Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. I have written this story for entertainment purposes only and no money whatsoever has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author(s).
STORY STATUS: Completed 12-1-05
SUMMARY: How had a mission that had started off so well gone so terribly wrong?
WORD COUNT: 2,852
DEDICATION: For Arnise, AKA Mum, because she works so hard and does such a great job with the Jackfic website. And because she wants more fic's for the Jackfic Monthly Word Challenge. This one's for you Mum! Enjoy.
*words* is someone's thoughts.
^words^ is Arabic
Alone, abandoned, forgotten.
Three words summoned up how Major Jack O'Neill felt.
Alone in a prison run by men who despised him and his kind, stuffed into a cage barely big enough for a large dog.
Abandoned by the man he'd considered his best friend.
Forgotten by his government.
Left behind to deal with a fate worse than death. His captors took great pleasure not just in the physical pain they inflicted on him daily, but in tormenting his very soul. Laughing and joking about the stubborn American fool who had been abandoned by his own people.
How could they have left him like that? How could _Frank_ have left him? Without even _trying_ to help him. He wouldn't have left any of them behind. What happened to `nobody gets left behind'?
How had a mission that had started off so well gone so terribly wrong?
The mission had been simple enough. Infiltrate the enemy camp, steal back their stolen plans, slip out as quietly as they gone in, and be home in time for Charlie's first t-ball game.
Everything had gone fine until a single shot rang out and his abdomen screamed in agony caused by the penetration of a small piece of searing metal. How could such a little thing cause so much pain?
The air knocked from his lungs as his back slammed into the hard ground, Jack couldn't even call out. Gun fire suddenly filled the air. He watched in horrified silence as Frank turned towards him, and then without so much as another look back, had run to the helicopter and ordered the pilot to take off.
That had been almost four months ago. His captors made it a point, everyday, to let him know how long he'd been there. Everyday, while his hatred towards Frank had increased ten-fold, he stubbornly refused to believe his superiors would turn there back on him. He knew the mission was unofficial, but surely General West wouldn't leave him to rot in this sticking hell hole. Would he?
It became painfully apparent to Jack as the days stretched into weeks then months that he would. That he _had_.
He'd awakened two days, or so he'd been told, after his capture. He was lying on a dingy uncovered mattress they called a bed in a small, filthy room they passed off as an infirmary. The bullet had been removed, the wound cleaned and crudely dressed. Apparently, American POW's didn't rate pain medication. His gut ached. Two days later he was thrown into a cell with three other POW's two American Sergeants and a young British Lance Corporal.
He'd been forced to watch as the corporal and the male sergeant were beaten. The guards took great pleasure in hurting the young men while restraining Jack. The corporal, Cody, had been killed almost immediately. He was only a lowly lance corporal and held no real value for them. The scar faced guard had taken great pleasure in killing the kid slowly while Jack had been forced to watch. A few days later, Jack had taken great pleasure in adding another scar to the man's collection. He'd paid for that retaliation, but it had been worth it.
The male sergeant had lived a little longer. Once they'd realized he couldn't be used against Jack, they'd killed him too.
He'd been forced to watch as the female sergeant, a twenty-three year-old from some little town in Utah, was repeatedly, brutally, raped. Jack had tried to protect her to no avail. The guards learned after their first attempt, to restrain him before they touched her. Once he was under control, they'd grab her and drag them both down the hall to a brightly lit room. There were always at least three guards.
Jack admired the feisty young woman whose name, he had learned, was Kaylee. She had fought like a mad woman, kicking, punching, and biting her attackers. She never screamed, never cried as they took turns with her. At least not until they were gone. She'd lay there with a thousand yard stare while they had their fun. When they finished, she'd pull up the tattered remains of her cloths and walk, head held high, back into the cell. A few minutes later he was thrown, battered and bruised, back in with her.
She'd wake up crying in the middle of the night and he'd hold her, rubbing her back as he gently rocked her and whispering softly to her until she calmed down. It never lasted for more than a few minutes. Then she would dry her eyes and lean against the cell wall. They would talk in hushed tones for hours. Jack told her about his wife Sara, and their four-year-old son Charlie. He told her how he and his son drove Sara crazy with their antics.
Kaylee in turn, would tell him about her husband Scott and their two-year-old son whose name, ironically, was Jack. Scott was also a sergeant in the Army. His unit had just returned home from a year-long tour in Korea, when hers was sent to Iraq. They'd only had three weeks together before she'd been sent here. She'd been in Iraq for seven months when a convoy she was on was attacked. She'd been the only survivor.
Jack and Kaylee had grown close over the months. He comforted her when she woke up from nightmares of being raped. She returned the favor when he woke up screaming from nightmares of torture.
Jack had known she wouldn't last much longer. Months of being raped and watching Jack get tortured were taking their toll on her. She didn't talk as much at night. Each day the fire in her eyes burned brighter. He knew she'd break soon if he didn't get her out of there. They'd been planning an escape for the past two months. He knew he couldn't wait much longer.
One week ago they'd made their move. Jack was sure they'd worked out every detail. Once again, the plan went to hell in a hand basket. They'd managed to overcome one guard, but in their weakened condition, they were quickly subdued almost as soon as they'd gotten out of the complex.
Jack had been punished severely. Two guards subdued him. Two more dragged a struggling Kaylee between them. Another guard walked in front of the group. Jack recognized three of the guards. One of them he'd dubbed Scarface for obvious reasons. The other he'd dubbed Lumpy. The man was short and at least forty pounds over weight. He reminded Jack of old man Nelson's fat little beagle with the same name. The third he'd called Dopey. Like that seventh dwarf, the man never spoke. He had big ears too. They were ones who most often took Kaylee. A set of chains hung from the middle of the room, a small table just in front of them and to the left held a car battery and jumper cables.
Jack struggled fiercely against his captors. He kicked one of the men in groin and turned to kick the other when a fist crashed into his face. He felt the skin split and blood spilled down his cheek. Uncaring hands ripped the tattered remains of his clothes off of him. One of the men then grabbed his arms and pinned them behind his back. The first guard had recovered and with an evil grin, lashed out with a vicious kick to Jack's groin. The air rushed from Jack's lungs and he hung limply, gasping for breath. He was quickly stripped, as he always was when tortured. His arms were yanked above his head and the heavy manacles clasped around his wrists.
As the two who had grabbed him hooked up the cables to various parts of his body, he realized that he recognized them as well. Dumb and Dumber. They were usually the ones who tortured him for information. Information he had steadfastly refused to give them. As much as he hated the people who had left him behind, he wouldn't, _couldn't_, betray his country. It just wasn't in him. Hell, he wasn't really mad at the government anymore. He expected this from them. You exist until something goes wrong (which is usually their fault) then they don't know you. Cromwell's betrayal however, was unforgivable.
*Wonder where Grumpy is?* Grumpy was the name he'd given his interrogator. He pushed the errant thought aside as Dumber grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked his head back causing Jack to grimace. The look on Dumb's face told him Grumpy hadn't been invited this time. This party was strictly for fun.
Jack screamed in pain as electricity coursed through his battered body. When the electricity stopped, he slumped against the chains breathing heavily. The process was repeated for what seemed like an eternity. A minute of pain followed by a few seconds break with a few punches thrown in for good measure.
Then it stopped. For a split second, Jack thought it might be over. With great effort, he raised his head. He wanted to make sure Kaylee was all right. What he saw made his stomach churn. Dumb was standing in front of him with the same gleeful look Lumpy got when he and Scarface came for Kaylee. He looked down with dread. Oh God! The man was naked.
Dumb moved closer to Jack until they were practically nose to nose. He placed both hands on his face and pulled him into a kiss. Jack struggled uselessly. He didn't have the strength to fight back. They all knew it. Dumb's hands slid down Jack's chest, stopping briefly on his abdomen, his fingers circling the scar from the bullet that landed him in this mess. Then his hands traveled lower, coming to a stop between his legs. Jack gasped as one hand grabbed and stroked him.
Dopey, who had been standing off to the side, must have decided to give men a shot because he came alongside Dumb and mimicked the other man's actions. His hands slide down Jack's body. One of them moved around and grasped a buttock while the other joined Dumb's.
Jack closed his eyes, his voice cracked as he tried to yell `no'. He struggled weakly, but he was powerless.
Kaylee finally snapped. With a strength neither Jack nor or the guards dreamed her capable of, she broke free from her captors. In one fluid motion she grabbed Scareface's gun and shot the two men. Jack looked down with satisfaction into the vacant eyes of his would-be rapists.
*Way to go Kaylee!* His jubilation was short lived. The others recovered quickly. Before Kaylee could fire another shot they were on her.
Scarface and Dumber held her down while Lumpy ripped of her clothes. She thrashed about wildly and Lumpy punched her several times in the head. Dazed, she couldn't fight anymore.
He closed his eyes, not wanting to watch what he knew was coming. Kaylee's dazed and weakened condition meant they only needed one guard to hold her still. Before he realized Scarface was moving, the man grabbed Jack's hair and yanked his head back.
The guard's putrid breath filled Jack's nostrils as he spoke in his native language than repeated what he'd said in broken English. "You will watch." Any attempt to move his head or close his eyes just resulted in Scarface yanking his hair harder.
Jack watched helplessly as each guard took his turn with her. He tried to scream, to yell at them not to hurt her, to come after him. Revolting as that thought was, the thought of them hurting her again was worse. Especially since she'd been trying to protect him. With his throat already raw and sore from screaming, his protests came out as barely more than a hoarse whisper.
When the other two finished, Dumber switched places with Scarface. When he finished, Scarface stood, looked at Jack with a malicious grin, and then turned back towards Kaylee. He nodded. Lumpy grabbed her head; with one swift twist he snapped her neck like a twig.
A single tear fell down Jack's face as his body trembled with anger. He wanted to hurt them, to _kill_ them, for what they'd done her. And to him and to the two young men who'd been in their cell in the beginning.
He waited for the guards to release him and drag him back to his cell. They had other ideas. Jack cringed as he looked up. Dumber had a thick piece of wood in his hand.
"^You will pay for your insolence. And hers.^"
Jack had learned a lot of Arabic over the months. "^Go fuck yourself!^" He'd become especially proficient at cursing.
Jack tried to brace himself for what he knew was coming, but it was no use. The first blow connected with his right knee sending ribbons of agony up and down his leg. A second blow hit in the same spot and he screamed. The blows continued to fall until his whole body felt like it was on fire. Finally, the manacles were undone and he hit the ground with a bone jarring thud.
Jack looked up to see Dumb standing in front of him.
"^This is for Tariq and Fathi!^" The man kicked Jack hard in the stomach.
Jack gasped as the air was driven from him. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to will the pain away. A fist suddenly impacted with his temple and the world went black.
Two pairs of hands grabbed him roughly and dragged him out of the room. He was brought back to a semi-conscious state by the feeling of cold concrete on his face.
The combination of his torture and the brutal attack on Kaylee, combined with the cold was more than he could take. He emptied the meager contents of his stomach onto the filthy floor. He continued to retch even after there was nothing left.
A tray with the sludge they passed off as food was slid into the cell. He left it for the roaches. Watching what they did to Kaylee had tied his stomach up in knots. That last hard kick to the gut hadn't helped either. Just the thought of eating made the bile rise in his throat again.
Jack awoke with a jerk. He hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep. The plate of uneaten sludge was in front of his face. The smell made his stomach roil and he turned his head. Panic welled within him as he tried, unsuccessfully, to stretch out. He forced himself to calm down and focused his eyes. His cell was dark, much darker than it usually was.
Realization hit him like a brick wall. He was in a cage, not his cell, outside. It was dark, but he could see the moon. That was why felt so cold. It also explained why the roaches hadn't eaten his `dinner'.
He knew why. In the morning he would become the center of attention. A warning to the other POW's. This is what happens to those who don't cooperate, are disobedient, or try to escape.
He closed his eyes and retreated into his mind, into thoughts of happier times. His mind drifted to the conversation he'd had with Charlie just before he'd left on that ill-fated mission. He'd promised Charlie he'd be there. His heart wrenched at the thought of how disappointed his little boy must have been to look into the stands and not see his Daddy.
He held onto the thought of Charlie. In his mind, he was there watching as his little boy slammed the ball into the outfield. Watching as his son ran the bases and slid into home. Watching him make one amazing play after another. A father's fantasy. He remembered how excited Charlie had been about playing t-ball. He'd bugged his daddy for weeks to sign him up. When they'd finally announced the beginning of the season, Jack had taken one hyper, extremely excited Charles Keegan O'Neill over to the recreation center to sign up.
Which brought back the memory of Charlie's birth and how he and Sara had chosen his name. The first name was easy. Charles was Jack's father's name. The second name came a few days after his birth. He'd been so small. The doctor's didn't expect him to live through the week, but Charlie fought fiercely for his name. Keegan, little fierce one, it fit his little boy perfectly.
This memory, in turn, brought him back to his wedding day. He'd never been so nervous. What if she changed her mind? What if she realized what she was getting herself into and changed her mind? But she hadn't. He'd never worn a broader smile than when she'd said `I do'.
But that was all he had now. Memories and dreams of what might be, of things he would never see.
He knew they would never let him go. He knew too much. And even if he hadn't, he had caused too much trouble.
He was one of the forgotten, and that was how he'd die.
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