A/N's: Thank you all so very much for you reviews! I have little time tonight, so I did not reply to each review in private, I figured you'd rather have a new chapter tonight!
I will get back to you, I promise, just not tonight. Enjoy the next chapter!
Colonel Bayfield paced through his office. He was nervous, concerned and impatiently awaiting for some news. Any news would be better than the waiting. He hated the waiting, the not knowing and the not being able to control the situation.
He'd hated himself for turning to O'Neill for help from the minute he came up with the plan. Yet, he had no other options left, with his best teams out in the field. He also knew he had promised O'Neill that he would do everything within his power to prevent something happening to one of his men the way it had happened to O'Neill.
That stupid mission…
His superiors had overruled him. The life of the contact they'd rescued was far more valuable than the rescuers. The political relations with the surrounding countries in the Middle East, the threat of the start of World War Three; these were all considerations weighing heavily enough to forbid re-entering Tyberia for one single man.
That didn't mean that it hadn't sucked big time.
That didn't let him sleep better at night.
He had regretted that mission ever since. He'd been incredibly relieved that O'Neill had managed to get out by himself, but had still been unable to shake off the overwhelming feeling of guilt, betrayal and failure.
He should have fought harder.
He had considered resigning after the Tyberian incident. He felt that if he wasn't able to protect his men, to back them up through everything, then he wasn't worthwhile. His men should be able to trust him, to have faith in him. How could a man trust him, if he wasn't able to at least make the decisions about his life and death?
It had been O'Neill who had eventually persuaded him to stay. Jack had convinced him that he could only do so much. That sometimes somebody else took over the responsibility and that he had to accept that. He'd had his orders and followed them. Jack wouldn't have expected him to do anything different.
That didn't mean the man wasn't mad. He had been furious at the time and he had every right to be. Yet, O'Neill was enough of a military man to move on. Jack even did a better job of that than him. He really would have thrown in the towel. He'd had it. This partially failed mission in Tyberia was the final straw for him.
See, this incident wasn't the only one.
Oh, no.
There was that stupid unofficial mission to Iran, the one where they had almost lost Jack after that parachute accident. He'd tried to reach him, to get a team to his rescue… God, he'd tried. The Iranian soldiers were not allowing him much space to move in and he'd failed. Failed miserably.
Then there was Iraq. He couldn't even think back to that time without shivering violently all over. Cromwell had made a very bad decision, as it turned out. He'd assumed that Jack was dead and had left the scene. Left him there, injured, almost dying, to be captured by the Iraqis.
Damn, damn, damn.
There was absolutely nothing he could do back then. The United Nations tried; they gave it their best shot at negotiating to get O'Neill out of that prison. They had succeeded too; he had to give them credit for that.
It still had taken four long dreadful months.
Four months in hell.
He could never banish the memory of the man brought back home, strapped to that stretcher, all skin and bone, deathly pale and damn… the rest… neatly covered by a blanket…
Bayfield dropped heavily on his chair, sighed out and placed his elbows on the desk, resting his head in his hands.
Damn… He'd stayed by O'Neill's side, sat daily with him in the hospital through the first month. Visited him twice a week while he was recuperating the next two months. Backed him up when he refused to talk to that cold-hearted psychiatrist. Cromwell was having serious problems with the overwhelming feeling of guilt; of having failed but it was nothing to what Bayfield had felt. He had been responsible, these were his men and these were his missions. He was responsible for all of them, as a father for his kids and he hadn't been able to keep them safe.
It was after the Tyberian mission, when he'd personally vowed to the man that he would never, ever let anything happen to him anymore. That he would die first.
Bayfield rubbed his aching temples and stared at the wall. He shook the memories off and hit the desk with his clenched fist.
He'd sent O'Neill back to Tyberia. That had been his choice and his choice alone. Now it was his job to see that the man returned home. He had made a vow and hell, he was going to stick to that.
O'Neill had covered a lot of territory that Friday. He'd started before five in the morning and had hiked all day. He had only allowed himself two brief rests; he wanted to reach his destination before dawn.
He'd made it.
He lay flat on his stomach, his binoculars in his hands as he studied the camp. Or, at least, the part he could see. Jack knew the camp was located on a lower piece of ground, covered on two sides by a six-foot high mountain wall. He carefully examined the higher buildings, spotted the guards on the roof and as they made their rounds.
His gaze turned to the fields reaching all the way up to the camp. His primary task was to make a safe path through those fields until he reached the part where he would have to climb down to the lower level. The fields contained mines; O'Neill remembered that from his last visit. He didn't know how many and what type of mines; he just knew they were there. The Elite Troops heavily guarded the entrance to the camp and only occasionally checked out the other sides from the roof of the huge building, the camp's headquarters, since they knew the mines up there would keep them safe.
That was his way in.
He had his backpack stuffed with equipment to sweep the fields, dismantle mines and mark a lane through. It would take time, but it could be done.
Crawling backwards until he was out of sight of the camp, Jack sat up. He decided to set up his camp first. He found a good spot where he would be out of sight from any passing troops. Knowing he needed to rest after a long day of hiking through the mountains, he quickly prepared his meal, finished it and rolled himself in his sleeping bag.
The Colonel woke up around midnight, pleased to find the moon illuminating the sky enough for him to start his job. He started by digging a hole, by removing stones, soil, and rocks, everything that could be removed. He needed a safe place to store the disarmed mines.
Satisfied with the gap he'd created, O'Neill went back to his small camp, emptied his backpack and stuffed all needed equipment in the pockets of his BDU pants and protective fragmentation vest. He removed his watch, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and took out a Kevlar helmet and put it on, tightly buckling the chinstrap. Keeping the mine-probe at the ready he left camp and approached the field.
When he didn't dare walk any further, Jack squatted down, carefully avoiding allowing his knees to touch the ground. He started probing the area immediately, around his feet and as far forward as his reach extended, looking for mine indicators. He scanned his sides as well, again as far as he could reach. When he found the area clear, he knelt, continuing the probing in front of him and to the sides until he was certain it was safe to lie down into the prone position. He placed two entrance markers at the beginning of the lane, one on the left and one on the right.
Moving forward, scanning and probing carefully for mines, the Colonel placed a handrail marker on his left, less than five yards from the entrance. O'Neill probed by gently pushing the device into the ground, at an angle of less then 45 degrees. By applying just enough pressure on the probe to sink slowly into the ground, he could feel whether it encountered resistance. Besides probing every two inches, he additionally scanned the area in front of him visually, looking for trip wires, fuses or pressure prongs.
O'Neill had just placed the second handrail marker on his left as he felt the probe touching something of interest. Using the tip of the probe, he carefully picked the soil away and used two fingers to remove loose dirt. He continued digging, slowly, painstakingly, until the object became visible.
A mine.
O'Neill studied the mine thoroughly, while very carefully digging all around it until he could feel underneath. When he was sure there was no anti-handling device hidden underneath, he gathered a safety clip and his M22 wrench. He'd identified the mine as the well-know blast AP mine called M14. US forces used this type of mine, so he was familiar with it. When he was certain all soil was removed, he grasped the mine with one hand and inserted the safety clip. Next he turned the pressure plate into the safe position with the wrench before lifting the mine out of the hole. His last job was to remove the detonator and to screw a shipping plug into the detonator well.
Jack let out a sigh of relief and slowly wiped his face. Cautiously he crawled back and took the disarmed mine to the storage spot he'd created.
Entering the lane the same way as he'd done the first time, he crawled back to his last position and started probing again. It was an extremely tiring job and he knew he could only continue for another ten minutes before he needed a brief rest.
He was just about to take a break when his probe encountered resistance. Repeating the procedure, he removed all soil around the mine and found it to be the same kind as the previous mine he'd disarmed. This one looked old, and sort of misshaped. His suspicions were confirmed when he couldn't insert the safety clip. Cursing softly, Jack inspected the mine closely, trying to detect where the safety clip got stuck. If only he could bend the safety clip a bit, widening the opening just enough…
He searched his pockets for something he could use. One of his tools fit in the opening and he slowly applied pressure on one side, bending it a little bit. He tried inserting the safety clip on the mine again and although it slid further on than before, it still didn't fit completely. Biting on his lip, Jack concentrated on the precise job of adjusting the clip and sighed out in relief when his efforts were successful and he managed to insert it on the mine.
Although he continued with the greatest precaution, the Colonel experienced no problems in turning the pressure plate into the safe position and removing the detonator. After the shipping plug was in its place, he crawled back, slowly, exhausted and his muscles trembling from working in the uncomfortable position.
O'Neill rested for ten minutes, used another five to briefly stretch his legs and arms and then returned to continue his job of creating a safe lane through the minefields.
He'd successfully disarmed another five mines, when he encountered another obstacle. Jack considered himself lucky that the moon gave enough light for him to spot the pin attached to the trip wire before his hands touched them. He examined the wire closely, from one end to the other. This way, he easily found the release-pin ring on one end, telling him the position of the mine. When he was sure this was the only mine the trip wire was attached to, he concentrated on clearing all soil from the fuse area.
This was another type of mine, similar as the M16-series, bounding-fragmentation AP mines. It was all greasy from the silicone that was spread over it, a well-known precaution for long-term use. Keeping his movements slow and precise, Jack gathered the spare safety pins from his pockets and inserted one first in the positive safety-pin hole, then another one in the locking safety-pin hole.
Catching his breath for a second, Jack took out his knife and carefully cut the slack trip wires. He waited for ten seconds before firmly holding the mine with one hand, digging around it with the other until he could feel underneath it. Relieved to find no anti-handling devices, he lifted the mine from the hole, used his M25 wrench to remove the fuse and inserted a shipping plug. By the time he was back at the camp, he was tired, his knees and elbows were sore and his muscles were protesting every movement.
After resting for another twenty minutes, the Colonel crawled forward through the created lane and patiently continued his job. By the time it was midday, he'd disarmed thirty-two mines, had used the equipment Radzir had provided him with on the mines of a different type and he decided to break for a recess, to catch some sleep. With the sun high in the sky it was hot, and after preparing his meal, O'Neill curled up in his sleeping bag, hoping the rest would do his tense, aching muscles some good.
so... Jack is getting closer to the missing team... excited?