Hello! I'd be amazed that anyone was still out there waiting for this story. The ending has been a very long time coming. I'm terribly sorry about that. My muse has been on permanent hiatus. Most irritating. Well, it finally graced me with its presence yesterday during a road trip. It took longer than I wanted to get it into writing but I've finally finished it. The ending, while not being great, was as good as I could manage. I hope you enjoy it.

Thank you ever so much for sticking with me.

Susanne

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

On the bridge of the boat, Mike Flynn watched the monitors, trying to figure out what was outside on the deck. It didn't make any sense. But then, none of it had since they'd appeared in this damn place. "What are you seeing, Roe?" Mike asked. Before the young man beside and behind him had a chance to answer there was a loud popping sound.

What followed left Commander Mike Flynn gasping like a fish out of water. All of a sudden, there didn't appear to be any air left. Fear, followed shortly by an intense wave of panic, flowed through his mind as his body screamed for oxygen. Looking around at his crew, unable to draw enough air to speak, he found that all of them were having similar difficulties.

Behind him, he heard Roe, followed shortly by Nav hitting the ground, having slid out of their chairs. Over by the hatch, Buffer was managing to stay awake longer but he too was developing a definite blue tinge. What the hell? Mike thought as his body began to shut down.

Nerveless, he slid to the floor, joining the rest of his crew. Over the intercom he could hear a few strangled sounds but otherwise silence. Mike's vision turned from red tinged to dark spots as his oxygen starved body struggled to keep him alive. Then the world faded away.

OOOOO

The small group made their way through the suddenly very congested hallway. It was making Sharpe's skin crawl anew to realize just how much metal surrounded him and just how much water was below him. Glancing at Harper, who was keeping pace with him despite the narrow corridor, he saw that his friend was having similar difficulties. Then there was a loud popping. Ahead of them Swain came up short as the sound registered.

All around them, the other crew members had stopped moving as well as they looked around them anxiously. A few yards ahead of them, Sharpe saw the man he thought was named Charge be the first to move as fear for his boat registered. Something was wrong, very wrong.

As the man headed for a hatch, Sharpe became aware that while he was breathing, it felt like he was losing breath instead of gaining it. Swain turned towards them, his face alarmed as the lack of air registered. He tried to speak to his charges, to let them know what was going on but his body betrayed him. Instead of speaking, the navy man slowly slid to the ground. Before the others even had a chance to react, they too were crumbling to the ground.

With his last bit of strength, Harper caught his captain as he too began to crumple to the floor. As gently as his air starved would allow him, he helped Sharpe's unconscious form to meet the ground without causing any more injury to the man. That was the last thing Patrick would allow to happen. Then, he joined his friend and captain on the cold metal floor. All around him, were other collapsed bodies. Fear spiked through him as he gasped his last, useless breath. It was replaced with darkness.

OOOOO

The first thing Daniel became aware of was a pounding headache. The first thought that crept across his mind when he was able to form thoughts around the pain was 'what the hell?'. Finally, the first sound Daniel heard was an abrading ringing sound.

Groaning, Daniel rolled on his side, trying to pry his protesting eye lids open. The world shifted under him as familiar things registered through the slowly focusing fog. He was home, in his apartment. Then, the realization that the ringing that was still persisting, hit him it was his cell phone. Groaning again, he reached for the vibrating contraption on his night table beside his bed. Opening it, he managed to pull it to his ear.

"Where the hell are you?" Captain Jack O'Neill demanded before he even had a chance to say 'hello'.

"What?" Daniel asked his mind still not quite processing things properly. It was very disconcerting to have his own thoughts echoed by his boss's angry voice.

"Did you sleep in?" Jack demanded. "Are you sick?"

"Ah...Jack?" Daniel asked. He couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Finally his eyes were functioning properly so he panned them around the room. It took a moment for him to realize that the images were still blurry. Groaning for a third time, he pulled his glasses off of the night stand and struggled to put them on.

"Daniel? Did I dial a wrong number?" Jack's voice held doubt for the first time and just maybe a little concern.

"Ah...no. I'm here. I think," Daniel responded as everything came into focus completely. He really was home. Son of a bitch. Sitting up, ignoring the stabbing pain in his head, Daniel pulled the cell away from his ear long enough to see the date. Son of a bitch. It had all been a dream. Had it really?

"What's going on?" Jack demanded. Daniel could hear other concerned voices behind his boss's but he couldn't quite make out what they were saying.

"I feel...kind of hung over I guess," Daniel responded. It was hard to have this conversation while his mind scrambled to make sense of what he'd just been through. The images of the torture, the death, the pain, the people, and Sandra, floated through his mind. It couldn't have been a nightmare. It was far too real. Ignoring the chattering on the phone, he pulled the blankets off his body and quickly looked for the scars that he'd known were there just a little while ago. The end result of the torture hadn't quite left him. To be honest, he'd expected to live with the marks for the rest of his life. His skin was smooth, as if they'd never existed.

"Daniel!" Jack's voice demanded his attention again. He had the feeling that his boss had been talking to him for a while but he just hadn't heard him.

"What?" Daniel responded, losing his sense of humour. He was stumbling around his apartment, making sure that everything was real. So far it all was. Was this a good thing or a bad thing? Honestly, he wasn't entirely sure. After he was rescued he honestly didn't minded being there. It was interesting. He'd missed his friends but the whole experience had been rather eye opening.

"Open your damned door," Jack grated. It was then Daniel realized the pounding he was hearing wasn't entirely in his head. Swallowing bile, he padded over to his front door, threw off the locks and opened it. Standing outside it, a little red in the face, was Jack O'Neill.

The world shifting under his feet, Daniel barely managed to keep upright. What the hell was going on? He felt Jack's strong hand on his arm, steadying him.

"We're going to SGC. They'll figure out what's going on there," Jack stated. Then Daniel felt larger, stronger hands catching hold of him. Teal'c was steering him toward the hallway.

"Wait," Daniel protested. He was in sweats and a t-shirt. He wanted to get dressed before he was paraded through his apartment building and the SGC. "Let me get dressed."

"Not happening," Jack stated. He wasn't about to waste any more time. Something was going on, something bad. He wanted Daniel in hands that could handle pretty much anything because he had the feeling that that was what this was going to need.

Daniel considered trying to argue but gave up. Teal'c, his arm around him somewhat protectively, was virtually dragging him towards the military issue car that was parked out in front of his apartment building.

Watching the big alien manoeuvred their youngest member into the car, Jack ran a hand through his close cropped hair. "Let's get you home, kid," he muttered to himself.

And for the first time in forever, Daniel felt like he was home. Heaving a sigh of relief, he sank back into the seat cushion while his head continued to pound. Maybe it was all a very vivid nightmare. Closing his eyes, Daniel was suddenly back in the dungeon, the lash falling on his body.

With a startled gasp, Daniel sat bolt upright, staring wildly around him as the world sped by outside the car windows. Yeah, no, it was no nightmare. How the hell was he going to explain all this to the SGC doctors? Settling back into the seat, Daniel stared out the window. Well, he'd have to come up with something. Besides, with all the strange things Team One had been through in their time together, this probably wasn't the strangest. Maybe they'd believe him after all.

OOOOO

Lane woke up with a pounding headache. Starting out of sleep, he searched around him, looking for the others. All he found was his bedroom. He was home. Gulping air, Lane collapsed back onto the bed. What the hell was that all about? Rubbing a hand over his face, Lane tried to figure it out. In the end, he gave up. Glancing at his clock, he realized he was late. They were waiting for him at the hospital. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Lane showered, dressed and headed out. He was going to have to take time to process all that had happened but not right now. Maybe later he'd be more inclined. Chuckling to himself, Lane knew that wasn't going to happen. Not anytime soon, anyway.

OOOOO

Gasping for air, Mike Flynn came awake with a rush. Sitting up like he was shot out of a gun, he barely managed to keep from hitting his head on the roof of his bunk. He blinked rapidly to clear his eyes as he tried to breathe and take in his surroundings. The last thing he remembered was passing out. He'd had the distinct impression that he was dying. The fact that he'd awoken at all came as a great surprise.

Running a hand over his face, Mike braced himself up into a seated position on his bed. He was in his quarters. He was on is ship. There was air to breath. Things were looking up.

Under him, Flynn could feel his ship moving under power. The engines were running. They were in the water. Things were definitely looking up. Looking down, he realized he was in his working clothes. Satisfied that he wasn't going to shock anyone, he climbed to his feet and headed for the hatch. He had to find out what was going on. He should have awoken on the bridge, not in his quarters.

Carefully, he opened the hatch and stuck his head outside. Shock registered in his muddled mind as he found his crew slowly coming out of their quarters looking just as confused. He was grateful to see all the expected faces. Everyone was here. Thank God.

"Are you all right, sir?" Mike's second in command asked. Kate had gotten out of her quarters faster than he had. She was standing just a few feet away, concern evident in her thin features.

"I'll let you know in a few minutes, XO," Mike replied. It felt like such a luxury being able to simply breathe and have oxygen entering his lungs. It was then, after he knew his boat was sound and his crew safe Mike realized just how much his head ached. Had he been drinking? Is that what had caused the crazy dreams that had obviously plagued him? No. He was on board his boat. There were no circumstances under which he would have allowed his senses to be dulled in any form.

"Does any of this make sense to you, sir?" Kate asked. Glancing at the other crew members she was well aware that he and the XO were not the only members who were dazed and obviously confused.

"Any of what, Kate?" Mike asked. He wasn't about to voice what was galloping through his mind. The pounding was quite enough, thank you.

"You don't remember?" Kate asked, shocked out of the customary formality between CO and XO.

"My dreams? Of course, I usually do, don't you?" The two of them were automatically making their way towards the bridge. Neither of them was particularly surprised to see that Buffer and Roe had somehow managed to beat them there. Right behind them came Swain and Nav.

"Those were more than dreams, sir," Buffer interjected. He had no idea how it had all transpired but he had absolutely no doubts that it had all happened. It was far too real to be anything else.

"Be that as it may, Buffer, They will not enter any reports. I don't think any of us would be allowed to remain on board should anyone else in the navy get wind of this," Mike shot back. As much as he wanted to analyse what had happened, the fact that he had died was too fresh, too close. Looking at Kate, he found a lump in his throat that hadn't been there a moment ago. He hadn't been the only one to die. They all had.

"Where are we, Nav?" Mike asked, turning his attention to the navigator. The dark haired woman was still a little shaken but not so much that she wasn't able to determine their location in a few moments.

"Right where we were, sir, when we first disappeared," Nav responded. Her voice was a little softer than usual as shock registered yet again.

Trying to hide his own disquiet, Flynn turned towards the woman. What the hell should they do now? Clearly the crew and himself were too shaken to continue on with their patrol. Although, getting back to work might be the best medicine for all of them. Looking at Kate, he knew the answer.

"Let's continue our patrol, Nav. Resume course," Mike ordered.

"Aye, aye, sir," Nav responded. Turning her attention back to her equipment, she set the course and read it off for Swain, who was at the helm. Quickly entering the numbers, the Hammersley set off again. Flynn took the time to announce over the ship's com that they were returning to their scheduled patrol before settling his body into the captain's chair.

Watching the ocean pass by his boat, Flynn promised himself that he would talk to each and every crew member and tell them to now mention their little adventure once they left the ship. He didn't want to lose any of them to a psych evaluation. Feeling at home for the first time in days, Flynn was peripherally aware of the rest of his bridge crew taking their usual positions and setting about their duties. It was a close to normal as they would get for a while. At the moment that was good enough.

OOOOO

The world came back abruptly. Coming awake, it took everything Archie had to keep from sending his body falling out of the hammock he found himself in. Gripping the sides, Archie laid still, waiting for the thing to stop swaying. After a few minutes he realized it wasn't going to stop. The swaying did nothing to stop the pounding in his head. He was in his bunk, on board the Indefatigueable again. Relief flowed through him.

With effort, Archie pulled his eyes off of the dark boards swaying gently above his head. Further relief flowed as he realized that Horatio was in the hammock next to his. They were both back. Just as he was about to celebrate, he found a hated face on swaying three hammocks down. Not only had he and Horatio returned but so had Simpson. Dread spread through his body. Bile rose in his throat as he remembered the things the hated sailor had done to him.

Two hammocks over Cleveland woke with a start. From the way he looked around Archie knew that he too had not expected to be where he was. That was at least comforting. The midshipman glanced at his bunk mates, his eyes barely stopping on Archie's face but they eventually came to land on Simpson's. A grimace crossed the man's face. Clearly he was less than thrilled to see the man too. Then another expression passed over his face, a bit of a smirk appeared as he chuckled quietly.

"Beaten by a woman," Cleveland murmured. Amid the creaking of the ship, Archie almost missed the statement. By God, he hadn't been the only one to have seen it. Hope sprang up. Maybe, thanks to Sandra, Simpson had lost his power over them. At least that would be something positive to have come out of the whole thing.

Suddenly exhausted beyond words, Archie allowed his eyes to close. The gentle swaying of his hammock further lulled him into sleep. Thanking Sandra, Archie quietly passed into sleep.

OOOOO

'What the blood hell?' Sharpe thought as he came awake with a start. Immediately he was aware that the metal coffin he'd been in was gone. Above him was open sky, beneath him was solid earth. A sigh of relief came from the very tips of his toes.

Around him, where Sharpe still lay in his bedroll, he could hear the sounds of camp arising. Turning on his side, he found Harper, similarly swaddled in his own blanket. Just beyond the big man's hip, he spotted Harris, Bean and the others. They were all here. All of them. A great melancholy spread over the captain of the 95th rifle. No, not all of them. Sandra was no longer among them.

A thought occurred to him. Sitting up quickly, Sharpe looked over his sleeping comrades to the place where he'd first seen the woman. Disappointment passed through him. She was not there. The others were all there though. Now that he was higher, he could see the entire company spread around them.

The sergeants were trying to rouse their charges. The other officers were also trying to get their men awake. Apparently they were getting ready to march. In the distance he could see Simmerson on his horse, berating anyone who got close enough.

"We're home, sir, so we are," Harper said from behind him. Sharpe knew the Irishman wouldn't have stayed asleep for long with all the noise starting up around them.

"Portugal is not home, Harper," Sharpe responded. He was back in his world. It was a world that made sense to him. It was a world he could survive in without help from a woman. But God he missed her.

"I know, sir, but it's a close as we're going to get for a while, so it is," Harper stated. The other riflemen were rising, all clearly as confused as himself. Sharpe had the feeling that they were never going to figure out what had happened. While he wasn't sure he was okay with that, he also wasn't sure he had a choice in the matter.

"What do you suppose all of that was about, sir?" Harris asked as he stood up, rolling up his blanket and packing his backpack.

"Harris, I have no idea," Sharpe admitted. He glanced around at his chosen men. Harper too was packing, preparing to leave.

"I don't think it worked, sir," Hagman stated from his place a few yards away. The other riflemen turned to stare at the Cheshire man.

"What do you mean, Hagman?" Sharpe enquired. Several yards away he could see Simmerson making his way towards them. Sharpe had no idea where the obnoxious man was going to send them but he knew intuitively that it wasn't going to be pleasant.

"It was like a plan that didn't go as planned. Once whoever was doing it realized that, they sent us back to where we came," Hagman stated.

The riflemen looked at each other. Slowly a quiet laughter passed among them. "I don't know, Hagman. Maybe that was it," Sharpe said as he too turned to the task of preparing to leave.

Looking at the others, Hagman knew that the others didn't believe him but he was sure of it. Whatever or whoever had taken them to that place had had plans for them. Somehow that hadn't included the woman. Apparently that had been enough to send it all into turmoil. In his long life Hagman had seen a woman throw a great many things into turmoil. Well, at least he knew the truth. Turning back to his pack, the old poacher finished packing it.

"Look at this, sir," Harper stated. The big Irishman had been rummaging around in his pack. He'd thought he'd known everything within its confines. Slowly, he pulled his hand out. Grasped rightly within it was a strip of brown cloth. It was the same strip of cloth that he'd located and sewn to Sandra's rifleman's jacket. It had been real. It had all been real.

Then Simmerson had reached them and growled his orders to them. Looking at the vile man, Sharpe tried to decide if he should listen to him. He'd had a taste of real freedom despite all the terror and pain. He looked off in the distance, while he tried to make his decision. He and his men could just leave, live off the land. They'd done it before. Among the unwashed, brave souls around him, he spied a familiar figure sitting ram rod straight on his horse, overseeing his troops. It was Wellington.

Sighing once again, Sharpe realized there really wasn't a choice. He had sworn his loyalty to the man on the horse. Turning his attention once more to Simmerson, he realized the man was waiting expectantly for a response.

"Aye, sir," Sharpe stated. Nodding to his men, they headed out. At the front of the column, first ones into battle, last ones out. Just the way they liked it.

The end