Geneva
Rodney tried very hard not to imagine what the noises that drifted down the hall to the rescue team meant John was going through. He didn't know how the natives of M5F-430 had captured John, since he'd been five steps behind Rodney all the way to the Gate, but he guessed they weren't just beating him for the fun of it. As Lorne stopped them at a junction, though, the voices became more distinct:
"You will give me the address to Atlantis!"
"Sheppard… John P…. Lieutenant Colonel… United States Air Force…."
A sharp crack and a cry cut John's reply short.
"You will tell me what I want to know!"
"Sheppard… John P…."
Rodney's eyes went wide. The Geneva Convention doesn't apply out here, Sheppard! he thought wildly, but he managed to only shake his head at Ronon and Teyla's questioning glance. Painful experience was teaching him the value of remaining silent in these situations.
Lorne signaled the all clear, and the team surged forward toward the room where John was being held. Moments later the guards and interrogator all lay dead, and the Marines were easing a barely conscious John onto a stretcher.
"G'd timing, Major," John mumbled. "Gettin' tired o' repeatin' m'self."
"Yes, sir," Lorne replied with a gentle smile. "All right, let's move."
"What was he saying?" Ronon frowned at Rodney as the Marines lifted John on the stretcher and hurried out of the room.
"There's a treaty on Earth called the Geneva Convention," Rodney explained. "Prisoners of war are required only to give their name, rank, and serial number."
"So every question receives the same answer," Teyla concluded.
Rodney nodded, and the conversation ended as they took their place at the back of the rapidly retreating team.
Six months later, John was even more surprised than Rodney when Ronon looked an interrogator in the eye and said evenly, "Dex, Ronon, Specialist, Satedan Army…."