At this point I have to issue my standard medical knowledge disclaimer. I am not a doctor, nurse, EMT or any other kind of medic (unless you count being a mom and a grandma—binder of many cuts, kisser of many bruises). Anything I say along those lines could be waaay off. I look it up on the internet and try to be logical.

Also, I am not a military expert! All I know about the USAF and related practices, operations, training, etc, I learned from watching television. We all know how accurate that probably is!

And as long as I'm disclaiming: I probably should mention now and then that I don't own Stargate, in any of its incarnations, and don't make any money from what I write about it. My payment is the fun of making it up and the contact with you nice people out there!

Thank you for reading!

Whew! 'Nuff said!

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Last time: Jack felt the agony in his chest as the bullet hit him, knocking him backward. He hit the tarmac hard, his entire torso on fire. A single thought crossed his mind. At least it's me and not her... For just an instant he fought for breath, as darkness descended.

Conclusions and Information

Seeing O'Neill go down gave Pete a moment of immense satisfaction, but almost immediately he felt the burning pain where the General's bullet had pierced his shoulder, paralyzing his arm and gun hand.

Sam spun away, yanking herself out of Pete's grasp, as SG8 virtually landed on him en masse, bringing him to the ground, as his weapon slid away harmlessly. She left Pete to Wisneski and his team, and turned, eyes frantically seeking Jack. Daniel and Teal'c were already at his side when Sam reached him.

"He's not breathing!" Daniel exclaimed, his fingers on Jack's neck, searching for a pulse.

Time seemed to slow down around Sam.

—She felt each of her knees hit the pavement as she dropped down beside Jack—first the left knee, then the right; the fabric of her jeans ripped over the right knee as it skidded slightly upon landing, and she felt the skin underneath tear, acknowledged the pain and dismissed it as insignificant.

—Details of Jack's appearance registered in her mind; his eyes... closed and unmoving beneath the lids; the bluish gray cast of his skin, each pore standing out in sharp contrast; the unnaturally thin, slightly parted lips, bloodlessly pale; his hands, normally stong and sure, loose and flaccid now, falling to the side of his body.

—Teal'c's arm, crossing her vision, as he removed the weapon which had fallen across Jack's chest.

—Her own hand reaching for Jack's BDU jacket where she saw the tear that marked the bullet's entry, high on his left chest ...too high for his heart, pleasegod, toohigh...

—But there's no blood. Why's there no blood? Sam's hands fumbled the fabric of the jacket, struggling sluggishly through the thickness of her own perception, despite her desperation to get to the wound.

—Oh God, Daniel's right, he isn't breathing! Her fingers shook as she tried to unfasten the buttons, her actions leaden...

Then suddenly Jack convulsed violently, sucking in a huge gulp of air—and in a rush, time resumed its normal flow...

His eyes opened and darted about in desperation, as his body thrashed and fought to re-oxygenate itself. Gradually the breaths became less frantic, as the air came back into his lungs. The thrashing lessened, and his features contorted with pain.

He's alive! Sam somehow had the jacket open now, pulled aside, and she stared blankly at what was underneath. "Armored vest..." she sighed, sitting back on her heels. She clapped a hand to her mouth, and tears of relief ran down her cheeks. "Thank God," she whispered.

Her voice brought Jack's awareness to her face. "Thank... Davis," he managed. He stared at her for a moment before he was able to continue. "You... okay?"

She nodded. "I'm fine."

"Good..." He closed his eyes and grimaced again, trying not to breathe too deeply. His good arm reached for his chest. "Crap! ...gonna make a bruise..."

"We must get you back to the infirmary, O'Neill," Teal'c said.

"Shanahan?" Jack asked.

"SG8 has him in custody," Daniel said. "You shot him in the shoulder."

As if Jack didn't know exactly where he'd hit the bastard! "Mm-hm..." His voice faded to a mumble. His chest hurt like hell.

A corpsman arrived with a first aid kit; Colonel Davis was right behind him. "I called for a med-evac chopper," Davis said, dropping to a crouch. "How bad is he?"

"The vest caught it," Daniel said. "No wound, but there's probably damage."

Jack tried to speak.

"Please stay still, sir," the corpsman said, as he tried to assess the General's condition.

"Dixon..." Jack gasped.

"I'll get him, General." Paul Davis said, standing.

The corpsman had a pressure cuff on Jack's arm and was listening to the readings. "I need to open the vest," he said after he was done. He glanced at Carter. "Colonel?"

She nodded and put a hand on Jack's good shoulder. "Try to stay still, sir. We're going to unhook the vest." She began to carefully began to free the fasteners with her other hand. He grunted in pain. "Sorry," she whispered.

Once the vest was open, the corpsman used his stethoscope as gently as possible to listen to Jack's heart and breathing. O'Neill reacted to the pressure by trying to shove the instrument away. Sam caught his hand. "Try not to move, Jack. He's just trying to help you."

"I'm going to give you something for the pain, General." The corpsman had a syringe in hand.

"No!" Jack grated. "Where's Dixon?!"

"I'm right here, General." Dixon had returned on the run with Davis, and he now knelt beside Jack. "What do you need, Jack?"

"Dave... you're in charge here. Close... road. Keep local cops out. Send everybody... to SGC..." He couldn't keep back another groan of pain. "Find Reynolds... Prob'ly still at Carter's house. Fill 'im in..." It felt as if stones in his chest were grinding together. "Call Hammond..." He lost his breath suddenly, and started coughing harshly. Blood appeared on his lips. The coughing went on for several moments. The grinding sensation got worse and the pain made him lose track of everything except its intensity.

The corpsman snatched scissors from the kit and swiftly slit Jack's sleeve as far as his elbow, then injected the painkiller into the vein. The effect was almost instantaneous as Jack began to relax and the coughing eased. His eyes fluttered closed.

The corpsman cut open the upper part of Jack's shirt and his fingers passed gently across the skin of Jack's chest, where the bullet had impacted. Discoloration was already evident. Jack winced at the touch, but made no protest.

"I'm pretty sure he has broken ribs," the corpsman said. "The blood is from his lung. Most likely the broken end of a rib stabbing it. I only gave him a small dose of painkiller. Too much could interfere with his breathing. But we have to try and keep him still so the rib doesn't do more damage. He needs to get to the infirmary."

"Med-evac should be here soon," Sam said, her eyes on Jack's face.

A burst of profanity made them turn to where another airman was putting a dressing on Shanahan's wound. Pete was snarling furiously at the medic. "What the hell do you think you're doing? That hurts!"

Colonel Wisneski, SG8's CO, stepped up and threatened Pete with his weapon. "Shut up, Shanahan! You're lucky the man is even bothering to stop the bleeding!"

A few minutes later the whoop of chopper blades announced the arrival of the med-evac team.

Jack was unconscious when he was loaded onto the helicopter for the trip back to the SGC. Sam climbed in with him, and sat beside his stretcher on the flight. Pete was on the same chopper, but Sam ignored him—the corpsman had given him enough painkiller to keep him quiet.

Dr. Karen Taylor sat on the other side of Jack, listening to his breathing through her stethoscope and holding the portable oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. A pale pink film had formed on the inside of the mask as the blood from his injured lung was exhaled in his breath. Sam did not want to distract the doctor by asking questions, but she was all too aware of the small frown between Karen's brows.

The flight back to Cheyenne Mountain could not have taken more than thirty minutes, but it seemed endless to Sam. Halfway there, Jack's breathing began to labor, and he was clearly in pain, as the medication was wearing off. The doctor spoke into the radio, ordering a respiratory team to meet them in the parking lot, and the surgical team to be ready.

Sam held Jack's hand and prayed.

Dr. Miles and his team descended on Jack the moment he was unloaded from the helicopter. Sam stood aside as he was put on a respirator, and whisked into the Mountain. Almost as an afterthought, Pete was trundled away also. Sam was left standing at the gate.

Within moments, the next chopper came in, and Teal'c and Daniel joined her.

"They took Jack to surgery," she said, brushing away their questions of concern for her. The three of them headed into the base, taking up a familiar station in the infirmary corridor, near the surgery doors. After a short while, Teal'c found two chairs for Sam and Daniel, and then settled himself against the wall.

They'd been waiting for an hour when Dr. Brightman came out of the operating room and came over to speak to them.

"The surgery is going slowly, but well," she told them. "The General has two broken ribs and a broken collarbone. One rib-splinter pierced the lung. Dr. Miles is repairing it. Working on the lungs is always slow because the tissue is fragile. After that's done, Dr. Taylor will assist me with the bone repair. It'll be a while yet, but General O'Neill is holding up just fine."

The members of SG-1 relaxed visibly. "Thank you, doctor," Daniel said, his arm around Sam's shoulders.

"Colonel," Dr. Brightman addressed Sam. "You should be in a bed. You need to be checked out."

"I'm fine..." she began.

"I was told that you were struck in the head, Colonel. Is that correct?"

"Yes," she admitted.

"What were you hit with?"

"Once with the barrel of a pistol. The second time with a fist."

"Twice? Did you lose consciousness?"

"Not the first time—just stunned. The second time I did, for just a few minutes."

"You may have a concussion," Brightman pointed out. "I want you checked out."

"I'm not even officially Air Force any more."

The doctor smiled. "As if that matters, Sam!"

"Dr. Brightman is correct, Samantha," Teal'c said. "You must be examined."

"I'll send a nurse to settle you in, and my PA to run the usual tests," Brightman said, "And I'll come see you myself as soon as the surgery's finished."

Sam surrendered. "Thanks, Lisa."

Shortly thereafter, a nurse arrived to escort Sam to a cubicle.

"Should we come with you?" Daniel asked.

"No, stay here. That way you can let me know if there's any news."

"I shall remain, Daniel," Teal'c volunteered. "You go with Samantha."

The nurse took Sam to a cubicle while Daniel waited outside the curtain. The jeans Sam was wearing were ripped from her being thrown to the runway. The nurse brought her clean pull-on hospital pants to put on with the t-shirt she was wearing. Sam had been running on adrenalin and so keyed up with worry for Jack, she had not thought about how she felt, however, as soon as she was made to lie down, she discovered that she was exhausted. Her head ached also, something else she had been barely aware of. She lay still while the nurse took her vitals. Daniel came in and sat nearby. They didn't talk and she found herself dozing. She jerked awake when the PA arrived.

The physician's assistant was a red-haired man in his thirties, with a pleasant smile, whom she had seen around the infirmary a few times but never interacted with. When her eyes fell on the nametag he wore, she gave a surprised laugh.

"Daniel Jackman?" she said.

"That's me," the redhead answered, grinning. "I go by Dan." He nodded to Daniel. "Dr. Jackson. Nice to see you, when we're not trying to straighten out our identities."

"Yeah," Daniel agreed with a smile.

"You've met, then?" Sam asked.

"Several times," Jackman said.

"Name confusion," Daniel added.

"I'll bet," she said.

Jackman proceeded with his examination of Sam for the next ten minutes. He diagnosed a mild concussion. There were also bruises on the side of her face where Pete hit her. Her left wrist was sprained, from the blow she had delivered to Pete's chest.

The PA strapped the wrist and gave Sam a sling. "Just for a day or so," Dan Jackman said, when she looked like she was going to object to the sling. "To remind you not to use the hand. How's your headache?"

"Kind of dull. Really, not bad," she told him.

"Good. I'll give you some ibuprofen. That'll help with the wrist swelling, too. If the pain gets worse, let me know and I'll get you something stronger. But I don't want to give you narcotics if I don't have to."

"Do I have to stay in bed?"

"What did you plan on doing?" Jackman asked suspiciously. He had heard quite a lot about Carter's workaholic tendencies.

"Actually, just staying close, until we hear about J.. General O'Neill's surgery."

"Then I think you should rest right here for a while. It's nearby, and I'm sure Dr. Jackson will let you know any news."

"Absolutely," Daniel confirmed. "Between Teal'c and me, you won't miss a thing! Except sore feet from standing in the corridor..."

She had to admit that the thought of resting for a while was enticing. "Promise to wake me if you find out anything? I probably won't sleep, anyway..."

"Of course," Daniel assured her.

The two men left, turning down the lights. Sam was asleep within minutes.

xXx

A soft sound awakened her, and she opened her eyes, not sure for a moment where she was. She hadn't expected to sleep at all, and certainly not so easily, and suddenly felt almost guilty about it. In addition she was worried that she might have missed some important word about Jack. Looking around with alarm, she saw that Colonel Paul Davis was standing at the opening of the curtain.

"I'm sorry to wake you, Colonel," he said.

"That's okay. Is there any news about Jack?"

"He's still in surgery," Paul said. "Dr. Miles came out a little while ago. He finished repairing the General's lung and, and now Dr. Brightman and Dr. Taylor are working on the ribs. I told Daniel I was coming this way and he asked me to let you know."

She nodded. "Thanks. That's a relief."

He smiled. "Yes it is."

She raised the head of her bed partway. The headache was gone. "What time is it?"

"13:22. Is there anything I can get you?"

She realized she was thirsty. "Would you mind getting me some water?"

"Not at all." He disappeared briefly, and returned with a cup of water and a straw.

"Thank you." She took the cup gratefully, and drank most of it down.

"Is there anything else you need, Colonel?"

"No. That's fine, thank you. I'm not a colonel anymore, though. You know that, right?"

"Old habits are hard to break, Ms. Carter. Or do you prefer Doctor?"

She grimaced. "Oh, neither one! How about just Sam."

He smiled. "Sam."

"I'm glad you're here," she said. "I want to thank you."

"Thank me? What for?"

"Jack said you were responsible for him wearing the vest. Thank you."

"Oh," he said. "SOP. Whenever a general officer goes into a combat situation, he's required to wear the armor."

"I'll bet he didn't think about it, though."

"No, he didn't."

"It's a good thing you were there to remind him."

"Remind who about what?" Daniel's voice said from beside Davis, as he pulled back the curtain and stepped into the cubicle.

"It was Paul who made sure Jack wore the vest," Sam said.

"Good call!" Daniel said to Paul. "It probably saved his life." He turned back to Sam. "The nurse came out just now to let us know it'll be another hour or so. She said Dr. Brightman will come and talk to us as soon as she finishes. I thought I'd wait here with you."

"Where's Teal'c?"

"Dave Dixon wanted to see him. SG3 and 8 are back. Reynolds and SG2 are on their way. I talked to Wisneski. Pete's friends are locked up—the two from the plane, and they also got the guys in the SUV. Pete's here in the infirmary getting Jack's bullet taken out of his shoulder. How are you feeling, Sam?"

"Better. My wrist is sore but the headache's gone. I'm not sure how long I slept, but I had a good nap."

Daniel pulled over a second chair, and he and Davis sat down to wait.

xXx

"I'm not with them!" Eddy Faine was insisting, glancing around the small, gray interrogation room, as he was ushered inside. "I just fly a plane. They hired me to take them somewhere. Promised to pay me really good, too."

"Sit down." Dave Dixon waved toward the table and two chairs sitting in the middle of the room.

"Honest to God," Eddy went on. "I didn't know what they were up to. I didn't know they'd kidnapped anybody, for Christ's sake!"

"Sit!"

Eddy obeyed quickly, and Dixon took the chair opposite him, and opened the large envelope in his hand, letting the contents slide out onto the tabletop. Those included the pilot's license of one Edward James Faine, as well as a picture ID, the flight plan he'd filed for Des Moines, and five thousand dollars in cash. In addition, Dixon held a computer print-out of Eddy's police record, and the handwritten report from the stockade guards, stating that they'd separated Faine from the other prisoners when it became obvious that they were attempting to bully him into being silent.

Dixon switched on the video recorder on the table, identified himself and Eddy for the record and then raised his eyes to Eddy's face. "Please repeat what you just said as we were coming in here, Mr. Faine."

"I didn't know anybody was gonna get kidnapped. I never met those guys before. I'm not one of them! They promised to pay me plenty to fly them where they wanted to go. That was all I was supposed to do. They threatened me if I didn't stay quiet!"

"You're talking about the men who were at the Callum airfield with you this morning?" Dixon glanced down at his notes. "They're tentatively identified as Vincent Myers, Peter Shanahan, Bradley Wicks, and John Dallas."

"Yeah. The dudes at the field. I didn't know their names."

"How did they contact you?"

"One of them called the airfield about seven-thirty this morning. He said his name was John Dallas. It turned out to be the guy with the white hair. He said he'd meet me there, and bring a down payment, if I could fly him and two other people out right away. When he showed up he had the five grand. Told me to file a flight plan for Des Moines, but he'd give me the real destination once we were in the air. We waited at the field for the others to show up. And that's all I know—honest to God!"

"Had you ever seen him before?"

"No."

"What about the other men in the cell with you?"

"Never saw them before they showed up with the woman." He hesitated. "I've seen the other guy, though. The one that hit her. Oh, man, she nailed him a good one!" he added almost gleefully. "That was outstanding!"

"Where have you seen Shanahan before?" Dixon demanded.

"Reno. His name wasn't Shanahan, though. He worked for one of the casino owners. Muscle, y'know."

"When was this?"

"Four, maybe five years ago."

"What was his name?"

Eddy shrugged. "They called him Casey, I think. Or Carson. Something like that. We weren't introduced. He was security."

"How did it happen that you saw him?"

Eddy hesitated. "I was delivering something to the owner. He was there."

Dixon frowned. "What were you delivering?"

Eddy just shrugged and shook his head.

"Drugs?"

"A package. I never saw what was in it," he evaded.

Dixon decided to let that go for the moment. "Which casino? And what was the owner's name?"

"The Ruby Lion. I didn't actually meet the owner. Saw the manager. They called him Mr. Baron."

"You sure this Casey is the same man?"

"Yep. I remember thinking that it was funny to have a security guard with such a baby face. Then he caught me lookin' at him and his eyes got this hard, nasty look, y'know... Yeah. It was him."

"Anything else you noticed?"

"About Casey?"

"About anything."

Eddy started to shake his head, then paused. "Dallas got a phone call while we were waiting."

"Did you hear anything?"

"No. But he seemed annoyed. I don't think he liked what the caller said to him."

"When was that?"

"Just a couple minutes before the SUV got there."

"Tell me what happened when the SUV arrived."

Eddy described the events that followed the arrival of Shanahan with Carter and the other two men; the struggle for the gun, and Pete dragging her out of the car. "That's when she slammed him one in the gut!" he exclaimed. Then the sighting of the choppers and his attempt to flee. "Dallas put a gun to my head and ordered me into the plane. But by then the chopper had us blocked in. The one you call Shanahan hit the lady again and tried to use her to get out of there. And the soldier shot him and he shot the soldier."

"That's it, then?" Dixon asked.

Eddy nodded. "Yes."

"Okay." Dixon slid the money and papers back into the envelope. "Tell one of the guards if you think of anything else."

"You're not gonna put me back in there with the others, are you?"

"We'll put you in your own cell."

"Don't I get a lawyer now?" Eddy asked. "I told you everything. I don't know anything else! I didn't have anything to do with the kidnapping! I'm glad the lady got rescued!"

Dixon regarded him for a moment. "Everything you've said will be taken into consideration." He nodded to the guard who gestured Eddy to his feet and escorted him out of the room. Dave reached over and shut off the recorder, then stood up and turned to go.

Teal'c was standing in the open door. "What do you think?" Dixon asked. He knew the Jaffa had been watching the interview on the video feed.

"I believe he is telling the truth."

"Me, too. And that information about Shanahan may be a valuable lead." He shifted the papers in his arm. "The one called Dallas is next. You want to sit in?"

Teal'c nodded. "Indeed."