A/N's: thank you all for your fantastic reviews and all. Please, keep breathing, keep your fingernails where they belong... and enjoy, this is an extra long chapter to get you through the weekend...

That weekend, the remaining members of SG-1 gathered for a pizza night at Daniel's apartment. They'd also invited Janet Fraiser, the Chief of the Medical facility of the SGC. Whenever Cassie was out to stay with a friend, Janet tried to catch up in spending time with her friend Samantha Carter, along with the team.

The pizza already sitting on the table, Daniel entered the living room with four plates while Teal'c carried the drinks.

Janet looked around with a surprised expression on her face. "Where is the Colonel?" she asked. She had had some time off work the last couple of days and didn't know about O'Neill's trip to the Middle East yet.

Daniel and Sam exchanged worried glances. They had been talking about that particular mission ever since the Colonel had left them on Monday.

"Err… Jack is gone for a while. To… the Middle East," Daniel said.

Janet frowned. "Why?"

"The Tyberian Elite forces have captured a Black-Ops team. The leader of that team is a close friend of the Colonel's," Sam tried to explain. "He's going to attempt to rescue them."

"Tyberia?" Janet was shocked. As his doctor, she was privy to the Colonel's medical file and she knew more details about his last visit to that country than anybody else did in the room. "Damn," she cursed.

Sam examined her friend closely, realizing Janet had to know more about her CO's past than she did and the concern that was edged on the doctor's face didn't make her worry any less.

"When do they expect him back?" Janet asked.

"We don't really know. The General has given us time off until further notice. Hopefully we'll know more next week," Daniel answered.

Janet took a slice of pizza, dropped it on her plate, wondering about another thing. "Who is with him?"

"Nobody," stated Sam.

"I offered to accompany O'Neill," Teal'c said. "But O'Neill did not want to risk more lives than his own."

Janet nodded. "Right. I should have known that. Well, let's hope he'll return safely to us."

"What aren't you telling us?" Daniel turned to Janet, frowning. Taking in the concern that was edged on her face, he wanted some answers. "What do you know about what happened to Jack there before?"

Janet shook her head in worry, keeping her eyes down. "I'm sorry, I can't. I know you're his friends and you're worried about him. But medical records are confidential. I can't tell you anything." She paused, wishing she didn't know anything and wondering why he'd agreed to go back there?

Each lost in thoughts and worries about their errant friend they ate in silence. Where normally these getting-together-nights were relaxing and enjoyable, they were unable to have fun on this night, not knowing anything about the whereabouts and well-being of their CO and friend.

It was Sunday afternoon. The sun stood high in the sky, shining unmercifully over the mountains. It was hot; incredibly hot.

Jack had finished his lane-marking job one hour ago and had spent the last hour studying the camp paying particular attention to the guards and their rounds. He knew their schedule well. They only entered the roof of the huge building that was built almost against the two mountain walls once an hour. That's when they checked the minefields, when they made sure nobody attempted to get through. They'd missed him, since he'd made sure to be out of sight every time the guards appeared on the roof.

He decided to wait until dusk. Then he would make his move, get inside, and make his way to the small brick building next to the huge one. It was a small prison, with two wooden benches inside. No windows; just a door, locked heavily on the outside.

O'Neill was pretty sure that the Special Forces team was kept there. He'd spent a couple of days inside that building, too; the last time he'd visited the camp. Twice a day two guards had entered to have some distraction from the boring job of making their rounds around the camp. That's when they had beaten him up until he was unconscious. Once a day, they had taken him to the commander of the camp for questioning. He could still picture the commander's face as the man yelled at him; his ugly visage only inches away from his own. He could still smell the man's breath. He had managed to keep the commander busy with false information for a couple of days before the man had realized that O'Neill had been feeding him lies. Jack shivered involuntarily at the memories and tried to shake them off. He had a job to do.

Jack went through his equipment one last time, making sure he had everything he needed and leaving the rest at his camp for faster movement. He secured his backpack and decided it was time to move. He walked through the minefield, following his own signs and safely reached the end. He took out a small hammer and a metal pin, knocked it into the rocks near the edge and tied a rope to the pin, hanging it down the wall. Testing it with a firm jerk, he considered it safe and climbed down. The Colonel was confident the guards wouldn't spot the rope; they would have to bend far forward to look over the edge of the roof, so he left it where it was. He crawled through the alley between the building and the mountain walls until he reached the end of the building.

The smaller one, with the door and without windows, was within view now. Jack scanned the area. There were only a few soldiers wandering through the camp, the rest apparently having their evening meal in one of the barracks near the front gate. There was no guard outside the door of the building that served as a prison; the locks from the outside were enough to keep who-ever was inside, in. If he was lucky, he could get them out and they would be on their way back through the minefields before the next round on the roof.

With one last look through the camp, Jack quickly got to his feet, rushed to the door and removed the three locks by sliding them away. He opened the door, threw a look inside and found the missing team.

Damn.

Without Major Crook.

The three present Special Forces members were stunned by the Colonel's appearance but they responded swiftly. Two of them immediately hauled the third to his feet, dragging his arms around their shoulders for support.

They appeared in the door opening and the Colonel pointed to the side of the huge building. "That way," he urged, and carefully closed the door, sliding the locks back in place. He moved faster than the trio that was all but carrying one of them, and showed them the way to a safer place.

When they were out of first sight, Jack stopped them, assessing their condition with a quick scan. The men were beat up, as he'd expected. They were looking far from healthy; battered, pale and exhausted summed it more up. At least they were alive, he thought grimly. "Colonel O'Neill to your rescue. Any idea where they're keeping Major Crook?"

"No, Sir. They took him a couple of days ago. We haven't seen him since," the Captain explained, visibly worried about his CO.

Jack scanned the camp for any sign of trouble. His actions hadn't been discovered yet. He had to get these men to safety but he couldn't leave Marc. Thinking hard, he eyed the Captain. The man seemed to have understood the Colonel's thoughts.

"I'm not leaving without the Major, Sir," Captain McKean protested, guessing where this was going.

Jack gave him a doubtful look. He admired the man's loyalty, but he needed to know these men were safe while he attempted to rescue Marc. He nodded at the Lieutenant's injured leg. "You're not exactly in a perfect condition for a fast in-and-out-rescue. The Lieutenant here won't run a marathon for a while and you two aren't in good shape either." Jack stopped briefly to see if his words had the needed effect.

The Captain nodded slightly, not completely convinced.

"I've marked a lane through the minefields. I need you to get your men to safety, Captain. Keep the marks on your right and get the hell out of here. Head Northeast. There's a spot close to the borders called Devil's Peak. Tuesday at nine is the first pick-up, then twice after every eight hours. Don't miss the bus. Got it?" O'Neill studied the Captain's face.

The Captain nodded. "Yes, Sir," he stated firmly, knowing the other man counted on him. "What about the Major, Sir?"

"I'm going to get him out. We'll catch up with you later. Now, go, before the guards make their next round on the roofs."

The Captain and his exhausted men saluted briefly. Then McKean remembered something he needed to know. "Sir? What day is it?" Being locked up in that place had made him lose track of time.

"It's Sunday evening." Jack showed them the rope and helped them climb up by lifting the injured Lieutenant on his shoulders while the Captain, who'd already made the ascent, assisted from the other side. Together they managed to lift the Lieutenant up. The Sergeant was the last to use the rope and soon, the trio was out of sight.

"Good luck, Sir," the Captain hissed as a last greeting before leading his men away from Camp Ockeloen.

O'Neill waited, counting time, allowing the three men to reach safer grounds and to get away. He was relieved that nothing happened; that the Captain had managed to lead his men away safely. Now he had three men less to worry about. It was time to move on. Time to figure out where they were keeping Major Crook.

O'Neill crawled through the alley between headquarters and the mountain wall. This time, he headed the other way. When he reached the end, he had a perfect view over the front side of the camp, with three barracks on the right, a radar installation opposite to him near the camp's fence and the two watchtowers on each side of the gate.

Jack knew there were two other possible places where Marc could be. In the middle of the square the Elite troops had created a hole in the ground, just big enough for one man to lie in, flat on his back or stomach. A wooden lid covered the "grave" and the Elite forces used this to break their prisoners by locking them in there for hours or days. Jack had experienced how hot it would become in the hole during the day and hoped Marc hadn't been in there all that time.

The other place where Marc could be was the dungeon underneath the huge building, close to where he lay on his stomach right now. The commander of the camp used to take his prisoners down there for "questioning". There were chains on the ceiling to keep the prisoners secured. It was another place Jack wasn't looking forward to visiting again. It was where the commander had broken his arm twice, mad, as he was when the information Jack had been feeding him turned out to be less than accurate.

O'Neill needed a plan and he needed it fast. He had no way of knowing whether the guards would check out their other prisoners before nightfall or not. If they did, they would find out that their prisoners were gone; they would find his escape route, they would probably place a double guard on Crook and they would most likely discover him soon thereafter. He just couldn't take that risk. He would have to decide which location he needed to check out first. The "grave" was out in the open, so it would be next to impossible to reach that without being spotted. On the other hand, entering headquarters and walking down the stairs to the dungeons without meeting anybody was pretty risky as well.

He'd already decided to take his chances inside the building first when he heard footsteps above him. Two guards were walking on the roof, making lots of noise. O'Neill crawled backwards, safely between the mountain walls and the building. If nobody looked over the edge of the roof he would be all right. They wouldn't see the rope either. He held his breath as the men talked aloud, in some Arabic dialect, and Jack didn't understand a word of it. By the sound of the voices he could make out that they were mad, however. Mad at each other, or at somebody else, he couldn't tell. One of the guards even sounded drunk to his ears, but he had a hard time believing that, knowing how strict the Elite force was.

The two guards stepped closer to the edge, still arguing loudly. Jack pushed his back as tight against the building's wall as he could, holding his breath.

Then one of the guards got really, really pissed. His voice even louder he emphasized his words by kicking against everything that came in front of his feet. The other man was stumbling, moving backwards, all while trying to calm his colleague down.

Apparently there were some barrels on the roof.

They just happened to come between the two fighting guards.

The one who was already kicking around, saw the barrels, smiled and placed some force behind his movement, hitting the barrels hard with his right foot. The first barrel was forced flying towards the other guard who was now yelling in fear.

The other barrel flew all the way over the alley between the mountain and the building and rolled into the higher fields.

Shocked, the second guard turned around and ran towards the opposite edge of the roof. The first guard moved backwards, desperately attempting to get out of the way, protectively covering his head with one arm.

The barrel landed in the middle of the minefield and rolled over twice before it detonated the first mine. It was a bounding fragmentation AP-mine and it burst out of the ground, throwing the barrel into the sky as the explosion illuminated the whole area. Pieces of debris and shrapnel flew all over the place, landing in the field, on the roof of the building and between it, down into the alley. A second mine detonated only a few seconds after the first, causing the same sort of reaction.

Jack had been listening carefully to what was going on up on the roof but he couldn't possibly know what to expect. The sound of the barrels startled him. He had nowhere to go and nowhere to hide, plus he had no idea whether to move to his right or left. Instinctively, he turned, dropping flat on his stomach and covered his ears as the barrel hit the ground and triggered the mines.

O'Neill was lucky to have been wearing the safety helmet and fragmentation vest. Although the explosions took place above him and he was somewhat protected by the alley he was in, the pieces of shrapnel still rained down on him, damaging his arms and legs, digging through his shirt and pants, embedding themselves into his skin. The shrapnel was so hot from the detonation, that he felt hardly any pain.

Then it was all over.

Camp Ockeloen was suddenly a very busy place. Soldiers were running outside, ready to respond to anything, unaware of what had caused the explosion. People were talking loudly and excitedly without really listening to each other, all trying to assess the situation. The guard who had kicked the barrel had been blown off the roof by the force of the first explosion and was soon surrounded by his comrades. The man had broken his leg during the fall, but otherwise seemed all right. The commander of the camp soon barked out his orders and restored some order in the chaos. A group of soldiers was sent to examine the roof of the building, to see what had happened to the other guard plus to determine what damage had been done.

Another team of two soldiers entered the alley to inspect both the mountain and the building's walls. They immediately spotted the still dizzy intruder, and after shouting triumphantly at their colleagues, the two soldiers approached the prone form, dragged him to his feet and forced him out of the alley.

"Hey! Easy!" O'Neill protested, as the movement forced the embedded shrapnel to cut deeper into his flesh. The sharp metal was cutting through his skin like a hot knife, digging deeper and deeper into his body, causing a red-hot agony to run through the back of his arms and legs.

The guards paid no attention to their burden's cries and with huge, proud smiles on their faces they showed their catch of the day to the commander of the camp.

The commander stepped closer, a stunned but furious expression over his face. He barked some angry words at O'Neill, who of course had no idea what the man was talking about.

"Err, happy New Year to you, too," the Colonel answered, his ears still ringing from the explosions and his vision still blurring.

The commander was not amused and his fist landed hard on the Colonel's left cheek, throwing O'Neill's head to the other side. He would have fallen from the force of the blow if it weren't for the guards holding him up straight.

The commander turned, barking more orders and O'Neill watched as two guards ran through the small brick building on the other side of the camp, checking on their prisoners. They came back, hands and arms waving wildly in the air, yelling something that could of course only mean that the Elite force now knew that three of their prisoners were no longer where they were supposed to be.

The commander grew even more upset than he previously was. His face turned all red as he forgot to breathe properly. He waved with his arms and directed another group of his men into action. They snapped to attention and ran off. The commander turned around, lifted his arm and with the back of his hand, he slapped O'Neill hard in the face, the heavy golden ring around the commander's finger splitting the man's lip open.

Again, O'Neill staggered under the force of the blow, but the guards held him up. He could feel the warm blood tickle down his chin. Surrounded by the whole damn Elite force, there was no way out of this mess at that moment, and Jack cursed inwardly at the bad luck he was having. Although this was a different commander than last time he wasn't even sure that was bad or worse. He managed to brace himself for the next blow, this one landing on the bridge of his nose.

"Where are the Americans?" the commander hissed at him in his best English.

Jack acted in mocked surprise, looked briefly over his shoulders and lifted his brows. "What Americans?" he asked innocently.

The commander hit him just above the right eye. This time the ring tore the skin just under his brow and another small trail of blood marked the Colonel's face.

"You can't fool me. You will tell me where they are," the commander promised, his voice deadly serious. He landed another two blows in his captive's midsection, watching in satisfaction as the other man doubled over, gasping in pain. A last hard blow was landed on O'Neill's chin and the Colonel's knees buckled as the world around him went black.

The commander snapped his orders at the two guards who were all but carrying Jack now. They nodded before turning and dragging their burden inside the huge building.

A/N's... This is so not Jack's lucky day.

Well. You didn't think I called this Return to Hell because I thought it was a cool title, right?