Disclaimer: not mine. Still sad about it.
Summary: He never forgot the day in Iraq when his men looked to the sky and cheered the arrival of the legendary 'Eagle'. The day he was ready to die, and the day he promised to never give up.
A/note: Seriously, no idea where this came from. Feedback much appreciated, which I will shamelessly beg for. Please excuse the one bad word.

~~ The Eagle ~~

8th July 1991
Kuwait

He'd lost four men already. It didn't help that he had started with nine. He had been sitting in the same patch of dirt for six, maybe seven days. He'd nearly lost count. His hands were bound tightly behind him, around a thick wooden pole lodged firmly in the ground. His mouth was so dry he'd stopped bothering to try and moisten it. The sun burned furiously and he quietly begged for it all to end.

He looked to his left. Danny Walters, his 2IC, sat slumped over, chin digging into his chest about six feet away. Beyond him, the collapsed figure of Evan Stone, ironically, the company medic, lay on his side in the burning soil. Around the dusty courtyard he could count seventeen other men of different ages.

They did their best, all of them, to keep quiet. To protect him as much as their secrets.

Jack looked up, his muscles weakened from a lack of nourishment. Those men weren't stupid. They knew Jack was the leader but beat him no more than the rest of his company. Don't worry; he had certainly had his fair share.

He spent the remainder of his time trying to figure a way out. The bindings weren't the problem; it was the dozens of men in the courtyard carrying different degrees of deadly weapons. Secretly, he had resigned himself to death by starvation, dehydration or hot lead two days ago; when he watched the youngest member of his company, Taylor, take one to the forehead. The night after that happened, he had cried.

He cried for the other three they had lost. He cried for Sara and his own son Charlie. Then, he cried for himself. He hated the shame that came with wanting to die before the rest of his team.

His body was already aching from the endless cramps. They had received enough water to sustain them during the day and had only been fed twice since their capture. He wasn't sure how it all happened. But after so many days to sit and do nothing but think about it, it came down to numbers. They were outmanned and outgunned. Plain and simple.

To his right, a dry cough escaped his friend's lips. He turned to look at the man beside him. He tried to speak, but the words did not come easily. Jack tried again.

"How ya doin' Alan?" he asked. The younger man coughed more deeply.

"Still kickin' Colonel. Don't you worry about me..." his head dropped back against the wood with a 'thunk'.

"Good." Jack tried to smile, but found himself suddenly too tired. "I was going to tell you to shut up, you're snoring so damn loud." He tried to joke.

The young Captain smiled, but soon faded.

"Between you an' me Jack, I was going to quit the business anyway."

"That so? Heck Al, I might just join ya..."

Alan lolled his head to the side, a tired yet curious expression washing over his features.

"You ready to give up Jack?" he frowned.

Jack gave the man a sad and fleeting smile, shrugging his shoulder despite its protest. The man shared his sombre mood.

"Ya know Jack, there are two types of people in the world. The ones that believe in miracles and the ones that don't."

"Which one are you?"

"I do." The man quickly silenced himself when one of their armed captors walked past. Once out of earshot, he continued. "Really question is Jack: do you?"

Jack considered the question carefully.

"If we get out here, I will." He sank back into the discomfort of the wood digging into his shoulders. "No one knows we are here. And here is so far away from anywhere important that they ain't going to stumble on us by accident."

"I knew we should'na left you in charge of morale." He man retorted.

Jack chuckled a little, but the agitation caused his chest to heave, coughing uncontrollably. God, how far gone was he? He should have stayed in the air. Why did he decide flying was more dangerous than this?

He nearly fell asleep when someone tripped over his foot. It jolted him back to reality to see men running frantically through the courtyards into the surrounding buildings. He looked up to find an orange glow painted on the sky. Must be close to sunset.

He realised the courtyard was cleared. No one in sight except for the POW's. Some of the men were two steps ahead of him, desperately trying to escape their bindings.

Then he heard the rumble. Not the rumble of thunder, nor the earth shifting. Not the rumble of his stomach or of feet on dirty pavement. Even better. That was definitely rumbling from the afterburner on an F-16. He knew that sound anywhere. His fellow soldiers seemed equally delighted by it sounds echoing of the walls of the compound.

Those walls groaned and shook as explosions blasted all around them, ringing in his eyes and blowing great waves of sand and dust throughout the compound. Another explosion sounded on the other side of the wall behind him, followed by screams and gunfire. Debris and brick rained down on him.

He looked up with a renewed vitality, his eyes grinding with dirt. He saw the aircraft fly low over them, taking a swing around and coming down even lower. His body vibrated with the intense sound. Across the compound, men cried out in rejoice.

"Goddamn! It's Eagle! Holy shit!" One man praised; casting his eyes up at the sky.

The jet circled on its side over them one last time, and Jack swore he caught the shape of a bald-headed eagle on the tailplane of the aircraft. The walls around them crumbled in places and the last thing he saw when the brick hit his temple, was American soldiers storming the compound.

He was a fool to have given up.

~~ SG1 ~~

2005
Cheyenne Mountain

Jack toyed with one of the silver model jets on his desk. He had released SG1 for the weekend and Teal'c had just left his office, having received permission to go offworld to visit Rya'c. As if Jack could say no. He finally grew tired of the steely model and replaced it on his desk. He stood and made his way to the door before something on the chair opposite his desk caught his eye. A navy blue book lay on the seat.

Teal'c had brought it in with him and must have left it behind. He doubled back and picked it up, turning it over to glance at the cover.

'The Gulf" it was simply titled.

Curiosity got the better of him. He sat down in the now vacant chair and flipped it open, flicking quickly through the pages. It had a lot of pictures, some of them bringing back uncomfortable memories. Before he went to close it, he spotted a picture in passing that he felt needed to be looked at.

He went back several pages and let it fall open. A black and white picture of Carter in her flight suit stared at him. God, she looked so young. So starry-eyed and untainted. Back when it was about the joy of flying. There was a lengthy caption beneath the photo.

'Captain Samantha 'Eagle' Carter flew 116 hours during her time in the gulf. Already famous for her incredible skills as an aviator, Capt. Carter rose in status to become a flying legend during her final flight in July 1991, in which she flew her already damaged F-16 Falcon into enemy airspace, providing sufficient ordinance to a POW compound, enabling the rescue of eighteen Americans prisoners; ultimately earning her the Aerial Achievement Medal.'

Jack couldn't help but chuckle at the realisation.

"Carter, you reckless, miracle worker..." He ran his fingers pensively down the smiling picture before closing the book, placing it in the top draw of his desk and walking out the door, remembering to switch the light off as he went.

~~ SG1 ~~

And done. So random. Friendly comments are so very, very welcome.