Ouch. Damn, my head hurts. I should’ve stayed unconscious for a little longer. Where the hell am I anyway? Open your eyes, O’Neill. It might help you figure that out. Oh yeah. But that trick is easier said than done. It takes a conscious effort but I manage to get my right eyelid open slightly. The left one won’t cooperate. Dirt. I see dirt.

This discovery leads to a revelation. You’re lying on the ground, O’Neill. I turn my head to the left slightly and my cooperative right eye rewards me with a view of a stone wall. Stone walls and a dirt floor? With that style of décor there’s only one explanation. I’m in the local version of a hoosegow – again. And I remember…

P3 – something. We’d gated through a few days ago, wandered around, met the locals, and were having a nice quiet time until the raiding party showed up. As it turns out the valley the gate is nestled in is a prime piece of real estate on this world. And just like humans on Earth, there are people here who want to take it from the current occupants. ‘Their weapons are primitive,’ Teal’c had said. Maybe so, but take it from me, buddy, a good thick stick sure can pack one helluva wallop.

Up, Jack. Okay, nothing happening there. My right arm is dead weight. It’s pinned under my body and is inconveniently asleep. I hate it when that happens ‘cause I know it’s gonna hurt like hell when the blood starts flowing again. I roll over onto my side and manage to sit up. Bad idea. I feel like I’m gonna puke and the stone wall in front of me blurs. Oh well. It wasn’t much to look at anyway.

Why is it that they always whack me in the head? Forget the baseball cap. From now on I think a helmet should be part of the Jack O’Neill uniform. If primitive natives are gonna use my head as a hockey puck then the least I can do is bring the right equipment along. I reach up with my left hand and tentatively touch my left eye. It’s swollen shut and there’s gash across my cheek. My fingers come away sticky with blood. Oh yeah. I gotta think seriously about that helmet idea. One of those really expensive ones with a wire face mask or maybe a plastic shield would be good.

Fighting down the nausea, I shift until my back rests against the wall. It doesn’t improve the view. I’m in a small rectangular cell about ten feet deep and maybe six feet wide. There is a wooden door with a small barred window at the narrow end to my right. A high narrow window, also barred, is set in the other end to my left. Great. Not even the proverbial bread and water. No weapons. No radio. No GDO. No vest. No jacket. No combat boots. What the hell? I get taking the weapons but the boots? What am I gonna do? Stomp them to death? They didn’t leave me much. Just my BDUs, a blood stained t-shirt, and a honkin’ big headache.

I see daylight though the window. Shit. It was dark when the raiders crashed our party. How long have I been out anyway? Oops. No watch. Damn. Well… assuming I haven’t been out for days, it can’t be more much more than six or eight hours. P3-whatever’s days were only about eighteen hours long and it had been dark for several hours already when the village sentries fired up the warning beacon. Not that it had been much of a warning. Mostly it had caused a lot of panic and confusion. Everyone had been gathered for the feast that was given to welcome us. All those women and children and no real place to stash them for safety during the attack; there had simply been too many people in the village from the outlying farms and not enough time.

This mess was our fault – make that my fault. They had warned us about the raiders. I should have known a shindig like the one they had planned for us would present the perfect opportunity for a strike. Never underestimate the element of surprise and catching your opponents with their guard down is always a bonus in any tactical situation. Hell, I should know. Hadn’t we returned the favor when we opened up on them with our P-90s and Teal’c’s staff weapon? Not one of my happier moments. Mowing down natives who have barely begun reaching a level of technology equivalent to our Bronze Age ancestors with automatic weapons is not something I enjoy.

Nevertheless, I had to make the call. I couldn’t just stand by and watch what was happening. I waited too long as it was. The image comes back to me, crystal clear of course. The woman who had laughed at me when I’d slipped in that pile of droppings in the street – frantically rushing to reach her son – being run down like an animal by a screaming wild man on horseback. Damn. Why couldn’t that image go fuzzy like my view of the wall? How many others had died before I made the decision to help those people? In the end, even Daniel hadn’t argued with me. No speeches – just a grim determination on his face that surprised even me a little bit.

I wonder where my team is now. In all the confusion, I lost track of them. The raiders had come from several directions and we’d had to fan out to have any chance of stopping them. Here’s hoping they weren’t stupid enough to get whacked on the head and thrown in yet another dungeon. How else are you gonna get your sorry butt outta here? And while you’re at it, O’Neill… where the hell is here anyway? Not the village that’s for sure. They didn’t have a setup like this.

I have a vague sense of remembering a bone jarring bouncing movement and pain in my ribcage. Horses. The raiders must have tossed me across one of the horses and brought me here. Now why the hell didn’t they just kill me and have done with it? Not that I’m not grateful to be breathing but it doesn’t make a lot of sense. So… I’m somewhere on the other side of that mountain pass we saw across the valley. The pass that was supposedly watched carefully by the villagers for any sign of raiders. Either the raiders had already infiltrated the valley by another route or the village sentries needed some serious combat training. Since they had seemed like a pretty capable bunch, I have to guess the raiders were already here – probably since before we’d gated through.

My right arm is tingling painfully. ‘Sparklies’ as Charlie used to say. I wiggle my fingers and am pleased to find that some of the feeling is beginning to return. Now if I could just get my eyes – eye – to focus and my head to quit pounding…. Doc isn’t going to be a happy camper. I’ve had my noggin knocked so many times she’s almost convinced that my bad jokes are a sign of permanent brain damage.

There’s a noise at the door and I barely have time to ponder the possibility of doing – something – before it swings outward and I’m looking at two rather large individuals hefting stout wooden clubs in their hands. The phrase ‘barbarians at the gate’ springs to mind and I almost laugh – almost. They are dressed in roughly cut animal skins and fur lined leather boots. They sport matted masses of dirty blonde hair and unkempt beards twisted into Rastafarian-like dreadlocks. They also exude an aroma of half-cured animal hides combined with unwashed body sweat.

“You will come,” growled one of them.

“You forgot to say please,” I retort. Why do I do that? Thing 1 and Thing 2 don’t look happy with me.

“Come now,” Thing 1 demands, his tone sounding even less friendly than before. Okay… have a little patience, boys. I’m not feeling my best. Slowly – it wouldn’t look good to spew all over their nice leather boots – I get my legs under me and rise to my feet. The dizziness hits and I list a little to one side but I’m up. I hope we don’t have to go very far. I take one step and then another; I’m pretty pleased with myself that I haven’t fallen over so far. Thing 2 isn’t impressed. He grabs me by the arm and hauls me toward the door. Thing 1 takes the other arm and together they propel me down a short corridor.

We go through another door and pass through a large room filled with various unpleasant looking devices. I’m glad to be passing through and I hope a longer stop isn’t on the tour for later. Another door and we are outside. It’s cooler than I thought it would be and I wish they had left me my jacket. My boots would have been nice too. The ground is muddy and wet, and my bare feet are soon covered in muck. I shiver slightly. It must be the higher altitude; the temperature on the valley floor hadn’t been quite so… brisk. Of course. Balmy temperatures and rich soil for farming. Why else would the raiders be interested in horning in on the villagers’ turf? And the timing of this raid had to coincide with the coming winter. It was sort of a trip to the local grocer to stock up until spring, so to speak.

The layout of the place is pretty simple. It’s a small compound with several buildings encircled by a high wooden stockade. The livestock was corralled at one end and at the other…. God damn it! I tense up and twist my body so I can get a good look and confirm what I think I’m seeing. Thing 1 and Thing 2 are having no part of it and simply grip me tighter.

“Kuranel!” The girl’s voice sounds shrill and desperate. It’s one of the village girls. Her cry alerts the women penned up in the small enclosure at the far end of the yard. The half dozen women rush to the wall of their wooden prison, sobbing and reaching towards me, pleading for me to help them. Evidently, food and livestock wasn’t the only thing the raiders had been after. But I’d known that – I just hadn’t wanted to remember it.

One of the raiders shouts down the shrieking women and I catch a glimpse of them backing away from the fence that encloses them as I’m dragged into another building. I have just enough time to notice a central fire pit and thick wooly animal skins covering the floor before Thing 1 and Thing 2 shove me to the ground. While what few brains I have left are being scrambled around in my skull, I suck in a deep breath and concentrate on keeping the contents of my stomach in place.

“This can not be him!” I sit up and find myself facing an older version of the cave bear twins. His hair and beard are white with age but he still has plenty of both. His thin frame is wrapped in a better quality of animal skins and he has the look of a man who has spent a lifetime outdoors – wiry and tough. Blue eyes, set deep in a wrinkle-lined face, regard me with contempt.

“My Prime, I saw the act myself.” I look to left and see another of the raiders. This one is young, not as big as Thing 1 or Thing 2 but he looks just as dangerous. His reddish blonde hair and beard is still streaked with the white paint that covered the raiders’ faces during the attack. It hadn’t been done to camouflage the attackers. The intent was simply to frighten the victims by making them seem less human. Add the blood curdling yells and maniacal screams and it was no wonder the villagers had scattered like frightened sheep.

The redheaded man moves a few steps closer and I notice what he has on his feet for the first time. My boots! The thieving little bastard! The damn things took me weeks to break in properly. I still cringe at just the thought of the blisters I’d wore on my heels with all that walking we did on that mission to…

“This man did does not look capable of striking down a warrior such as my son,” said the old man. Regret for my stolen boots vanishes instantly. His son? O’Neill, you’ve gone and done it this time. I wonder which one of the raiders it might have been.

“They carried strange weapons. They did not fight as warriors but as cowards.” What? Cowards? Hey, I’ve been called worse but I think I must be missing the point here. “They attacked us from a distance with their weapons that spit stones and fire. They did not face us honorably.” This comes from someone who several hours ago attacked an unsuspecting village full of women and children? The same group that runs down women in the streets and…

“Are you certain he is the one?”

“Yes, my Prime. He struck your son down while his back was turned. I wished to kill him for his deed.” He looks at me and the expression on his face makes it clear that killing me is still fairly high up on his wish list. “But I knew you would wish to deal with him yourself so I took him by surprise.” Surprise? Yeah, I guess a stick upside my head would qualify as a surprise. So, you’re the guy I have to thank for this headache?

The old man, the ‘Prime’ – I wonder if that name is in use here because of the presence of the Goa’uld at one time; Daniel would know – stands up and walks over to me. I’m still sitting on the floor and he looms over me, glaring. He doesn’t speak; he just stares at me for a moment. Then I see a muscle in his face twitch and he shifts his stance just slightly. I wince in anticipation of what has to come next. Sure enough, he lashes out and strikes me across the face with a clenched fist. My head snaps to the side and my vision blurs again. Okay, add strong to the assessment along with tough looking and wiry – and a split lip to the list of facial injuries for one Jack O’Neill.

“You will suffer for your actions. As my son feels pain, so shall you. If he dies, your death will follow but I promise it will not be swift.”

“Your son should have known the risks of battle…” Another blow rocks me and the gash on my cheek starts bleeding again.

“My son understands the risks of facing honorable warriors – not spineless cowards who fear to fight as men!” Again with the name-calling.

“Your people attacked us,” I tell him, bracing myself for the blow that doesn’t come this time. “Are you saying it is ‘honorable’ to trample women in the streets? Where I come from we tend to frown on that sort of thing.” This time the blow comes from behind me when the redhead plants a foot in my back and shoves me to floor. There’s something inherently unfair about kicking a man when he’s down – especially when you’re wearing his boots when you do it.

“Insolent fool!” The Prime turns away and heads for an interior doorway. “Bring him.” Thing 1 and Thing 2 snatch me up and usher me along in his wake.

Inside the next room, a man lies unconscious on a pallet piled with furs and skins. A woman, blonde hair falling in a long braid down her back, is kneeling next to him with two small towheaded children, a boy and a younger girl, at her side. I can see she has been crying; her eyes are red and swollen. Oh yes, bring in the grieving family so the coward can see exactly what he’s done.

“Look upon the face of my son! He does not deserve a death such as this!”

I look. When I realize that I recognize the face, understanding comes. The redheaded boot snatcher had accused me of shooting him in the back. I had thought it had just been the result of stray fire from the P-90 but I’d been wrong. This man… I remembered all too vividly. This man… I had shot in the back – and it had been no accident. I think of the women and girls penned up outside and the anger I’d felt when I last looked at the Prime’s son is back in full force.

“He deserves such a death and more,” I growl back at him. “There is no justification for the attempted rape of a child.” They just stare at me without understanding. Even the wife displays no reaction to what I’ve said. Somehow, it makes me even madder. I’m starting to realize that what I saw is accepted – expected even.

The memory is clear in my mind. I’d been moving low and quiet through the underbrush, trying to circle around to the other side of the village where I could hear Teal’c firing his staff weapon. The livestock and food supplies were kept over there, which was probably why much of the fighting was concentrated in that area. A girl’s scream, quickly cut off, had caught my attention and I’d changed direction slightly to check it out.

She couldn’t have been any older than thirteen or fourteen – and might not have been that old. The raider – number one son I realize now – had her pinned to the ground with the weight of his body. She was crying and begging him not to hurt her but he had simply laughed. When he ripped her vest open and viciously bit her, I took him down and told her to run. She’d made it to the tree line of the small clearing just as I turned around to meet Redhead’s stick with my face.

At least she had made it to safety. She hadn’t been one of the captives in the yard outside. That thought reminds of what is in store for the women they’ve taken – if in fact it hadn’t already begun.

“You should not wish for his death,” the old man tells me. “If he lives, perhaps I will permit your life to be ended quickly.” Well, it’s nice to know I have options - dubious ones considering the look of the man lying unconscious on the pallet. Hell, I’ll be surprised if he makes it to sundown.

“You’ll have to forgive me if I still don’t wish him a speedy recovery,” I snap. “When he goes that’s one less of you filthy bastards left to get his hands on a young girl.” The look on his face tells me I’ll probably soon regret my words but right now I just don’t give a shit.

“Get him out of here!” he shouts. Once again, Thing 1 and Thing 2 yank me around to face the door. “Take him,” the Prime orders, “but do not kill him – yet.” We quickly walk through the outer room and we’re back outside before I realize Redhead has decided to join us. As they march me across the center of the compound, I try to get a better look at the women being held at the far end. This time around, they stay well away from the fence and they stay quiet. I don’t see the girl that called out to me and I get a sick feeling in my stomach when I think about why she’s not there – and it isn’t caused by my concussion.

We retrace our earlier steps and soon they’ve shoved me back into my ten by six cell. Home sweet home. Hello walls. Window… you too. When the door doesn’t slam shut immediately, I realize I’m gonna have company for awhile.

* * * * *

I open my eye and see dirt. It’s déjà vu all over again. Damn. My head still feels like it’s going to explode but at least it has company this time. I’m sure if I bothered to pull up my shirt I’d find boot prints – my boots’ prints – in several places. I wonder how long I was out this time. Probably not too long – the blood is still flowing from a new cut above my right eye.

I sit up and a wave of dizziness hits me. The nausea follows the dizzy spell and I barely manage to make it to the back corner of the cell before I start to retch. With no food or water for so many hours, I don’t make too much of a mess but it sure doesn’t feel good to my already battered stomach muscles. Wishing I had something to wash my mouth out, I make my way back to the opposite wall and lean back against the stones.

While crawling around on my hands and knees, I’ve discovered that my left pinky finger is broken. It’s swollen to about twice the normal size and has already turned a very nasty shade of purple. It must have been that final kick to my head. Wrapping my arms around my head had been instinctive but it hadn’t helped. Redhead had gotten a little carried away toward the end of his visit. I really want to get my boots back.

I carefully probe the newest lump on the back of my head. It’s a relief to discover that it’s not bleeding. I’d love to think the worst was over but I know that this situation has not even begun to reach its maximum potential suckiness. At least my team isn’t stuck here with me. I just have to wait until they can get to me. Teal’c will have no problem tracking the raiders’ trail. Carter might have decided to go back through the gate for reinforcements but I somehow doubt it. She’ll want to assess the situation before making that decision. If she decides the compound is too much for them to take on alone, then she’ll go for help. I just hope they don’t take too long. The Prime’s son wasn’t looking like someone who was gonna be doing handsprings any time soon.

* * * * *

The door swings open and a very unhappy looking Prime is revealed on the other side. Call it a hunch but I’m betting the suckiness level of my predicament is about to be ratcheted up a notch or two.

“He is dead.”

Okay. Maybe more than a notch or two.

“You will suffer for your actions.”

“Yeah, I know. You said that already.”

“For the loss of my only son,” his voice breaks and his fists clench, “you will know pain. He was a great warrior and he would have been a powerful Prime.” Unbidden and unwelcome, a feeling of guilt hits me. His grief is evident – and familiar. I open my mouth to speak and quickly snap it shut again. It’s not something I need to share. It wouldn’t change what’s about to happen.

The Prime steps back and Thing 1 moves in to assist me to my feet. I stumble my way down the short corridor and into the next room where Thing 2 has been waiting. We’re not just passing through on this trip. The Prime simply nods his head at them and they pull me towards an inclined wooden frame. I’m shoved face down on it. My hands and feet are stretched out and bound painfully tight with braided leather straps.

The Prime moves into my line of vision. He’s holding what looks like a bundle of thin sticks that seems to be maybe two and a half feet long. At one end, they are bound tightly together with a leather wrapped handle. At the other end, they fan out slightly. I feel someone tug my t-shirt up and feel the tickle of a sharp blade as it slices the material up the back. The pieces are pulled aside. I grit my teeth. I thought flogging was something that only happened on old sailing ships. Evidently, my assumption was wrong. I’ll have to ask Daniel. He’ll probably have a book on the subject that I can read.

The first blow lands across my right shoulder blade. Not surprisingly, it’s the Prime himself who undertakes the task. I understand why although I wish I didn’t. Grief and anger are powerful emotions. The second blow is harder and lands across the small of my back. That’s gonna leave a mark. Probably right across the nice black and blue boot print that I’m sure is already there. Three. That one left several shallow cuts as a reminder. The Prime is just warming up. I wonder if he understands that the rage he feels towards me is a gift. The luxury of having someone else to blame was not a part of my own experience.

I lose count somewhere in the teens. The Prime has found his rhythm now and nearly every lash splits the skin. Thanks to my semi-upright position, the blood flows down my back where it’s being soaked up by the waistband of my BDUs. The old man has quite an arm. A grunt escapes me and it seems to egg him onward. The whip thin laths land with even greater force and he starts to curse me. He punctuates each word with another stoke to my back. I squeeze my eyes shut and my world shrinks to encompass only the sound of his voice – the only warning I get for the next lash – and the feel of my back as the skin is ripped to shreds.

“Sonofabitch!” I growl the word instead of letting out a yell. “Goddamnbastard!” I can match him word for word if I have to… “Fuckingbarbarians!” It takes awhile for me to run through my list and I have to start all over again. “Sonofabitch!” I run out of steam before I’m halfway through the second chorus and I simply stop reacting. It must take all the fun out of it because there finally comes a moment when the next expected blow fails to land – or maybe his arm is just tired.

I feel the leather bindings being loosened and someone tries to stand me upright. My hands and feet are numb – the straps have long since cut off any circulation. I’m dizzy and weak – my BDUs are unpleasantly damp and I wonder how much blood I’ve lost. Not enough. I’m still conscious and it looks as though the next round is about to begin.

They drag me out into the central yard. They steer me towards the far end of the compound, towards the area where the village women are being held. Redhead is there. He’s been busy. At least I’m guessing he was the one who put together the wooden frame that’s been erected while I was – otherwise occupied. Two tall poles have been set into the muddy ground and a third has been lashed between them.

Redhead helps Thing 1 and Thing 2 loop leather ropes around my wrists. He tosses the ends over the beam and hauls my arms up over my head. He keeps pulling until I’m stretched out so far that my heels are off the ground. My back muscles and shoulder sockets scream in protest. I’m unable to settle my weight on my feet. I finally manage to balance precariously on the balls of my feet. Redhead double-checks his handiwork and smiles at me.

“I will enjoy this,” he says softly. “When I explained to my Prime why I wished to have you here he did not understand. But when I promised him that you would suffer more for this than from any physical harm he agreed to my plan.”

“Enjoy it while you can,” I tell him. “And try to take care of my boots for me. I’ll be getting them back soon.” He laughs at me and turns away. He takes only a few steps before he swings back around and kicks me in the knee. God damn it to hell! Do I have a friggin’ target pasted on that knee or what? I sag in my restraints; the pain makes it impossible to keep my weight balanced. Redhead laughs again and heads for the gate in the wall of the women’s enclosure.

He opens it and several of the women begin crying. They shrink away from him but he snatches one of them by the arm. She begins to wail even louder and he turns to look at me.

“This one?” He looks back at the weeping woman who is frantically trying to claw her way free from his grip. He shakes his head and pushes her to the ground. “No… not her I think. Something younger would be more pleasing.”

“You bastard!” The pain in my knee is forgotten and I yank on the bindings that encircle my wrists to no avail. Grinning at me, he turns to face the women again.

“Yes,” he says. “That one will do nicely.” The girl – a child no older than the one I’d been captured trying to rescue – screamed in terror when he snatched her away from the group.

“No!” He drags her out of the enclosure and closes the gate again. Ignoring her protests, he tosses her down on the ground in front of me.

“She is lovely,” he tells me. “At least as beautiful as the one you helped to escape. I’ll be sure to collect her the next time we visit the village. I would love to have a matched set.” Without another word, he yanks the girl up and forces her toward a small building to the left. He throws her through the open doorway, steps inside, and closes the door behind him.

For the next half hour, I wish I’d lost more blood rather than less. A black out would have been a blessing.

When the door finally reopens, I have to force myself to watch her as she moves zombie-like back to the gate. A large bruise covers one side of her face and she clutches the ragged remains of her clothes around her as she waits for him to open the gate. She’s not crying – I suppose she’s past the point of feeling anything at all. I thank God that she doesn’t look at me. I don’t think I could take it.

When the son-of-a-bitch grabs another woman, I realize just how long the rest of my day is going to be.

* * * * *

Redhead is gone, but others have come to take his place. It’s dark now but they’ve lit torches – either to make sure I can see exactly what is happening or so they can continue to watch me hang here for their viewing pleasure. It’s been at least twenty four hours now since I last had anything to eat or drink and I’ve slipped in and out of consciousness several times. Someone – or it may be several someones – always shakes me awake when I drift out.

I’m cold. Blood loss probably has something to with the feeling as much as the actual temperature. I think I’d be shivering if every muscle in my body hadn’t already seized up. My hands are numb – every time I lose consciousness, the weight of my own body tightens the bindings around my wrists cutting the circulation off completely. At least my knee catches a break when that happens.

The soft sound of sobbing women has been just another part of the background of night noises. Telling myself it would have happened anyway hasn’t helped. Not when I see their faces when they come out of that building.

I hear the sound of a drumbeat behind me and I twist my neck to try and get a glimpse of what’s happening behind me. I can see a group of people coming out of the building where I first met the Prime. When I see the woman and her two children I think I have a pretty good idea of what is happening. A moment later, a shroud covered body is carried out and I realize my guess was right.

I lose sight of them, but I can track their progress by the sound of the drum. They leave the compound and head off somewhere to my left. The drum goes silent for a short time and the next thing I hear is the sound of a woman keening. Ritualistic displays of grief – I’ll be sure to tell Daniel when I see him again. So sorry, Daniel – I don’t know if they placed objects inside the grave or whether or not the body was placed in a fetal position. The drummer resumes and I listen as the sounds of both widow and drumbeat draw closer once again.

They re-enter the compound and I expect them to vanish back into the main building. I’m wrong. The procession continues past the building and snakes it way around until the mourners are arranged in a circle around me. The widow, her children, the Prime, and the sick son-of-a-bitch that still has my boots are directly in front of me. The thought finally occurs to me – I stand a damn good chance of dying tonight. It’s not the first time I’ve faced the possibility and I certainly hope that it won’t be the last, but it sure looks like this situation is about to finally reach maximum suckiness.

I expect a speech – a pronouncement, a list of my crimes, a proclamation of my soon to be enacted death sentence – but, once again, I’m wrong. The widow steps forward, cocks her hand back… and lets loose a stone. It strikes me on my left shoulder – harder than I might have expected. The two children are next, their little faces serious as they make their throws. The impact of those two stones is barely noticeable but it somehow hurts me more. What sort of society asks its children to help stone a man to death? Prime is next. I’m not surprised when his fist-sized rock catches me square in the chest with enough force to drive the air out of my lungs. I already know he has a good arm.

The Prime’s throw seems to be a signal for the others. First one, then another – they come from all directions. Back, shoulders, chest, arms, legs – big rocks, small rocks – varying degrees of force but all land hard enough to bruise. Some break the skin in new places, those that reach my back start the blood flowing from the lash marks all over again. One particularly large stone catches me in the ribs and I hear an audible crack. One good one like that to the head and this will all be over. However, my head seems to be the only thing they aren’t aiming for – the Prime is a man of his word. My death won’t be swift.

Someone behind me shouts out a curse. Others take it up and soon almost everyone is calling me names and screaming epithets. As if a few nasty names are going to bother me at this point. I start laughing – it’s just too weird.

“Sticks and stones may break my bones… but names will never hurt me.” They can’t hear me over the sound of their own voices but I say it anyway. How many times had I heard that taunt – or used it – as a child? I never thought to find myself in a situation where it happened literally.

A poorly aimed rock smacks me in the back of head and I nearly black out. I slump in my restraints again. My vision blurs and it takes concentrated effort to hold my head upright. Another mistake like that and all the fun is going to be ending sooner than they expect. There is a sound – somehow familiar. I hear a surprised shout and the rocks stop flying. The sound comes again – a staff blast. Teal’c!

A roaring explosion sends my would-be executioners scattering in panic. Carter has taken out the main gate. I hear screams and shouts – the sounds of fighting. The women in the pen in front of me get to their feet and rush to the fence. They start shouting and calling out names and I realize my team isn’t alone. The villagers have joined them to repay the raiders’ visit with one of their own. A massive shape suddenly looms before me.

“O’Neill?” It’s Teal’c, his eyes tight with worry. “What are your injuries?”

“I’ve seen better days. ‘Bout time you guys showed up.” He slips his shoulder under my arm and uses his knife to cut the straps that hold my arms above my head. Relief is instantaneous, yet also painful, as my arms flop uselessly to my sides. My legs aren’t ready to hold me up either. My muscles cramp and spasm and my limbs feel like Jell-O that hasn’t set properly. “Down… put me down,” I tell Teal’c.

Teal’c eases me to the ground and props me up against one of the wooden poles. I barely register the sensation of my flayed back rubbing against the rough wood. It’s a relief to not be stretched out like a rubber band anymore.

“The village women…” I point toward the enclosure, “Get them outta there.” Teal’c hesitated. He glanced from me to the women and then I saw his eyes sweep over the compound, assessing the progress of the fighting. “I’ll be fine. Get them to safety.”

“Sir!” Teal’c looks relieved when Carter jogs over to join us. He nods his head at me and moves off to release the women. I see her shocked expression as she takes in the battered, bruised, and bloody sight I present.

“It looks worse than it feels,” I lie – unsuccessfully, if her shake of the head is any indicator. She kneels down in the mud beside me and offers me a canteen. Club fisted – my fingers won’t obey – I manage to take a few long sips with Carter’s help.

“Colonel… I’m sorry we didn’t come in sooner. We thought it best to wait until most of them were asleep. Teal’c wanted to come in as soon as they started the burial ceremony but we couldn’t get the villagers organized for a new plan fast enough.”

“Carter… Don’t worry about it. You’re here now – better late than never.”

“Jack!” Daniel comes running up and nearly throws himself on the ground beside me. “Oh my God!” His eyes are wide and he’s out of breath. “What the hell did they do to you?”

“They called me dirty names…” It’s still somehow funny and I start laughing again. Carter and Daniel look at each other and I know they think I’ve completely lost it. When the laughter makes my ribs hurt too much, I finally let it stop. I look around – Teal’c is helping the women out of their pen and directing them away from the last of the fighting. There are only a few raiders still standing their ground. It had pretty much been a complete rout. The raiders had been too distracted by pitching rocks at me and the explosion was so terrifying to them that they had been taken completely by surprise.

“Kuranel?” I look up to see one of the village girls standing in front of me – the same girl called out to me when I’d been taken to see the Prime. “We feared they would kill you,” she says softly.

“I’m sorry…” My voice catches in my throat and I suck in a deep breath. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them.” There is a flash of pain – and anger – in her eyes but she shakes her head and crouches down until she is at eye level with me. She reaches out and takes my hand in hers. It’s not soft and dainty but rough and calloused from her work in the fields. She grips my fingers tightly with her own and looks at me intently.

“It was not your doing. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it from happening.”

My vision blurs again. I want to protest. I want to tell her there must have been some way – something I could have done or said that might have made a difference. She must realize I haven’t accepted her words yet because she squeezes my hand again.

“There was nothing. We are alive. We are going home. We will be with our families again.”

Unable to speak, I nod my understanding.

“Will you be well?”

“Yes, I will,” I reply, answering her obvious question as well as the implied one. She nods in response before releasing my hand from her own. She gives me a half-smile, stands, and walks away to rejoin the others.

“Sir, we were planning to take you back to the gate on horseback. Do you think you can manage that?” Carter looks at me and I know she is considering rigging some sort of travois to drag me back the village flat on my back – or my stomach considering the damage to my back.

“I’ll manage,” I tell her. “I just need to take care of one thing first.”

“What’s that?” Daniel asks.

“I need to see a man about a pair of boots.”