him on edge. It was just that he didn't trust any of those damn kids to notice anything, even if they did manage to stay awake.

He tossed and turned throughout the night, finally rising at ten minutes before his next watch, feeling unrested and cranky. As if he hadn't been before, he thought.

Woskowicz was seated next to the fire, writing something in a notebook. Like Daniel, Jack thought with a small grin. Simmons was seated by the edge of the camp, away from the glare of the fire.

The kid was watching the Colonel from the minute he climbed out of his blanket, O'Neill noted appreciatively. Good. Maybe Hammond was right, maybe Simmons really did have potential.

"Good morning, Sir," the kid stammered. "Everything's been quiet, Colonel."

"Morning, ah, Graham." Who the heck would name their kid after a cracker, huh? Jack thought, stifling a chuckle. "Good choice, sitting out here. Better view. Fire doesn't blind you to the darkness."

"Thanks, Sir."

"Why don't you go get some rest, hm, son?"

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir," Simmons answered, beaming under O'Neill's approval.

Jack sat back against the tree, savoring his coffee, thinking. How many hundred nights had he done this, bivouacked in some strange place, far from home? He let his eyes drift around the campsite, while he watched.

Maybe Hammond was right, maybe he needed this. SG-1 had been together for so long, they'd become dependent on each other, too comfortable. It was surprising, really, that the Air Force had let them stay together so long, normally preferring not to let strong personal bonds form on front line units. But then again, this was not a normal posting, no ordinary assignment. Besides, even if he said so himself, they were damn good, SG-1. Three years together, saved the world a couple times, saved the base, brought back some technology, made a few friends out here in the universe.

O'Neill looked up at the night sky, searching for a familiar constellation. Found one that looked rather like Orion the Hunter, smaller than he'd expected, but... Even when planets looked so Earth-like, as most of them did, the sky was never the same.

The night remained quiet; the rising of an unnamed sun streaking the sky with light, and O'Neill rousted his 'team' for breakfast.

Just after dawn they broke camp and hiked on to the spot where SG-4 had picked up some rocks that contained traces of naquada. It was Arnesco's job to look for more of the precious metal while the others stood watch.

While the geologist/biochemist/botanist had seemed hopeless on the soldiering, O'Neill had to admit the kid seemed to know one rock from another. He set to work with an eager excitement that reminded him of Daniel, especially when the Colonel went to check on his progress.

"So, Arnesco, what did you find?"

"This is incredible stuff, Sir, I've never seen anything like it. Veins of naquada are shot all through this stone, Colonel, here and here," the youngster was almost drooling, thought O'Neill. Finally, he'd found something this one was good at. O'Neill tried hard to look interested, but all he could see was variations in the color of the stone.

"So, that means what, exactly?"

"There could be a very rich deposit of naquada here. If we could find the source of this rock, Colonel, I think a full blown mining operation might be in order, Sir."

"Good. How much more time do you need?" O'Neill wasn't eager to get off this planet, why, no, of course not. Not when he was having so much fun with the kiddies.

"Well, I'd like to check around up there, Sir," he suggested, pointing up the hillside. "It's possible these rocks came from higher up that slope and were washed down in the old stream bed. It would be helpful to check it out."

Well, at least it would be something to do, not just sit here and watch the grass grow. "So, we go rock hunting, kids. Cool."

They spent three days climbing on Naquada Hill, as they dubbed it, finding a few more stones with the precious metal, some at a higher elevation, which led Arnesco to surmise the mineral was indeed originating somewhere further up the hill.

At the end of the third day, O'Neill announced they'd head home in the morning. Each would carry a few extra pounds of naquada rocks in his pack. They'd start early in the morning.

--------------------

Of course, getting this dog and pony show on the road took longer than O'Neill anticipated. It was hours after sunrise by the time they were packed up and headed back toward the gate, leaving the Colonel once again in a not very happy frame of mind. They'd be late returning.

Really, really, late as it turned out.

They were still out of sight of the gate, in the thick trees but only about a mile away on the quiet world, when O'Neill heard something, something that sounded suspiciously like the gate opening. He checked his watch. Hmm. They weren't late yet. He'd set a pretty hard pace on the way back, so they'd made up some of the time they'd wasted that morning. Hammond wouldn't have sent out a search party already. His suspicions raised, O'Neill called the group to a halt.

"Okay, we don't know who or what might have just come through the gate, so we take all precautions. Everybody got your weapons loaded? Keep your eyes and ears open. I'll take point. Simmons, you're on the six. Pay attention. Anything looks or sounds odd, wave. Keep low and keep quiet, until we can get a good look."

"Why do you think it's not someone from Earth?" Rodriquez asked.

"Because there's no reason for it to *be* someone from Earth. Because I'm paranoid. And until I *know* it's someone from Earth, I don't make assumptions." He glared at them. "That's how I've lived long enough to earn this gray hair, got it?"

He signaled them forward, and they moved quietly for another two hundred yards. There was indeed something, or rather someone, by the gate. The Colonel used a hand signal to tell them to get down. Simmons went flat, as did Rodriguez, who pulled down Arnesco. Woskowicz wasn't watching.

"Down," O'Neill hissed, and the young man complied.

Jack switched his ever-present baseball cap to a brim to the rear position, pulled out his binoculars, and studied the scene around the Stargate. "Shit!"

"Sir?"

"Jaffa."

"What?"

"We've got company. There are six men around the gate. I can't make out their insignia, but they appear to be Jaffa."

"What are they doing here?" asked Woskowicz, sounding scared.

"Don't know. Yet. Maybe the same as us, looking for naquada."

"What are we going to do?" Arnesco sounded a bit shaky too.

"Don't know that yet, either," said the Colonel.

"Sir?"

"Give me a minute, Arnesco. Let's see what they do, huh?" O'Neill had the binoculars back up to his eyes. Even as O'Neill watched, the group in front of him began marching toward the forest, directly toward them, to be exact. The Colonel hurriedly slid the field glasses back into a pocket, turning his hat around to once again be brim forward. "Okay, we've got to get out of here." He saw Woskowicz digging in his pack. "Now's not the time to be looking for your books, kid." Then he realized the youngster was pulling out rocks. "Hey, no, take those."

"But, Sir, they're heavy."

"Right. But they also don't belong out here. Those guys will see those stones and know someone was here. If we're lucky, they won't realize anyone has been here, and they'll go on by. Then we can sneak back to the gate and be gone before they know we were here. Okay? Keep your cool." Easier said than done, O'Neill, especially for them. There was an edge of fear in the four pair of eyes that looked uneasily at him.

-------------

And, of course, it just couldn't be that easy.

O'Neill led his troops quietly away from the Stargate, moving at right angles to the clearing where the gate stood, staying far enough back in the woods to make use of all available cover. "Okay, you guys stay here. Do I need to warn you about keeping quiet and keeping down?" Headshakes all around. "Good. I need to go check and see where they are heading. Simmons, if I don't come back, you take everyone back through the gate. Got that?"

"But Colonel..."

"No buts, Lieutenant. Get everyone back through the gate if I'm not back in two hours."

"Yes, Sir."

O'Neill left them, jogging back the way they'd come, back to the spot where he'd seen the Jaffa head into the woods. After ten minutes of following their trail, he was satisfied all six were heading toward the hill where his team had previously searched for naquada. He needed to get these kids off the planet, quick, because once those Jaffa found that hill, they'd know someone had been there. Sure, Jack had made sure that they'd covered up everything, every trace of their presence. Except, of course, where they'd dug out the rocks. That would be obvious.

He trotted back toward the spot he'd left the children, eager to reach them, and walked right into disaster.

There hadn't been six Jaffa, there'd been seven. And the seventh was standing in the little clearing holding a staff weapon pointed at his troop of kids.

Shit.

Jack dropped to his knees behind a cluster of rocks, studying the situation before him. Listening with one ear as the Jaffa questioned the four lieutenants, O'Neill again used his field glasses to study the surrounding territory. No sign of any other warriors.

Turning back to the scene before him, the Colonel saw Rodriguez was on the ground in front of the warrior, looked like maybe the damn Jaffa had hit the kid. Woskowicz was also on the ground, holding his arm, his uniform sleeve appearing charred. O'Neill quickly assessed the situation, realizing he needed to quickly move around the clearing and get behind the Jaffa. He prayed there would be enough time to make the move before the warrior decided to inflict any further damage on the youngsters.

He could still hear the interrogation going on in the clearing, the Jaffa's angry commands, stumbling answers from one of his young charges. Just as Jack worked to get himself into position to make a move at the enemy warrior, he saw the Jaffa club Rodriguez with the staff weapon. The warrior then turned it on the others. Shit, he's going to kill them, thought O'Neill, racing out of the trees, MP-5 swinging upward into firing position.

The youngsters saw him and it showed in their faces, giving his approach away to the Jaffa. The warrior, a Horus guard, O'Neill thought grimly, began to turn toward him, raising the weapon.

"Hey, you. Hey!" Jack yelled. "Kree!" Turning his attention to the youngsters, "go," he hollered, waving at them. Out of the corner of his eye the Colonel saw them leap to their feet. He breathed a momentary sigh of relief before turning his full attention back to the Jaffa. The Horus guard was turning, missing a beat when he heard the single word of Goa'uld that Jack knew. But catching sight of the running human, the guard triggered his weapon. His blast missed the charging officer, but swiped across the clearing, felling a tree. Jack fired a burst from his weapon, and the alien warrior fell.

The four young Lieutenants were quickly on their feet, chattering in relief.

"Thank God you made it back, Sir," panted Arnesco.

"He was hiding there, in the trees," said Rodriguez, holding a hand against his face. He was going to have some nasty bruises from the blow he'd taken.

"Quiet!!" The order seemed to steady them, and O'Neill fixed his glare from one to another, locking eyes, demanding their attention and their obedience to their orders. "Look, we are *not* out of the woods yet. Those other guys will have heard these shots and be on their way back, and soon. We don't have time to talk. Now come on!"

"Look out---" one of the youngsters hollered.

O'Neill spun to see the Jaffa regaining his feet. Before the Colonel could get his gun back into position, the warrior was on him, a fist driving into Jack's ribs.

"Arggh," groaned O'Neill, knocked to his knees by the force of the blow. As he managed to bring his 9mm around, aiming and firing in one swift move, he heard more shots from behind him, and the Jaffa staggered, lurched and fell.

The Colonel took a deep breath, wincing at the sudden ache in his ribs, and pushed himself to his feet. Turning again to his young team, O'Neill noted Rodriguez holstering his weapon. The senior officer grinned at the young man, gave a nod of acknowledgement for the assist. "So, let's blow this pop stand shall we? We've got a wormhole to catch."

Dropping their packs, they all sprinted for the gate.

-------------------

They didn't make it.

The first blast out of the trees nearly took Arnesco's head off. It was just a lucky thing, probably so close it singed the young man's hair. He fell, rolling, yelping, and O'Neill grabbed him, aware there would not be enough time to dial the gate and wait for the iris code to be acknowledged. "Back into the trees!" he ordered, squeezing off a clip through his automatic weapon as they turned back into the forest. The SG-K ran for their lives, sprinting through the tangled woods. The Jaffa were firing at them again and they dodged, running zig zag patterns. O'Neill stopped, emptying another clip, reloading, then ran. A shot hit a tree just inches from his head, and he ducked, losing his balance, going down, getting up, limping, his ankle hurting, but he ran on.

The humans raced through the trees, Rodriguez and Arnesco quickly outdistancing Woskowicz and Simmons who was hanging back to help the slower man.

"Hold up," O'Neill ordered finally, pausing, bending over, hands on knees to catch his breath, hoping to dull the ache in his ribs. The front runners stopped reluctantly. "We need to stay together."

"But...."

"But nothing. We stay together. We are a team, and we help each other. No one gets left behind," stated O'Neill, eyes flashing. "Understand? No one gets left behind." The Colonel was gasping for breath, no more so than the others, though they were half his age. After catching their wind for a few moments, O'Neill made a decision.

God, he wished he had his own team here. The odds would be even with SG-1 at full strength, a more than even match, his four-person team against six Jaffa. But he had four kids, who between them didn't make the equal of one full-fledged member of his regular team. Besides, they were more hindrance than help, four bodies he had to guard and protect. So the odds were really six to one in favor of the Jaffa.

Hole up. Find a place to re-group, check on Woskowicz, catch their breath, and formulate a plan.

They walked, carefully now, hiding their path, Jack bringing up the rear, using every wilderness skill he'd honed during his years in the service and polished on three years of off-world missions.

The Colonel pushed himself on, ignoring his ankle, putting aside the injury. No time for that now, no option but to get these kids to safety. He limped on for an hour before he called another halt. It was getting dark when he found a spot he felt would shelter them, a place tucked in among a jumble of large boulders. "We'll camp here. No fire."

They all sank to the ground, exhausted.

"How are you," Jack had to think hard to come up with Woskowicz's first name, what was it? Yeah, " Jeremy? You okay?"

The young man was shaking. One sleeve of his jacket was burned, the flesh under it scorched. Arnesco had pulled out the first aid kit and was daubing disinfectant on the wound. "Good work, son." O'Neill patted Wosko's shoulder. "You'll be okay."

"Colonel?" asked Arnesco quietly, looking up at O'Neill. "What are we going to do?"

"We're going to rest, then find a way to distract the Jaffa and go back through the gate. We'll be fine," he reassured them. "Simmons, you've got first watch. Get up there," he pointed to the hill above their hiding place, "You should be able to see quite a distance from up there. Whistle if you see or hear anything."

"Yes, Sir," the youngster answered. He looked scared, O'Neill thought, but steadier than the others.

O'Neill finally let himself give in to his own exhaustion, sitting down on a rock, savoring a long drink from his canteen. They'd lost almost all their supplies, only O'Neill and Simmons had still had their packs after that mad dash through the woods. That meant a shortage of food, blankets, and ammo. Shit. The Colonel stretched out his leg, grimacing as he tried to flex his ankle, biting back a groan. Now that they'd stopped and his adrenaline had quit flowing, he couldn't ignore the pain any longer. He could feel the ankle swollen tightly inside his boot, throbbing with every heartbeat. Damn. That run on it hadn't helped at all, and he'd be lucky if he could do more than hobble on it tomorrow. Add in the ache in his ribs, one cracked maybe, he thought, and he knew his effectiveness was seriously compromised.

Absorbed in trying to come up with a plan, O'Neill was surprised to see Arnesco suddenly in front of him. "Colonel, want me to take a look at your leg, Sir?"

"Ah, it's fine, Lieutenant."

"Colonel, with all due respect, Sir, I can see that's not the case. I've had some extensive first aid training. Let me take a look."

"Nothing you can do for this out here, kid," O'Neill told him tiredly, "but go ahead."

Gently, Arnesco unlaced the Colonel's boot. O'Neill hissed in pain as the younger man pulled the boot off the heavily swollen foot. "Sir, this is sprained if not broken."

"Not broken." Arnesco gave him an inquiring look. O'Neill grinned grimly. "I've had enough broken bones to know the difference, Lieutenant. Just sprained."

"There's nothing 'just' about a sprain, Colonel. You'll be lucky to walk on this tomorrow."

Jack shook his head, not wanting to let the kids know how bad it really was. "I've had worse," yeah, but not when on the run from a couple of oversized mail clad warriors. "Look, just wrap it up, okay." Jack bit his lip to hold in the pain as Arnesco did a surprisingly gentle and effective job of wrapping the limb. The Colonel's boot would barely fit back over the swollen joint.

"Rest and keep it propped up, Sir," said the young Lieutenant, handing O'Neill two painkillers.

Jack set the watches for the night, laid down with his leg carefully propped up, and surruptitiously added two more painkillers to the pair he'd already dry swallowed. He slept very little, his mind churning over the possibilities and options. The immediate need was to elude the pursuing Jaffa. What they ultimately needed was access to the Stargate and time enough to dial and send the iris code. The trick was to find a way to get it.

When Rodriguez woke him for his watch, O'Neill could barely put any weight on the ankle, and it was swollen tightly inside his boot. No way he'd get that footwear off and back on now, he thought grimly, as he hobbled up to take the watch from Rodriguez.

It was a long, uncomfortable night, with no food, no fire, and only two blankets shared amongst them.

The Colonel spent most of his watch thinking, trying to formulate a plan. In the end, as dawn streaked the sky, the only idea he had was one he'd started with and rejected. He was going to have to take a desperate chance in order to ensure these kids got home safely.

Gathering his bedraggled group together in the dim light of dawn, he laid out his plan. "I am going to create a diversion and lead the Jaffa away from the gate." Looking directly at Simmons, he added, "you will wait, make sure that all of them come after me, and then get your teammates through the gate. Got that, Lieutenant?"

"But Sir, you're--"

"I'm your Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Simmons, and you will follow my orders, airman. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

O'Neill looked hard at the young gate technician. "Simmons, I am counting on you to get these people home safely."

"But what about you, Colonel?"

"Just send back help. I'll be okay until they get here," O'Neill told him, hoping his voice sounded a lot more confident than he felt.

They left their hiding place at dawn, making their way slowly back toward the gate. All six of the Jaffa were gathered along the SG-K's back trail, tracking them. Jack watched the alien warriors through his binoculars for about five minutes, then crawled back to where he'd left the young team. "Okay, I'm going to get them to follow me. If they don't all come after me, give me enough time to draw my pursuers far enough away, then shoot the last one if you have to," he told them, giving Simmons the staff weapon they'd taken from the dead Jaffa. "Don't use your guns unless you absolutely have no other choice. They're too noisy."

"Same for your weapon, Sir," worried Simmons.

"I'm not relying on stealth, kids. I want them to know I'm out here."

"Sir--"

"Okay, Simmons, if it will make you feel better, use the staff weapon on any Jaffa they leave behind, then leave the weapon over there by those rocks. I'll retrieve it later if I need it."

Simmons still didn't look happy. The other three looked eager to go home, thought O'Neill, and not at all worried about leaving him behind. Well, that's what you get for being the man in charge, you're responsible for all of them.

"Colonel, isn't there..."

"No, Simmons. There's not. Now go. Get into position. I'll draw them that way. When they move, you give it a few minutes, then go home. That is a direct order, Lieutenant Simmons, get this team home. Tell Hammond to send reinforcements. Give him all the details. I'll try to get back to the place where we hid out last night, rendezvous there. Got it?" O'Neill looked over his young charges. Rodriguez's face was swollen where the Jaffa had hit him and Woskowicz was cradling his burned arm. Simmons and Arnesco had proven better than he'd expected, quite frankly. When things got ugly, they'd stepped up. He hoped he'd get the chance to tell Hammond that.

-------------------

part five

The Colonel nodded at each, then turned away. He didn't see Simmons staring after him, a look of determination crossing the young face as the four lieutenants headed away from their Commanding Officer.

O'Neill worked his way around the far side of the Jaffa. It was hard going. He'd loaded up on the rest of the painkillers, gulping four of the pills, more than he should have taken he knew, but he had to try. He pushed the pain out of his awareness, focusing all his energy on the task at hand, ignoring the injury. As long as the leg could still hold him up and the ribs allowed him to breathe, he could move. Once around the huddle of Jaffa, he laid a false trail, then went back to where he'd started. Cautiously, he raised his head above the brush, then limped across the edge of the meadow, leaving an obvious trail, starting up the hill, trying to look like he was attempting to stay hidden while at the same time exposing himself to the Jaffa's view for a brief moment. At the same time he had to appear oblivious to them.

It worked. Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he saw them staring up at him, pointing, and five of the six started jogging across the meadow. They hit his trail and he deliberately stayed in the open as he climbed, knowing he was much too far away for them to try a shot, and then he disappeared around a shelf of rock. The moment he was out of their sight, he slid back down the hillside, cutting away at a ninety degree angle, stepping on rocks and avoiding any surface where he could leave a track. He worked his way down the slope, circling around, and then he heard the sound of a blast back toward the gate. Good, he thought, as he heard the kawoosh. Thank God, they're safe, he thought.

That was one huge load off his mind, knowing the youngsters were home. Now all he had to do was elude the pursuit long enough for the rescue party to arrive.

Piece of cake.

Yeah, right, Jack, you fool.

-------------

At the gate, the four young men waited impatiently as Arnesco dialed the DHD and Woskowicz hurriedly sent the GDO code.

"Got it," he cried, starting up the ramp, Rodriguez and Arnesco close behind. Simmons stopped at the top of the ramp.

Arnesco turned to him. "Graham, come on, let's go."

"Jason," Simmons was turning, looking back at the woods, back in the direction where they'd last seen the Colonel. "You guys go. I'm going to go back and help the Colonel."

"What? Are you nuts? He *ordered* us to go back."

"And leave him behind. I know, I know, but I, well, I *can't*, " the young man looked earnestly at his friends.

"I've heard SG-1 talk, how they never leave anyone behind. It's their first rule. It's *his* first rule."

"We're not SG-1, Graham."

"Well, no, not really. But I can't just leave him here by himself, hurt. You guys go, get the General to send reinforcements. I'll find the Colonel."

"He'll probably take your head off for disobeying orders, Graham."

The young man smiled. "Maybe. He ordered me to see to it that you guys went through the gate. I'm seeing to it. Order followed. He didn't say specifically that I had to go through with you. So go."

Simmons watched as his friends disappeared into the shimmering blue liquid of the wormhole, and the moment it shut down, he sprinted for the trees. Grabbing the staff weapon from where he'd left it, he trotted toward the rendezvous point O'Neill had set, the previous night's campsite.

---------------------

Jack was tired, no, not tired. Exhausted. Ankle aching, lungs heaving from hours on the run, playing cat and mouse with six to one odds against him. Well, actually, not six to one anymore, he thought with a satisfied grin. Down to five to one. He'd circled around and picked off one of the Jaffa, the one who was trailing the rest of the group by several hundred yards. Supposed to be security on their six, he supposed, but actually, all he was was a sitting duck. Jack had simply laid his trail to keep the enemy heading up the path toward Naquada Hill, then carefully circled around. Lying in wait while the first five guards passed, he neatly picked off the sixth member of the group.

Okay, so it hadn't gone so neatly. Waiting until the Jaffa was a stride past his hiding place, he'd stepped out onto the trail behind the warrior, knife in hand, jumped the man from behind and taken him down swiftly, efficiently, the way he'd taken down many an enemy during his black ops days. The Jaffa had gone down, hard, but twisting, and the Colonel's first knife stroke had missed the seam in the armor. Meanwhile, the guard brought his own knife up and around, and Jack felt the weapon bite into his side. He grunted, renewing his own efforts, thrusting a second time into the gap between the armor plates, driving the weapon home. The man had died silently, and O'Neill had slipped away into the forest.

The Colonel hadn't taken the time to stop and check his wound. A hand around to his side had encountered blood, but it didn't seem like a lot, and he didn't have the time to do more than press his hand against the cut, and move on.

When the Jaffa realized one of their group was missing, and found him dead, it would make them even more cautious, slow them down a good deal.

---------

O'Neill was approaching the previous night's campsite, when something, some tiny sound alerted his hyper-sensitive senses. He stopped, eyes and ears probing the darkness. Damn, someone or something was there. He eased around, coming not directly up the trail but circling, working his way up and behind the hiding spot. In the darkness, he could make out a figure, someone was there waiting for him! Sliding his knife once again from the sheath on his leg, gripping it in his teeth, he dropped to the ground, and began stalking his prey. Easing through the brush, bit by bit, moving, waiting, moving, studying his surroundings, moving, waiting, until he was just a few quick steps away from the silent stranger. One more step, then he could leap onto the unsuspecting back.

Just then the figure turned, revealing a familiar face. "Simmons?"

The young man leaped to his feet, spinning around to face the voice, gun in hand. "Who's there?"

Jack recognized the voice as well. "Simmons," O'Neill spat the name, rising slowly to his feet, limping toward the young officer. Graham could see anger snapping from the brown eyes.

"Lieutenant," and there was fury in the voice, "would you care to tell me what the hell you are doing here? Huh."

Simmons knew his face was turning red, could feel his knees shaking at the undisguised fury in Colonel O'Neill's voice. "I came back to help you, Sir," he said in a shaky whisper, suddenly thinking that what had seemed like such a good idea a couple of hours ago might not be so smart after all.

O'Neill's voice was incredulous. "*You* came back to help *me*? Oh, that's precious," he added, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"Colonel, Sir, you're alone here and, and injured."

"Oh for crying out loud, Simmons, didn't I *order* you to go home?"

"Sir, your instructions to me were to make sure the others went through the gate."

"And you, too."

"Actually, Colonel, you didn't say that. Not exactly."

"Well, I meant it," O'Neill spat, angrily. He walked toward Simmons, and staggered.

"Sir?" The young Lieutenant leaped forward, grabbed the Colonel's arm, supporting the man.

"Colonel?"

O'Neill was gasping for air, the pain in his side having suddenly intensified. "Ah, help me down...over there...thanks, Simmons," the Colonel mumbled.

"Sir, what's the matter?"

"I, uh, I uh, think I'm uh, ow," he winced as he pulled up his shirt, "I think I'm bleeding."

Simmons pulled out his penlight, shone it on O'Neill's side. "Jesus!"

"Simmons?"

"Sir, you've got a bad cut here, and it's still bleeding. Your shirt is soaked, and your pant leg."

"Oh great," Jack muttered. "They teach you any first aid in basic, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Well then, get to it, kid."

Simmons rummaged through the pack he'd brought with him, found the remnants of the first aid kit, including some betadine and gauze. He looked apprehensively at the Colonel. "Ah, Sir, when I pour this on the wound, it will hurt, Sir."

Jack skewered the young man with a glare. "Lieutenant, I know it will hurt. I've been hurt before. Now get it done before I bleed to death, would you?"

O'Neill hissed when the disinfectant touched the wound, and Simmons hesitantly used some of the gauze to try to wipe away the welling blood.

"So what does it look like?"

"It, uh, doesn't look real deep, Sir, more like it cut the skin and along the rib, but it's about eight or ten inches long, and bleeding a lot in a couple of places."

"Peachy," breathed the Colonel.

"I'm going to need to wrap this tightly, Colonel, to try to stop the bleeding."

"Don't talk about it, do it," O'Neill ordered.

------------------------

The Colonel inhaled sharply, and bit his lip to keep from yelping when the young officer tied the long strips of bandage around his chest.

"Sir?" asked Simmons. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Colonel."

"It's okay, kid. Just," he inhaled sharply as the airman continued bandaging," just stings a little."

"Yes, Sir." The young man looked scared, thought O'Neill.

"I'll be fine, really," he tried to reassure the younger man.

"I don't know, Colonel, you're awfully pale, and you've lost a lot of blood," he added pointing to the blood soaked clothes.

"Just looks like a lot, kid. I'll be fine with a little rest."

"Right, Sir," he answered uncertainly.

"Now, Lieutenant, help me lay down over there, and let's pick a spot with no rocks, huh. I'll sleep a bit, and then take a turn on watch."

"I can watch, Sir."

"Look, Simmons, you'll need some sleep. We'll have lots of ground to cover in the morning."

The Lieutenant helped the Colonel to his feet, O'Neill throwing an arm over the young man's shoulder, hobbling the ten steps across to a spot where Simmons had put down some pine boughs for a bed, and spread his blanket over it. He knelt down, unable to prevent the groan from escaping his lips, then sat back on the bed.

O'Neill lay down, felt the kid throw his jacket over the Colonel's shoulder, saw the baby-faced Lieutenant shiver, with cold or fear, he wasn't sure.

"Look, Simmons, we'll get out of here. Promise."

The young Lieutenant wanted to believe it. "Yes, Sir, if you say so, Sir."

"I say so, Simmons, and never doubt the word of a Colonel," Jack mumbled, drifting off into an exhausted sleep.

----------

O'Neill slept for hours, then woke long before dawn. He groaned as he pushed himself to a sitting position. He pulled up his shirt to check the bandage, pleased to see there was only a small spot of blood which meant the bleeding had long ago stopped, always a good sign. Jack drank from his canteen, swallowing the last two pain pills from his pack, then managed to climb stiffly to his feet.

"Simmons, take the bunk. You need some sleep."

"How are you feeling Sir?"

"I've been better, kid, but I'll do 'til we get back. Now go sleep."

O'Neill didn't see any need to worry the kid. The veteran warrior didn't know what kind of trouble they might be in, but he did know that something was wrong, because there hadn't been a rescue party. Someone should have come through long before this, right after the others went back. It shouldn't have taken Hammond an hour to mount a rescue mission, and certainly not 12. Unless there was some kind of problem. Either on Earth, or back at the gate here on PXR-774.

The Colonel let Simmons sleep as long as he could, waiting until nearly dawn before rousing the tired young man. 'We make quite a pair,' O'Neill thought grimly. 'The kid's so tired he looks like he's been on an all night bender and I'm sure I look just great.' Well, looks could be deceptive, and they weren't here for any fashion show.

"Lieutenant, let's go," O'Neill told the airman, waking him. They shared water and the last ration bar for breakfast.

"So what's the plan, Sir?"

"Simple and direct, Simmons. We need to get back to the Stargate and figure out a way to get home."

------------------

O'Neill let Simmons take point, walking slowly but steadily on his sore ankle. The ribs only bothered him if he took a deep breath, or tried to make a quick move, so he put those two things on his list of 'don't do today' items, and walked on.

There was nothing but bad news at the gate. Jack's binoculars revealed a squad of Jaffa camped beside the gate, 12 or 15 he thought. "Damn," he muttered, understanding now why Hammond hadn't sent a rescue team. Couldn't let them walk into that. Jack leaned back against the rocks, letting his eyes close. He was tired, sore, hungry, and it was only going to get worse before it got better, since they were out of food, out of medical supplies, and out of luck when it came to a rescue.

So he had to find a way to clear the Jaffa from around the gate.

And then the Jaffa did it for him.

--------------

He knew it was too good to be true, and of course, it was.

Jack had let Simmons take watch while he tried to think of a plan, hard to do with the way he hurt all over. He dozed and slept for a while, and then the kid's soft voice woke him.

"Colonel O'Neill, there's something happening around the Stargate, Sir."

O'Neill jerked instantly awake, sitting up quickly, regretted the sudden move as he bit back a groan at the pain in his side. Taking a moment to catch his breath, the Colonel carefully crawled up the embankment that served as a vantage point from which the Lieutenant was watching down into the valley that contained the Stargate.

Once the Colonel had made his way to the top of the bank beside the young man, Graham handed O'Neill the field glasses. Jack swung his hat around backwards on his gray haired head, and fit his eyes to the binoculars, studying the scene intently for a moment.

"Shit. What the hell *are* they doing?" Jack muttered.

"I don't know, Sir. Things were completely quiet until about ten minutes ago, when two Jaffa came out of the woods, over there," he pointed toward the trail to Naquada Hill. "They talked, one of the newcomers was doing a lot of gesturing, and then the others all started moving. They're carrying all of the equipment over into the trees...."

"Hiding it," said O'Neill, still peering intently through the glasses, following the movements of the enemy force below him. "But why would they..." He pulled his eyes away from the lens, peering over the top of the binoculars, studying the entire valley below.

Hmm. By moving over there, what did they gain? Shade from the sun? Shelter from any possible storms or wild animals? The sun was pleasantly warm on this planet, there hadn't been a sign of any kind of storm, and they hadn't seen a wild animal or any other sort of threat on the planet....

"Damn!" O'Neill put the field glasses back to his face, staring at the Jaffa who seemed to be ordering the others about. "They're hiding. They're setting an ambush!"

"Sir? An ambush? For us?"

O'Neill pulled his eyes away from the binoculars. "No, kid, not for us. For whoever comes for us, through the gate. They're going to walk straight into a trap."'

"But..."

"Look, Simmons, after the others went back, Hammond sent a MALP through to check on the situation before sending a rescue party. See it, sitting there beside the gate? When it came through, the Jaffa were already here, so he shut it off and closed the gate down. He'll try again in a little while, because he needs to know what's happening here. And the next time he activates the gate, he'll turn on the MALP camera and it will show him the area around the gate is clear."

"Ah, actually no, Sir. It will show him that." Simmons said, pointing to a lump on the ground near the DHD.

O'Neill whipped the glasses back up to his face to see the dark-colored bundle a Jaffa had just dropped within sight of the gate. "Shit," he snapped. "That's one of our backpacks. And..." even worse, two Jaffa were carrying a body out of the trees. Beside them walked a man in SGC green BDUs and jacket. "Who the hell is that?" O'Neill studied the form a minute, then handed the glasses back to Simmons, wiping a hand across his eyes.

"Sir, what are they doing?"

"They took the body of the Jaffa I killed and dressed him in the spare clothes from one of our backpacks. They're going to leave the body out there, within sight of the gate. The other guy will be the rest of the bait, have him lying so his face can't be seen, but when the gate opens and the MALP camera activates, he can move a little, moan, show them he's alive but hurt." O'Neill pounded his fist angrily on the rock beside him. "They'll think it's one of us, send a rescue, and the team will walk right into an ambush."

O'Neill slid back down the embankment, and leaned back, eyes closed, desperately trying to think of a way to stop a slaughter of SGC personnel. God. He had no idea of how much time he had. Hammond might open the gate now, or ten minutes from now or hours from now. There was no way to know and no way to get him a message. Time element unknown, weapons limited to MP-5s and handguns and short on ammo at that, and his entire strike force consisting of himself, hurt worse than he'd let on to the kid, and Simmons, one green rookie that it was his job to protect. The Colonel rubbed a hand wearily across his face.

The staff weapon. They still had the staff weapon, and an idea began to form in O'Neill's tired brain.

-------------

Hammond didn't reopen the gate. Thank God for small favors, thought O'Neill, as he and Simmons worked their way cautiously nearer to the Jaffa's hidden camp.

Once in position, the Colonel quickly surveyed the area and picked a small sapling. "There. Come on," he said to Simmons, limping over to the tree, using the staff weapon like a crutch to ease the strain on his throbbing ankle. Didn't help his side any, but then, couldn't have everything, Jack thought philosophically. The kid kept staring over at him when he thought O'Neill wouldn't notice, and the Colonel wasn't in a mood for giving any false reassurances. He hadn't told Simmons that, since they'd started moving an hour ago, the bandage over his ribs had become soaked with blood, and he could feel more trickling down his side. Well, nothing to do for it now but get ready to help their rescuers. So he ignored the young Lieutenant's worried looks and got back to work.

"Here, kid," he whispered. "Cut a couple of strips off that vine, two feet long at least."

Simmons complied, wondering what the Colonel was doing. Trotting back to the waiting senior officer, Graham handed over the strings.

"Okay, we're going to tie the staff weapon here, in this tree. You take that end," he indicated pointing, "and I'll get this one. About six feet up." O'Neill reached up to lift the weapon up above his head, and involuntarily gasped, a wave of pain dropping him to his knees and forcing him to double over, hands clasped to his side.

Jack forced back the black tide. He didn't have time for this, he couldn't pass out now. Damn. He lifted his head and forced his eyes to focus.

"Colonel?" Simmons' scared face was there next to his CO's pale visage.

"I'll be...okay...in a minute. Just...can't catch my breath," he gasped, Graham helping him to sit on the ground.

"Sir?"

"Simmons, can you?" O'Neill pointed at where the weapon was lying on the ground. Guess he'd have to let the kid do the work himself, Jack thought. "Tie the weapon in the tree, pointing to those rocks behind their camp."

The youngster looked confused.

"Kid, look, tie it up there, and then take that," the Colonel pointed to a sapling, about an inch in diameter. "Tie a piece of this," he handed the kid the fishing line from his backpack, "from the trigger to that small tree. Bend the tree over as far as it will go, ease the trigger mechanism back, and very, very carefully tie the line good and tight around the sapling. Keep plenty of tension on the line."

"What's this going to do, Sir?"

"You'll go over there," O'Neill pointed about one-third of the way around the Jaffa camp, "and I'll be there," he pointed another third of the way around the camp. "Then we leave this here. When they make their move, we have them cut off from the gate. This," he looked over at the staff weapon, "that's our third guerilla."

"I don't understand, Colonel."

"Look, the tree is holding the trigger cocked. From over there, I can fire over here, hit the tree, which will break and release the trigger and the staff weapon will fire, bringing down that stack of rocks over there," O'Neill pointed to where the Jaffa weapon was aimed. "They'll have to retreat back that way," the Colonel pointed to the path to Naquada Hill, "and away from the gate, blunting their ambush and giving us and the rescue team time to get to the gate and home."

Simmons face lit up with a smile. "Ah, yes, Sir. Simple but brilliant, Sir."

O'Neill grimaced. "Yup. That's why I'm the Colonel." He pushed himself back to his feet. "Now, kid, help me. We've got to get into position before they open the gate."

Fifteen minutes later they were in position. O'Neill was lying prone on a small hill on the edge of the woods. To his left was the open area around the Stargate, where the dead Jaffa lay, dressed in the SG-1 uniform. The live Jaffa who was posing as the other SG team member was sitting casually, dozing, Jack thought. Straight ahead of him, O'Neill had seen Simmons slip into position about 100 yards away. To the Colonel's right, in the trees, was the Jaffa camp. He could just make out the outline of the staff weapon tied in the tree, and the thick vine attaching it to the second, small and pliable bent over tree.

Now it was a waiting game.

-------------

The gate on PXR-774 stayed quiet. Too quiet, thought O'Neill, who was having to fight to keep his eyes open. He shifted uncomfortably. "Ahhh," he muttered, reaching his hand down to his side, where to his dismay he felt the warm, sticky wetness of fresh blood. Shit. The knife wound was bleeding again, robbing him of strength and energy he couldn't afford to lose. 'Come on General,' he silently urged his CO. 'Any time now would be good. While I'm still awake.'

He fought to keep his eyes open, battled the weight of his eyelids and the gravity that seemed to be getting heavier by the minute, knowing he had to stay alert. God, he was so tired, he wanted to close his eyes and rest for just a minute. That wouldn't hurt anything, just a minute, would it? whispered that tiny voice in the back of his brain.

No! Jack raised his head, trying to find something to focus on, and felt his control slip away and the soft feel of sleep enfold him, his head sinking to rest across his hand gripping his MP-5.

---------------

A noise startled him awake, a familiar noise. Hmmm, he thought, why was he sleeping in the gateroom? Strange place to take a nap...And then O'Neill's eyes popped wide open. The gate, that was the well known sound of the Stargate's inner wheel locking onto the co-ordinates. He blinked, looked around, desperately searching for his bearings.

In the clearing to his left, the gate was completing the dialing sequence. The Jaffa dressed in SG gear was lying silently. In the trees to his right the Jaffa camp had gone silent as well. He could just make out the telltale movements of men concealing themselves behind rocks and trees. He couldn't see anything of Simmons. 'Hope you're ready, kid,' he prayed silently, and gripped his MP-5 more tightly.

The gate kawooshed, fluid boiling out from the event horizon in a cascade, then settling back to shimmer across the surface of the ring. Nothing happened for several seconds and then the Colonel could just barely see the camera arm of the MALP moving, the small red light blinking. He suppressed an irrational urge to jump up and wave at the camera, but that wouldn't get the kid off the planet. He had to time this right, and no one would get hurt and the young Lieutenant and the not-so-young Colonel would both get home safe and sound, well, Simmons would be sound maybe. As for himself, he was already more than a little unsound, Jack thought ruefully.

The camera continued to move, then focused on the Jaffa acting as the SG team member, making small movements, convincing those back on Earth that one of the missing airmen was alive but in need of assistance. O'Neill could picture the tension in the gateroom as Hammond surveyed the scene and rescue teams impatiently awaited his order. They were good people, those search and rescue teams, willing to risk their lives for their mission. He already owed his life to them, more than once. God, his own team might have volunteered for the rescue effort, too, Carter, Teal'c, even Daniel, Doc, Ferretti, the Marines. They'd volunteer, because he would and had done the same for them. There was that bond between SGC personnel, even crossed the lines of rank and service branch. Good people, thought O'Neill, in the split second before things began to happen.

The pale blue surface of the Stargate rippled slightly and someone emerged from the gate. Knowing the rescue had begun and the ambush was about to be sprung, O'Neill turned toward the forest, away from the gate, where the hidden enemy soldiers were beginning to charge toward the Stargate. He heard the first rounds fired by the young Simmons, halting the Jaffa's advance in that direction. The Colonel emptied a clip toward the onrushing warriors, saw several go down, heard bullets whine and ricochet off armor and rock. Then he turned further, and standing, took aim at the bent over tree holding the staff weapon.

He ignored what was happening behind it now, back at the gate. That was Simmons' job, to take down the Jaffa posing as one of them before he could do any damage to anyone coming through the wormhole. Jack could hear Earth weapons firing behind him, a staff weapon maybe, hoping that meant Teal'c was there among the rescue party. O'Neill's bullets stitched across the small tree, and the trunk snapped, the stolen Jaffa weapon firing, blasting rocks off the hillside. With a thunderous crash and clouds of billowing dust, rock and dirt cascaded down the slope and across the trail, blocking the enemy's retreat in that direction.

The Colonel felt something punch him in the hip, and he staggered, clawing at rocks to get back to his feet, triggering round after round toward the Jaffa who were once again trying to advance toward the gate.

And then he heard voices behind him, familiar orders shouted, and there was someone there beside him.

"O'Neill?" he heard the strong, rich tones of Teal'c and O'Neill knew he was safe as in front of him the enemy forces retreated in the face of the determined onslaught by the SG rescue teams.

Slipping to his knees, not knowing how he'd gotten there, the Colonel felt strong hands grip his shoulders, easing him to the ground. "Hey, Teal'c," he grinned up at his friend. "Glad you could make it, big guy....." and he drifted off, eyes sliding closed, letting the MP-5 slip from his hands."

"Here! Medic!" shouted the man from Chulak. "O'Neill requires medical assistance."

The medic was quickly there, skidding to his knees beside the wounded Colonel. He felt for a pulse and respiration. "We need to get him back through the gate. Quickly. He's losing a lot of blood," he explained, hurriedly applying a field dressing in an attempt to stem the flow of blood.

Teal'c knelt beside his team leader, gently picking up the man, and turned, striding swiftly for the gate, the rest of the rescuers and young Lieutenant Simmons following.

------------

Teal'c was the first through the gate, cradling the unconscious form of O'Neill, he and the medic shouting in unison, "medical team!"

Dr. Fraiser was waiting at the bottom of the ramp next to a gurney and her emergency team. "Get him on the gurney. Let's go!" Urgently, she ripped open the Colonel's shirt, slapping the stethoscope in place on his chest, listening for mere seconds, a worried frown on her face as she heard the faint heartbeat, the shallow breathing, and felt the warm blood still trickling from his side and hip.

General Hammond was beside his CMO. "Doctor?"

Fraiser was barking orders at her staff. "Infirmary. Stat." She spared a quick glance at the General. "It's bad, Sir. He's been hit several times and he's bleeding badly. He'll need immediate surgery." And with those words, she was gone, hurrying down the hallway to catch up with her patient.

-----------------------

Daniel leaned against the wall outside the OR, Carter combed her hand through her blonde hair over and over, Teal'c seemed to be meditating, and Hammond paced.

"We should have gotten there sooner," muttered Daniel.

"We could not, Dr. Jackson," Teal'c said calmly. "We had to be sure the rescue team was not walking into a trap."

"And that's just what it did walk into," Daniel added angrily. "They were waiting. If Jack hadn't..."

"Colonel O'Neill is an experienced and resourceful warrior, and would do anything in his power to protect his comrades," Teal'c added.

Carter stood and walked to Daniel, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "He'll be okay."

"He's been in there an awfully long time," Daniel worried. "He shouldn't have gone to that planet without us," said the young archaeologist.

"That was my call, people," said Hammond softly, turning to the three worried members of SG-1. "He didn't want to go without at least some of you. But I insisted it would be a milk run. I'm sorry, people."

A doorway down the hall opened, and Graham Simmons walked toward the group standing vigil outside the OR. "Any news, Sirs, Ma'am?" he asked, quietly. Though he had showered and scrubbed the dirt from his face, he looked exhausted. His left arm was in a sling.

"Are you alright, Lieutenant?" Hammond asked, nodding at the sling.

"Ah, yes, Sir. Just a scratch. I'll be fine in a few days." He looked worriedly at the closed door to the operating room. "Any word on the Colonel?"

"Not yet," said Hammond quietly.

"He will be okay, won't he?" the young man asked earnestly.

"He's strong, Graham," said Carter gently. "The Colonel's pulled through some tough things before."

Simmons nodded. He hadn't thought his admiration for Colonel O'Neill could increase, but it had, with all that he'd seen over the past four days. "He did everything he could to protect us, sent us home, and drew the Jaffa away from the Stargate, even though he was already hurt."

The General studied the tired young airman. "Yes, Lieutenant, the others said you sent them home and went back."

Simmons did not look up. "I knew the Colonel0 was alone, Sir, I couldn't just leave him there without help." The earnest young face rose to meet Hammond's eyes. "Colonel O'Neill is the one who always says no one gets left behind. I couldn't leave him behind either. I couldn't. He was angry with me, that I stayed, but I knew he needed help, Sir."

Hammond stepped forward, patted the tired young shoulder. "It's okay, Son. Loyalty is never out of place here."

Just then a noise caused the group to spin around. The OR door opened, and a gurney was wheeled out, rushed down the hall toward the infirmary, none of the worried group getting more than a quick glimpse of a pale, gray haired form, covered with blankets and surrounded by tubes and medical equipment. A tired looking Dr. Fraiser followed, pulling the surgical cap from her brown hair, and watched the departing gurney with weary eyes.

Five voices all questioned her at once.

She raised a hand, a small smile crossing her face. "He should be okay. We got the bleeding stopped from both the knife wound and the hip wounds, which were caused by shrapnel-like projectiles."

"A new weapon, Doc?" Hammond asked with concern. "Or friendly fire?"

"No, Sir. It could have been a near miss with a staff weapon, or something similar to a grenade, perhaps, that shattered the rock he was standing next to. It was an unusual type of quartz and when it was hit, it broke into sharp, sliver-like pieces, some several inches long, three of them penetrating his thigh." Janet smiled reassuring at the worried faces around her. "He lost a tremendous amount of blood between that wound and the knife wound, but you got him back here in time. His pressure is recovering nicely, and I'm very optimistic, frankly, a lot more so than I was when he came through the gate. He was very close to bleeding out." She paused. "Now, I've got to go and see he gets settled. All of you get some rest and come by to see him tomorrow."

Daniel dropped into a chair, Sam sitting down beside him, relief evident on their faces.

--------------

Colonel O'Neill was nothing if not resilient. Three days after nearly dying, he was awake and if not particularly alert and talkative yet, he was aware that he had visitors. Teal'c had been there, and Daniel and Carter and the General, and he'd said a few words to each. This time, however, the voice that called him out of the restful darkness was not as familiar.

"Sir?"

O'Neill slowly opened his eyes, needing a moment to focus, blinking against the strong infirmary lights. Staying awake for long was still a battle, but one he managed to win for a few minutes longer each time. Jack let his eyes drift from the empty chair on his left where Daniel had been sitting when he'd fallen asleep, searching for the source of the voice. Raising his eyes to the right, the impossibly young face of Graham Simmons stood at his bedside.

"Simmons?"

"Yes, Colonel O'Neill," he answered nervously. "I just wanted to see how you were, Sir."

The Colonel licked dry lips, felt his eyes sliding closed and forced them to open again. "Fine, kid. I'm fine. Be out of here in a few days..."

"That's good, Sir." He remained standing, fingers nervously crumpling the baseball cap he was holding.

Jack jerked his eyes open again. "You need something, Simmons?"

"Ah, just brought you this, Sir. You, ah lost it back there on PXR774," said the young airman, handing O'Neill the cap.

This time, the Colonel managed to keep his eyes open a few seconds longer. "Thanks, Simmons. You, ah, you get off that planet in one piece, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Sir, thanks to you, Colonel."

O'Neill waved a couple of fingers dismissively. "I didn't do much." Jack shifted a little on the bed, uncomfortably, stifling a groan, but needing to look the kid in the eye. "You could be court martialed for what went on out there," he said softly.

"Sir?"

"Simmons, you disobeyed my order. You shouldn't have come back for me," O'Neill was losing the fight to stay awake. "But I'm glad you did. Thank you. It's important. Always remember. No one gets left behind."

"I know, Sir, I learned that from you."

The weary brown eyes opened once more, fixing on the young face. "Good kid. You'll do, Graham," and O'Neill drifted back to sleep, the last words barely audible. "You can travel with me anytime...."

Graham Simmons stood, stunned. Colonel Jack O'Neill, leader of the number one SG team, and an officer he admired more than any other, had just said something nice about him. A smile crossed the young face, and he turned, and nearly ran smack into General Hammond.

"Sir!"

"At ease, Son. I didn't mean to listen in, but I couldn't help overhearing. Quite a compliment, Lieutenant."

Simmons blushed. "Yes, Sir."

"Colonel O'Neill doesn't give out compliments very often, and never without meaning them. You should be proud Lieutenant."

"Thank you, Sir."

Hammond smiled. "No, thank you, young man. We probably wouldn't have gotten him back without you. It won't be forgotten. Now, go enjoy your leave, and maybe we can find you an SG-team appointment when you get back, huh? I think there's an opening on SG-4. With the Colonel's approval and mine. If you'd like it."

"Wow. Like it? Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir," Simmons stammered.

"You deserve it, Lieutenant."

Hammond chuckled, watching the young man go, and a quiet voice behind him surprised the General. He turned to see O'Neill's sleepy but open eyes watching him. "He'll be a good one, Sir. Now that's he's graduated kindergarten."

Hammond snorted. "Kindergarten? Colonel, I think that trip qualified as college. For all of you."

__________FINIS___________