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‘Cause I’ve lost loved ones in my life
Who never knew how much I loved them
Now I live with the regret
That my true feelings for them never were revealed
So I made a promise to myself
To say each day how much she means to me
And avoid that circumstance
Where there’s no second chance to tell her how I feel

If tomorrow never comes
Will she know how much I loved her
Did I try in every way to show her every day
That she’s my only one
And if my time on earth were through
And she must face the world without me
Is the love I gave her in the past
Gonna be enough to last
If tomorrow never comes

“If Tomorrow Never Comes”, written by K. Blazy/G. Brooks, performed by Garth Brooks

FRIDAY EVENING
25 MAY 2001
USS PATRICK HENRY
APPROX. 500 MILES ESE OF NORFOLK, VIRGINIA

Harm stepped onto the bridge of the carrier and came to attention in front of Captains Ingles and Pike. “Commander Rabb reporting as ordered, Sirs,” he said automatically.

“As you were, Commander,” Ingles said. Harm relaxed, his hands clasped behind his back as the other man continued, “Well, you’ve got what you wanted, Commander. The air boss has given you clearance to take off, but it needs to be within the hour. There’s a large storm moving in. Any later than that and nothing’s getting off this boat, but before that, I’ve been assured by the weather forecasters that you will have no problem getting past the storm to Norfolk.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Harm replied, no emotion evident in his voice. A tiny part of him wished that take off would have been impossible with the coming weather system, wanted the excuse that he could use to avoid being home for …. what was coming in the morning. Surely it wouldn’t be held against him if the weather prevented him from returning in time.

But a larger part of him quashed the idea. He prided himself on being a man of his word and even if it killed him inside, he would keep this promise for he’d rather hurt himself intentionally than do so to her. He’d hurt her far too many times unintentionally.

He mentally shook himself out of his reverie as he realized that Captain Pike was speaking. “I’ve given Skates permission to fly back with you,” he said. “She was going on leave tomorrow morning anyway on the cod.”

“I know, Sir,” Harm replied. “She already spoke to me about it.”

Pike held out his hand, which Harm took without hesitation. Sometimes, he wondered if he’d have had the courage to put his lifelong dream behind him and return to JAG if it hadn’t been for the CAG’s encouragement. “It was good to have you back, Hammer,” he said, “even if it was only for a couple of days.”

“Well, it was good to be back, CAG,” he said sincerely. In spite of everything else, it had been good to be back in the cockpit. For just a little bit, he’d almost been able to forget the uncertain future awaiting him.

As they broke off their handshake, Ingles surprised Harm a bit by holding out his own hand. He guessed Skates’ scuttlebutt had been true about the captain’s reaction to his quals. Then again, scuttlebutt usually was. “It’s been a privilege to fly off your boat, Skipper,” he said as they shook firmly.

“It was a privilege to have you here, Commander,” Ingles said. His expression was devoid of emotion as he said it, but Harm knew the man didn’t offer praise lightly. He reminded him slightly of Admiral Chegwidden. “See you in six months.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Harm said with a nod. Under other circumstances, he might have smiled at the last comment, but he couldn’t summon the strength to express such cheerfulness.

With that out of the way, Pike returned to the business they’d brought Harm to the bridge for. “How soon can you be ready to take off, Commander?” he asked.

Harm hesitated. He knew there was something he needed to do first, but did he want to? That was another matter entirely. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a lot of time to buck himself up for what he had to do. “I’m already packed up,” he replied slowly. “I do need to find a phone first, call someone at home.”

“Let them know you’re on your way?” Pike asked, not surprised by the request. It wasn’t that unusual a circumstance. Most sailors called somebody before they left a ship to return to shore.

“Yes, Sir. Something like that,” he answered.

Ingles interjected, “Since you’re short on time, instead of trying to find a pay phone that’s free, you can use the ship to shore line in Communications. I’ll call down there and let them know you’re coming. Dismissed.”

“Aye-aye, Sir,” he said smartly, coming to attention before turning on his heel and departing. Once he was off the bridge and away from watching eyes, he took a deep breath. He had approximately the minute and a half it would take him to walk down to Communications to figure out what he was going to say, to figure out how not to let the heartache he was almost sure was coming consume him. Later, after he was home safely and after he watched her pledge her life to another, maybe then he would let himself feel the overwhelming pain.

Just under two minutes later, he was stepping through the hatch into the bustling communications center. At least here he would be cognizant of the eyes on him, a knowledge, which would allow him to keep a tight reign on himself. The pay phones were hardly in private locations, but with his luck, he would have found one in the only empty corridor on the ship and then there would be nothing to remind him to keep himself in check.

“Commander Rabb?” a female Lieutenant Commander asked as she walked up to him. He nodded. “Commander Jackson. Captain Ingles said you’d be coming down here.” She led him over to a console and motioned to the phone. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, Commander,” he said in dismissal, sitting down in front of the phone. She stepped away to another console, talking in a low voice to one of her people, giving Harm a small measure of privacy.

Steeling himself, he picked up the phone and placed the call. After just two rings, her warm voice came over the line. “Hello?”

For one of the few times in his life, but not for the first time with this woman, Harm found himself rendered mute. The moment was at hand, but he couldn’t make his mouth form the words he’d rehearsed on the walk down to Communications. He started out the window, watching the sky darkening in the distance. The coming storm was already making its presence known, the increased wind speed evident in the choppy waters below. A flash of lightning in the distance illuminated the sky, casting an eerie glow in the blackness.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” Mac asked again, her voice slightly betraying her growing annoyance. “Hello?”

He wasn’t sure how, but he finally found his voice. “Mac,” he said softly, closing his eyes as another flash of electricity light up the night sky. “It’s me. I just wanted to let you know that I’m taking off within the hour. I will be back in time for the wedding.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before she spoke again. “Speaking of the wedding, Harm,” she said, “I have something to tell you.”

“I, um,” he began. It was time and he was convinced more than ever that he wasn’t ready for this. “I didn’t call to, um, pressure you. I just wanted to let you know ….”

“That you’re keeping your promise,” she whispered. Another pause, then she added in a stronger voice, “Hang on just a minute.” He thought he heard her say something to someone, but he couldn’t make out her words. He blinked his eyes, staring up at the ceiling as he silently prayed that Mic wasn’t there with her at that moment. He didn’t want to think about them, spending the last few hours together before custom dictated that they not see each other until the wedding started.

He thought he heard a door closing on her end, then she was back on the line. “I’m sorry about that,” she apologized. “I went into the bedroom for some privacy.”

“I see,” he replied, sadness creeping into his voice.

“No, it’s not ….” she began, realizing that he assumed that Mic was present. “Chloe’s here and so are Harriet and little AJ. The guys, well, they went out for – they just went out.”

“Oh,” he said, trying not to think about the last minute bachelor fun that the JAG men were having with Brumby. He almost smiled as he remembered another party which had ended with him, Bud and AJ in jail and his somewhat amusing – at least to Mac and only in retrospect – phone call asking for her to bail them out. He hadn’t told her about AJ being with them and it had almost been worth the hassle of getting arrested to see the incredulous look on her face when she’d discovered AJ sharing the cell with them. But that had been a lifetime ago. He banished the thought and tried to focus on the conversation at hand.

She sighed heavily, wondering if the most she was going to get out of him the rest of the conversation would be one- and two-word answers. Really, she couldn’t blame him if that were going to be the case, realizing that he’d probably had to force himself over the last few days not to think about her promise to him. Or maybe he was already prepared for it to be a lost cause. “Anyway,” she continued nervously, “I’ve done a lot of thinking the last couple of days. I thought a lot about everything we’ve been through together and everything that’s happened the last two years. Much as we’d like to, we can’t just forget about that ….” She rambled slightly while searching for the best way to phrase what she was trying to tell him.

“Mac, please,” he whispered raggedly. Even though the nearest person was several feet from him and seemed engrossed in their work, he couldn’t shake the feeling that every eye in the room was on him. He took a deep breath and forced himself to continue in a more neutral tone, “I don’t have much time to talk. There’s a storm coming and I have a small window of opportunity for takeoff before they starting canceling all flight activities.”

It all sounded perfectly rational and logical to Mac, but she sensed from the way he suddenly shut down, letting nothing creep into his tone at all, that it wasn’t his impending takeoff that was prompting him to tell her to get to the point. Suddenly, she lost her nerve and changed the subject. “You’re not going to have any problems flying back because of the weather, are you?” she asked, genuinely concerned. She knew about the circumstances of his first crash and it sent a tiny shiver through her, the thought of him flying in less than ideal weather. “It’s storming here in Washington and I would imagine the storm is moving in that direction.”

As she said it, she looked out her bedroom window at the rain coming down even harder, hearing the rumble of thunder somewhere in the distance. She could imagine him standing near a window on the Patrick Henry – even though she knew that he might not be any place where he would have a view to the outside – watching the night sky himself. Wasn’t there a song about something like that, being far apart and wishing on the same star in the sky? Only there were no stars out this night, only the bright flash of lightning and the low rumble of thunder.

“No, I was assured that if I take off within the hour, I’ll avoid the path of the storm,” he told her confidently. He recognized the diversionary tactic and was somewhat thankful for it. But it was time to end this. “There will be no problem flying to Norfolk. I’ll pick up my car at the airfield and drive back to DC in time to catch a few hour sleep before ….”

“You don’t have to,” she said suddenly, startling him.

“Releasing me from my promise, Colonel?” he said without a trace of humor. “How unlike you.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” she said softly, tears springing to her eyes as she realized that they were crossing their lines of communication again. Again, it was hardly a surprise. She idly wondered how much it had consumed him, the idea that she held his heart and his future in the palm of her hand. And now, with just over twelve hours to go before the wedding was supposed to begin, she realized that Harm really was on the verge – if he wasn’t there already – of doing something she’d never known him to do before. He was about to give up hope. “I’ve realized that I’m in no condition to do this. How can I marry one man when I can’t get another man off my mind long enough to concentrate on the wedding?”

“And?” he whispered in reply, afraid to begin hoping again, afraid to believe that this was real, afraid to believe that fate wasn’t playing the cruelest of tricks on him.

“And so as soon as I can get a hold of Mic,” she continued, “I’m going to tell him that I’m sorry, but that I can’t marry him, that he deserves a woman who will make him the center of her universe, not one who …. Well, I probably shouldn’t tell him the rest. I’m already going to be hurting him so much. He doesn’t need to know, um, everything.” She threw herself backwards onto her bed, her eyes brimming with tears. She brushed them away, but they kept forming, as if the cosmos were telling her that she wouldn’t be getting off that easily, as if her tears were recompense for the pain she had and would inflict on Harm, on Mic, even on Renée. As for her own pain, she would just have to learn to live with it. It would be a small price to pay, not really high enough to make up for all the pain that would be inflicted on others.

Harm didn’t say anything for a long moment as he processed what she’d said. She’d told him that she was going to call off the wedding, but had not said one word about what else she would do. He supposed that it might have been a bit selfish, worrying about what it would mean for him when she was in pain at the thought of breaking another man’s heart. Maybe it was the best that he could hope for right now, just the fact that she was not going to get married. After all, the gossip mongers would have a field day as it was with the wedding being called off just hours before the ceremony. He didn’t mind for himself, but he minded for her. The pain she would endure over the breakup of a relationship that she’d been prepared to believe would last forever would be hard enough without all the whispers behind her back, the sudden silences when she would walk into a room. “Well, whatever you think is best,” he said, shaking his head.

“Harm, I – I don’t know,” she said, stuttering slightly. “I’m still not sure what to do at this point, not really. All I do know is that Chloe and Harriet are right. I’m not in any condition to do this right now. Honestly, I’m not sure I ever have been, even before the engagement party and …. everything else that happened after that. I need time to really think things through, something I didn’t really do, even when I wore the ring on my right hand for ten months. Harm, I know that’s probably not the answer that you wanted to hear ….”

“Sarah,” he said softly, sending shivers down her spine. She loved the way his voice caressed her name. It was probably a good thing he didn’t call her ‘Sarah’ all the time or she might not be able to form a coherent thought in his presence. “I meant what I said about not pressuring you. I want you to do what’s best for you.”

“Look, I know you said you can’t talk long,” Mac said, sighing with relief, thankful that he seemed to understand her dilemma. “But I do want to talk to you after you get back. I’m really going to need a friend, I think. I’ll understand if you want to keep your distance for the time being, but ….”

“I’ll always be there for you,” he vowed. “I used to think that went without saying, but after everything that’s happened the last two years, it’s probably not so easy to believe anymore. We don’t have to talk about you or me or you and Mic or anything else that you don’t want to talk about. I will be there as your friend, whenever you need me.”

“Maybe sometime this weekend?” she asked hopefully. “Tomorrow’s going to be kind of crazy – there are lots of details to take care of and Mic’s …. I know he’s not going to be happy about this. He’s not going to understand. By Sunday, I’ll probably want to get away from it all. Anyway, I’m sure you have things you’ll need to take care of as well.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, thinking of Renée. No matter how things ended up working out with Mac, he knew that he couldn’t let that situation go on any further. It wasn’t fair to her to keep her on as kind of a stand-by if things didn’t work out with Mac. She already suspected that there was something more between him and Mac, so it wouldn’t be a complete surprise to her. He just hoped she would be understanding enough to let him go. “Well, why don’t I see if I can get a fourth ticket to the Orioles came that I’m taking Chloe to on Sunday? I expect that by Sunday, we’ll both need some R&R.”

Mac smiled at the thought of spending the day with two of her favorite people. And he was right. By Sunday, she’d probably either be ready to have a nervous breakdown or something else equally unworthy of a Marine. “I’d like that a lot,” she replied. “And Harm? We will talk – about you and me, I mean. At this point, we can’t avoid it and maybe it will help me work things out in my mind.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said, realizing the irony. Time was the one thing that she hadn’t seemed willing to give him back in Sydney. But that didn’t matter any more. Now that he had the opening, he was going to do everything he could to tell and show her how much she meant to him and how much he wanted and needed her in his life.

“Harm, I ….” she began, not quite sure what else to say. She shook her head. “Never mind. Just good luck and I’ll see you sometime this weekend, I guess.”

“I’ll see you, Sarah,” he replied. He paused for a moment, then added, “If you need someone to talk to tomorrow because things are – I don’t know, but you know where to find me if you need me. I’ll probably be home most of the day catching up on some sleep, since I’ll be spending most of the night getting back to Washington.”

“Harm, why don’t you just fly to Norfolk and stay the night there?” Mac suggested, worried. “You’ll be landing in Norfolk around midnight, right? Do you really want to get in a car and drive three and a half hours back to DC after that? There’s no reason to rush back, um, not anymore.”

“Yeah, but I want to be there for you if something comes up and you need me,” he pointed out. “I’ll be fine. I’ve kept longer hours on some of our investigations.”

“True,” she admitted. She knew that he was going to come straight back to Washington, regardless of what she said. She chuckled softly at the thought. “Just promise that if you’re too tired, you’ll find a room in Norfolk for the night or if you get tired while on the road, you’ll stop someplace and get some rest.”

“Yes, Mom,” he teased, lightening the mood considerably. It was almost as if a switch had been thrown, signaling that the conversation they’d been having was over. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

“Okay.”

They were both silent for a moment, neither quite willing to end the call yet. Then Harm glanced out the windows in the communications center and realized that it was time to go. “I need to get going,” he said reluctantly. “Skipper said that if I don’t take off by a certain time, I won’t be leaving at all, at least not tonight.”

“I understand,” she replied. “Well, I’ll see you. Goodbye, Harm.”

“Goodbye, Sarah,” he whispered just before he hung up the phone. He leaned against a control panel, watching lightning flash in the distance. “I love you, Sarah.” The words came unbidden and he sighed, wondering if he would someday have the chance – and the courage - to say them to her in person.

Mac wanted to curl up on her bed and forget the rest of the world, but she knew she couldn’t. There was too much to do, the first thing being that she needed to get a hold of Mic and let him know that she couldn’t get married tomorrow. After that, there wouldn’t be much else to do tonight, except for contacting the JAG staff, but she’d need to be up first thing in the morning to begin canceling all the arrangements. She wasn’t sure that she could count on Mic to help with that. It was going to be hard enough just to get him to accept that she didn’t want to get married.

She picked up the phone again and started to dial Mic’s home number before she remembered that he wouldn’t be there. Instead, she dialed his cell phone, but got his voice mail after four rings. Sighing, she decided to leave a message.

“Mic, um, as soon as you get this message, please call me,” she said, her voice shaking almost imperceptibly. “It doesn’t matter what time it is. I have to talk to you and it can’t wait until tomorrow. Um, bye.” She hung up then went ahead and dialed his home number, leaving the same message on his answering machine.

Clicking the phone off, she tossed it onto the bed and got up, striding into the living room with a sense of purpose. Chloe, who had been pacing behind the couch, stopped mid-stride and both she and Harriet looked at Mac expectantly.

“I need your help, Harriet,” Mac said without preamble. “There’s not going to be a wedding.”

“Yes!” Chloe exclaimed, her voice nearly a shout. “Is that what you told Harm? Are you two going ….”

“Chloe,” Mac interrupted firmly. Once Chloe had quieted down, she continued, “Yes, I told Harm, but no, I am not going to immediately jump from Mic to him. I told him that we have a lot to talk about and there are a lot of things that I need to work out in my mind first. He understands that, okay?” Chloe nodded reluctantly.

“Have you told Mic yet?” Harriet asked, sensing that her friend was holding everything in, trying not to think about the enormity of the decision she had just made. If Mac was nothing else, she was driven and right now, her focus was on canceling all the arrangements with just over twelve hours to go before the wedding. She’d try not to let herself think about everything else until later, probably when she was alone and didn’t have to worry about showing weakness in front of anyone, even two of the people closest to her.

She shook her head. “No,” she replied. “I tried his cell phone, but got his voice mail. I can’t remember if he had it with him at the rehearsal. I left a message there and on his answering machine at home and told him to call me as soon as he got the message, no matter what the time.”

“I’m sure Bud has his cell phone with him, Ma’am,” Harriet said. “Why don’t I call him and have him put Mic on?”

Mac returned to the bedroom for the phone, which she handed to Harriet. After a few moments, she handed it back. “I got Bud’s voice mail as well,” she said. “Maybe they can’t hear their phones ring in the bar or wherever they went. Do you know where they were planning on going? I don’t.”

“No,” Mac replied, shaking her head. “All Mic said was that they were going out. Maybe Alan told Jackie.” She went over to her desk and searched through some papers for the JAG phone roster, finally finding it buried under some reports she needed to sign off on, reports she probably should have left for Harm when she’d thought she’d be going on her honeymoon. Quickly, she skimmed over the list until she found Alan’s home number and dialed it. After the second ring, Jackie picked up.

“Hello, Jackie, it’s Colonel Mackenzie,” she said. “Did Alan happen to tell you where all the guys were going tonight? I’m trying to get a hold of Mic and he’s not answering his cell phone. He didn’t tell me where they were going.”

“I’m sorry, Colonel,” Jackie replied. “Alan didn’t tell me either. He just said not to wait up since he was going to be a designated driver and needed to make sure everyone got home okay. Ready for the big day tomorrow?”

Mac froze, not expecting to face the question of what to tell people this soon. Swallowing hard, she replied vaguely, “Is anyone ever ready for that?”

“I guess not,” Jackie said with a laugh. “I remember that feeling. Anyway, I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

“Thanks anyway,” Mac replied, then hung up. She looked at Harriet and sighed. “Alan didn’t tell her either.”

“Alan and Jackie, they are the Mattonis, right?” Chloe asked. At Mac’s nod, she went on, “Why didn’t you just tell Jackie that the wedding’s off so they don’t get up and try to go to the church tomorrow?”

“Because I need to get a hold of Mic first and let him know,” she said. “I don’t need everyone else finding out before him. If I can’t get a hold of him immediately, he shouldn’t have to find out through scuttlebutt.”

“Do you think he’s going to try to talk you out of it?” Chloe asked, concerned after what Mac had told them about the day she’d accepted Mic’s proposal. She didn’t want Mic to turn on the charm and try to talk Mac out of the decision she’d just made and she was afraid that he would.

“Probably,” Mac admitted. “He loves me and this will be hard for him to accept, but I can’t do this anymore. You, Harriet and Harm – all of you were right when you said I need to do what’s best for me. For so long, I’ve been just going along with the flow, accepting what Mic wants and burying anything that might be contrary to that.” She sank into a chair and sighed. “I wish I’d admitted that months ago before things got this far gone.”

“So what did Harm call for?” Chloe asked, ready to change the subject away from Mic.

“He wanted to let me know that he’s getting ready to leave the Patrick Henry,” she replied. “He’s been given a small window to take off in order to beat a storm that’s heading that way. He’s flying to Norfolk then will pick up his car at the airfield and drive back to Washington. By the way, Chloe, looks like you’ll have a fourth person for the baseball game Sunday.”

“Harm invited you to join us!?” Chloe enthused. “You know, Dad and I could just stay here and you and Harm could go.”

“Chloe, this is not a date,” Mac said firmly. She wasn’t ready for that. No, Chloe and her father being present would give her a kind of safety net, would prevent any conversation from getting too deep before she was ready. “I’m not ready for that and Harm understands. We’re just going as *friends*. I don’t know what’s going to happen with Harm. There’s a lot that we need to work out between us and after being involved with Mic for so long, I could probably use some time to myself without having to worry about …. romantic entanglements. I need to figure out some things about Sarah Mackenzie before I can bring someone else into the mix.”

Chloe looked disappointed, the romantic in her expecting Mac to immediately turn to Harm for love and support. But Harriet nodded in understanding. “That’s probably not a bad angle to approach this from,” she mused. “I’m sure you want to avoid, um ….”

“The same mistakes I’ve made in every other romantic relationship I’ve ever had?” Mac finished the thought. Harriet flushed slightly, but nodded. “It’s okay. I do want to be able to work things out with Harm. I don’t want to doom us by repeating past mistakes. For the first time in my life, I want to be sure.”

Harriet smiled widely. “If you’re sure, then there should be no reason why it won’t work out,” she assured her friend. “I do want you to know that your friends will be here for you.”

“Thank you, Harriet,” Mac said, her tone a bit uncertain. She wasn’t used to so many people being there for her. She knew she had friends, but she still wasn’t accustomed to such unconditional and unwavering support.

“Promise you’ll call me if you need anything?” Harriet asked. She picked up AJ, who had fallen asleep on the couch while Mac had been in the bedroom, and cradled him in her arms. “I really should get this little one home. I’ll give you a call tomorrow morning and you can let me know what you need me to do to help cancel everything.”

“I appreciate that, Harriet,” she replied, taking AJ from his mother while Harriet got her coat. “I’m not sure how much Mic’s going to be willing to help out with that.” She kissed her godson and handed him back after Harriet had pulled her coat on. “Drive safely. It looks like the storm’s picking up.”

Once Harriet had gone, she turned and looked at Chloe. “Why don’t you grab your coat and I’ll take you back to your hotel?” she suggested. “I think I need to get out of the apartment for a while.”

“Mac, everything will work out,” Chloe assured her, smiling. “You’ll see. You and Harm are meant to be together. I wish it were going to be now, but I guess I understand why you want to move slowly. Just remember to let me know when you need a flower girl again.”

Mac couldn’t help but smile at her sister’s enthusiasm. For the first time in so long, she actually felt like smiling. “We’re nowhere near that point,” she protested. “But someday, maybe ….”

USS PATRICK HENRY

“Hey, Hammer,” Skates greeted him as met him in the corridor just past communications, her duffel bag slung over her shoulder. “I’m ready to go whenever you are.”

“I’m ready,” Harm replied. Not really, he told himself, but at least he knew that he wasn’t returning only to watch the woman he loved slip away from him forever. He just had to try to have a little faith that the rest would work out eventually. “I just need to stop by my quarters and grab my bag. Griggs is already going over the Tomcat, so it should be ready to go when we are.”

As they walked towards the section where Harm’s temporary quarters had been, Skates noticed that his manner, if not as easy-going as usual, was more relaxed that it had been when she’d seen him earlier. “So, CAG said you were making a phone call,” she began cautiously, prepared for him to evade the topic.

“I called Mac and let her know that I was getting ready to leave,” he said, glancing back at her with a look that said he knew what she was up to. For some reason, he didn’t really mind. Maybe he needed to talk to someone about it. Really, he needed to talk to Mac about it, but she wasn’t around and God only knew when they would get the chance to talk – or when they would be ready to talk.

“So is she ready for the big day?” she asked.

Before Harm could reply, they were joined in the corridor by his former roommate, Tuna. “Is who ready for the big day?” he asked.

“Remember Colonel Mackenzie?” Skates asked. “Hammer’s partner at JAG? She’s getting married tomorrow.”

“Not someone else getting married,” Tuna exclaimed, rolling his eyes. “You haven’t been here, Hammer, but Skates has been driving all of us crazy talking non-stop about her wedding plans. Must be something in the air.”

“I doubt it,” Harm replied with a perfectly straight face, remembering that Mac had never gone on and on about her own wedding plans. Not that she didn’t drive people – or a certain person – crazy with talk of the wedding, any talk of the wedding. She’d just rarely talked about it. Maybe she’d known how much it had hurt him, even if it had only been subconsciously. “Mac’s not getting married.”

Skates stopped short, the dots suddenly connecting themselves in her mind. It seemed so obvious now. He had been in a pretty depressed mood until he’d spoken to Mac and had learned that she wasn’t going to get married. Suddenly, while his mood may not have been quite happy-go-lucky, he was definitely in better spirits than he had been. “Is that what you were talking about when you said that there was something going on that was out of your hands?” she asked.

So Hammer has a thing for his JAG partner, she mused silently. The information might have been surprising, but somehow wasn’t. He was a charming man and if she hadn’t already been taken and he hadn’t been a senior officer, she probably could have fallen for him herself. She could easily see how even a straight-laced Marine might not be immune to him.

Harm leaned back against the wall and sighed, his eyes going from Skates to Tuna, both of whom were watching him expectantly. “It’s complicated,” he said, “and that’s all I’m going to say right now. There are still a lot of things to work out and a few wrinkles, not the least of which is her ex-fiancé, who is not going to be happy to hear that the wedding is off twelve hours before the ceremony was supposed to start.”

“Who was she marrying anyway?” Tuna asked. He wasn’t surprised at all to hear that Harm had feelings for Mac. He had roomed with the guy for six months. He had seen the look in his eyes when he had talked about her. He’d seen the pictures that Harm had kept in his lock box, had caught him staring at them more than once with an expression he suspected had been regret.

“Remember Commander Brumby?” Harm said, barely managing to keep the distaste out of his tone.

“You mean that smug Aussie who was your co-counsel on Buxton’s case?” Tuna asked incredulously. He hadn’t really had any contact with the man when he’d been aboard for that court-martial, but he’d seen the frustration in Harm when he’d been forced to work with the guy. He also knew the man had taken Harm’s place at JAG when he’d left. Intellectually, he supposed that his perception of the Australian was colored by Harm’s attitude towards him. He knew Harm did not like the man.

“That would be him,” Harm answered with a sigh. “It’s a long story and that’s *all* I’m going to say on the subject.” His firm tone left no room for discussion.

“Whatever you say, Hammer,” Tuna said with a shrug. Suddenly, he smiled as inspiration struck. “You’re going to Skates’ wedding, right? Bring the Colonel with you.”

Harm didn’t have to ask whom he was talking about. He should have known the subject wouldn’t be dropped. He probably wouldn’t have if the situation had been reversed. “I don’t know if Mac’s going to want to go anywhere near a wedding anytime soon,” he said emphatically. He wasn’t sure about that one, even if she was willing to attend. Could friends of the opposite sex attend an event like a wedding together and not have everyone assume there was something more there? Sure, they had been together a lot during Bud and Harriet’s wedding, but that had been in their roles as best man and maid of honor. He was mindful of what Mac had said about needing time. Would inviting her to attend a wedding with him be too much, too soon? Or maybe he was just scared that she would watch someone else getting married and experience regrets about what might have been, what she had turned her back on. Couldn’t anything about their relationship ever be simple? Right, he told himself with a mental shake of his head, if it had been simple, maybe it would have been your engagement you’d been celebrating a few weeks ago, as she’d suggested. “I’ll mention it to her.”

“Just ignore Tuna,” Skates said with a laugh. “He probably can’t remember the last time a woman looked at him twice.”

“Hey!” Tuna protested, punching her arm lightly.

Harm smiled as he listened to them. He could remember when that had been him, Mac and Bud, laughing and joking like that. Webb had called them the Three Musketeers once and they had been – all for one and one for all – right up until he had decided to chase another dream. His and Mac’s relationship was still recovering and even his friendship with Bud had changed to a certain extent. It was funny in a way. His first tour of duty at JAG, he had belonged there more than he ever thought he would. Then, he’d returned to carrier duty to find that he didn’t fit in quite as well as he had before, as well as he’d thought he would. He was too old and had been out of the game too long. Then he’d returned to the placed he’d realized he truly belonged and hadn’t fit in there either, not for a long time. Sometimes, what he wouldn’t give for a time machine to go back and do it all over again. Then he wouldn’t have been walking through the corridors of an aircraft carrier, consumed with thoughts of how out of control his life had been for the last two years. At least right now it seemed that his life had nowhere to go but up.

“Commander, Lieutenant,” Griggs said, saluting Harm and Skates as they stepped out onto the flight deck. The wind had picked up considerably, Harm guessing that it that it was gusting around gale force. It wasn’t a problem – the Tomcat was designed to be able to fly through hurricane conditions and, at any rate, the winds would be even stronger at the level they would be flying. Nor was the light rain that was beginning to fall a concern. The weather the night of his crash had been worse than what they were currently experiencing and he’d been told their flight path and the path of the storm would not intersect. That was all he needed to know.

“Griggs,” Harm replied, returning the salute. “Are we ready to go?” Griggs, who had been his plane captain at the end of his tour aboard the Patrick Henry, had jumped at the chance to service Harm’s plane again. He was still grateful to him for saving him from a Captain’s Mast, or worse, after a mishap with Lieutenant Buxton’s plane.

“Everything checks out, Sir,” Griggs answered, nearly shouting to be heard above the wind, as they made their towards the lone Tomcat on deck, all other planes having either having been relocated to the hangar deck in preparation for the coming suspension of flight operations or still on their way back in from flight, the CAG having given the call for all planes to return to the ship as he’d been leaving the bridge earlier. “She’s good to go.”

“Thank you, Griggs,” Harm said, offering his hand.

“It was an honor to watch over your bird again, Sir,” Griggs said. “It was good to have you back.”

“It was good to be back,” Harm said with a smile. He took a nostalgic look around the flight deck. He did still miss it sometimes. Shaking his head, he turned to Skates. “Let’s get this bird in the air before the air boss changes his mind.”

“I’m with you, Sir,” she answered, tossing her gear into the Tomcat and climbing into the rear seat, strapping herself in. Harm took one last look around before climbing in himself. The canopy lowered as he began running through his pre-flight checklist.

“You still miss it sometimes, don’t you, Sir?” Skates asked, having caught the wistful gaze as he’d looked around.

“Yeah, sometimes,” he admitted softly, his words easily heard through the comm gear despite the roar of the engines as they powered up. “What about you? I heard you’re going to be leaving once you get married.”

“I’m sure I’ll miss it, but he’s worth it,” she said confidently. Harm couldn’t help but smile sadly, wishing he’d been that smart two years ago. Why couldn’t he have admitted then that there was someone who meant more to him than his wings? Where was that time machine again?

He took a breath, his face becoming an unreadable mask. He had a job to do now and it was time to focus on that. He flipped on his radio. “Tower, this is Tomcat 241 requesting permission to depart.”

“Tomcat 241, you have permission to depart from catapult two,” came the reply from the air boss. Harm taxied the jet into position, then waited while the hold-back bar was put into place. Once the crew stepped back, he turned his head to the left and saluted the catapult officer. Seconds later, Harm and Skates were jolted back in their seats as the catapult launched the Tomcat into the pitch-black night.

OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN
APPROX. 300 MILES ESE OF NORFOLK

The flight had been smooth so far, the only sign of the bad weather near them the occasional illumination of nearby clouds as lightning flashed from the bottoms of the clouds. Harm was relatively relaxed – or as relaxed as one ever got while flying a forty million dollar aircraft – while Skates communicated with City Desk, what the pilots called the radio controllers back on the carrier.

“Navy jet 241,” the petty officer working the radio on the Patrick Henry said, his voice interrupted by periodic bursts of static, “I’m starting to lose you. Suggest you shift to Oceana Center.”

“Roger,” Skates replied. “Thanks for the help, City Desk.”

“Have a good trip,” City Desk answered before signing off. Static filled the airwaves and Skates was about to switch the radio over to Oceana when a yellow light appeared on her panel.

She dutifully reported, “We’ve got a low level oxygen light, Commander. We’re going to have to take it down to ten thousand.”

“Roger that,” Harm replied calmly, as if low level oxygen lights were perfectly routine. As far as in flight problems went, it was relatively minor. They would simply drop down to an altitude where they wouldn’t have to rely on the Tomcat’s oxygen system. Although they would burn more fuel at a lower altitude, they still had plenty to get them to Norfolk and with the bad weather miles away, their ride should remain pretty smooth.

As Harm began to descend through the clouds, Skates switched radio frequencies and raised Oceana Center. “Oceana Center, Navy 241 on 221.0,” she said. “How do you read?”

“Navy 241, Oceana Center,” a controller at the flight control center in Norfolk replied. “Loud and clear. Say position and altitude.”

“Navy 241 approximately 275 miles east southeast of Center at ten thousand,” Skates announced. She went on to inform them of the minor problems they had run into during flight. “Be advised IFF and TACAN are intermittent. INS is inop. We intend to land at Norfolk.”

“Be advised, Navy 241,” Center replied, “we have some weather moving in. Forecast indicates we may have to suspend flight operations soon.”

If Skates was bothered by the news, she didn’t let on when she said, “Understood, Center. Keep us advised.”

In the front seat, Harm was listening impassively to the chatter between Skates and Center while his mind began considering landing alternatives. The area didn’t lack for military airfields – there was Dover Air Force Base a little further north, plus Pax River or Andrews Air Force Base inland, closer to DC. Even flying at a lower altitude than usual, they should have plenty of fuel to reach any of those places should the weather force a deviation from Norfolk.

While Harm was busy turning over the possibilities in his mind, Skates was busy with routine conversation with Center, which was telling her to broadcast their identification. She flipped a switch on her radio. “Navy 241, squawking 3214 and ident,” Skates announced, her radio LCD display showing CH11 and 3214.

“No joy yet, Navy 241,” Center replied. “Say heading. Advise when one fifty DME from Oceana.”

“Roger,” Skates said. “Heading 335. Will remain on this frequency.” She glanced down at her radar screen. Damn, she thought. Oceana’s not the only ones expecting some weather. “Harm, we’ve got a storm cell ahead at 15 miles.”

While she hailed Oceana again to request that they deviate their flight path to go around the cell, Harm allowed himself a brief moment to curse the weather forecasters aboard the carrier, the same ones who’d sworn that their flight path would take them nowhere near the storm. He knew how to fly in bad weather and the F-14 was more than capable of handling it – as he’d once pointed out to Mac, they were designed to be able to withstand hurricane conditions.

But knowing intellectually that he and the jet could handle the weather was one thing. It was quite another to actually fly through a storm while trying not remember another storm, another dark night – one that had ended with one man dead and another on the verge of leaving the Navy.

He pushed the thoughts from his mind and focused on flying his plane, following Skates’ request to turn left thirty degrees to go around the storm. “Coming left thirty degrees,” Harm reported, the plane’s left wing dipping down slightly as he banked to the left.

Skates frowned as she spied another cell coming up on their new path. “We’ve got another one at twenty miles,” she told him. “In one minute, you’ll need to come back right ten degrees.”

“Roger that,” Harm said, mentally counting down the minute in his head. Their zigzag maneuvering brought to mind another concern. “Skates, recalculate fuel upon arrival at destination.”

Skates kept an eye on her radar screen while she calculated their fuel in her head. As if they didn’t have enough to worry about flying at a low altitude, now they had to fly all over the ocean just to avoid the storms that weren’t even supposed to be there in the first place. “Four thousand pounds,” she reported, managing to mask her apprehension.

That would be cutting it very close, Harm realized. Perhaps too close. “Roger that,” he said impassively, his voice not betraying how bothered he was by her report. “Keep me honest and let’s try to get back on course as soon as possible.”

Skates took a deep breath, understanding the unspoken message. They didn’t have the fuel margin to fly all over the place trying to get to Norfolk. She glanced at her screen again, hardly comforted by what she saw. “Looks like we’re going to have to run the gauntlet,” she said, doing some more calculations in her head. If they could land in Norfolk, they should be okay. But if weather forced Norfolk to suspend flight operations, Skates wasn’t sure they’d have the fuel to make an alternate landing site. She idly wondered what a commercial airport might say if they requested permission to land. That might be their only alternative. Otherwise, they’d be hard pressed to find a clear area large enough to land a Tomcat.

Suddenly, the Tomcat lurched, rolling onto its right side and nearly inverting before Harm was able to steady it, bringing it back upright. Skates gasped loudly, her gloved hands tightening into fists, her mind flashing on her crash several years earlier. “You just do that?” she asked, unable to keep the edge out of her voice.

“Negative,” Harm replied, forcing his own breathing to remain steady.

“What happened?” Skates continued, quickly becoming frightened, a hint of that creeping into her tone. Planes didn’t just suddenly invert on their own.

“Don’t know,” he answered, his eyes wide. Something tightened in the pit of his stomach and scenes of his crash flashed through his mind. Involuntarily, his hand tightened around his stick as another light, this one red, appeared on the panel. Suddenly, his attitude was all business as he forced the negative thoughts from his mind once again. “I’ve got a red flight. Flight system filter. Disengaging altitude control.”

Skates forced another breath into her lungs at his statement. They’d nearly inverted just seconds earlier and now he was going to hold the plane level on his own? “It’s bumpy out here, Harm,” she pointed out. “You sure you want to fly her on your own?”

“No choice,” he reminded her, although he shared her concerns. He flipped the switch to turn off the altitude control, the plane beginning to wobble as soon as it was off. He fought the stick, struggling to hold it steady at ten thousand. He knew that they had to get down and soon, but under the best of circumstances, they were still forty-five minutes from Norfolk. They couldn’t afford to waste any more time out here. “Skates, get me the most direct route to Norfolk.”

Skates’ fright was growing as she looked at the radar again, the screen now almost completely filled with storm cells. Once they were on the ground, she intended to have some words with the weather forecasters who’d said they were safe to fly. “I’m looking at the mother of all storm cells, Harm,” she said quickly.

Harm caught the growing fear in her voice and forced himself to remain calm. If he could project a cool exterior, maybe Skates would feel more confident. “Well, we can’t hop it,” he pointed out. Their oxygen problem precluded that, even if he could control the plane enough to take it back up above the clouds. “We’re low on oxygen.”

Skates was a little calmer when she told him, “We’ll have to go around it before we can go back to 335 and Norfolk.”

Good, she sounded less uneasy. “How long?” he asked.

“Groundspeed, five hundred knots,” she reported, “estimate sixteen minutes on our present course.”

Which pushed their flight time to Norfolk to over an hour. Harm realized that they were fast running out of options. Then it got worse, another light coming on. “Lost PC1,” he reported.

“Turn off the roll, pitch and yaw stabilization systems,” she said, her voice raised. Okay, Beth, she told herself. Breathe. This is Harm, the best pilot you’ve flown with. He can get us out of this.

But his next words and the tone of his voice did little to inspire her confidence. “Skates,” he said, his voice louder as well, his words coming in a rush, “get us back on a direct track to Norfolk.”

“Can’t go straight through,” she said, even as she wished that she could give him the report he wanted. “Change heading to 305. That way we’ll skirt the cell.”

“Check with Oceana Center,” he ordered.

“Oceana Center, Navy 241,” she said. “We are experiencing serious flight control problems.”

“Roger that, 241,” Center replied. “Are you declaring an emergency?”

“Not at this time, Center,” he said, something he’d once told Mac coming to mind.

“Punching out is the last thing a pilot ever wants to do.”

As long as he was able to control the plane, he was determined to keep it in the air and make it to Norfolk. Then he and Skates could drive back to Washington and maybe someday this would be a story they’d tell their children.

“Roger that,” Center replied. ”We copy. Negative radar contact. State position and altitude.”

Wonderful, Skates thought. On top of everything else, they don’t know where we are and I don’t either. “Position unknown,” she reported, more calmly than she felt. “Approximately 200 nautical east southeast of Norfolk. Altitude ten thousand.”

“Roger. Can you return to the carrier?”

Skates almost snorted. “You’re closer, Center,” she said firmly, her tone letting them know that option was absolutely out of the question. They didn’t have the fuel.

“What are your intentions?” Center asked.

“To continue inbound to Norfolk,” she replied, confident in Harm’s ability to get them there. At least, as long as flight operations weren’t shut down. “What is your weather, Center?”

“Ceiling five thousand, visibility two miles,” they reported back. “The weather is getting worse here, but we know you’re coming. We’ll try to stay open as long as possible. We’ll see you when you get here.”

“Roger that, Center,” she said. “I’ll hold you to that. Out.” She flipped the radio switch to raise the Patrick Henry, static coming from the speakers. “City Desk, this is 241. We’ve lost PC1 and are experiencing flight control system problems. Over.”

USS PATRICK HENRY
APPROX 500 MILES ESE OF NORFOLK

“Roger,” the Petty Officer replied, glancing over his shoulder at the officer of the watch, who was hovering over his shoulder. “What is your position?”

“Estimate our position at three eight three zero ….” Skates voice broke off as static filled the air.

“241, do you copy?” City Desk called. “241, do you copy?”

The officer of the watch looked down at the radar screen as she ordered, “Try the transponder again.”

The Petty Officer flipped a switch, he and the Ccommander staring at the radar screen full of storms, no sign of Navy 241. He looked back at her, his tone grim, “No IFF signal, Ma’am. They’re off the scope.”

The Commander immediately picked up the intercom and paged Captain Ingles, while the Petty Officer attempted to come up with a good estimate of 241’s last position. Within a couple of minutes, Ingles was there, pulling her aside. “Where are they?” he demanded.

“Past two hundred fifty miles, Sir,” she replied. “We’ve lost radar contact and IFF signal.”

“How’d this happen?” Ingles asked, his voice hard. He’d cleared them to take off, but only after he’d been assured that the bad weather would not be a concern. Ultimately, it was his responsibility that they were out there at all. And he was a man who took his responsibilities very seriously.

“Storm moved faster than forecast, Sir,” she said. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he was far from satisfied with that answer, but it was the best she could offer him at the moment.

He sighed. There would be time later to have a discussion with the weather forecasters. Right now, he had a bird to find. “Thank you, Commander,” he said. “That will be all.”

“Aye-aye, Sir,” she said smartly, turning on her heel to return to her duties.

Ingles picked up the microphone for the intercom and called for the Air Boss. “Boss, this is the Captain,” he said. “Assign air crews for search and rescue. Prepare to launch a Seahawk and a Viking on my signal.” He hung the microphone back up and stared out the forward windows at the worsening storm, the rain pounding against the windows, mentally saying a prayer for the two officers lost out in the middle of it.

SOMEWHERE OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN
APPROXIMATELY 200 MILES ESE OF NORFOLK

Over the ocean, miles from the nearest solid ground, the fact that they’d lost contact with the carrier was the least of their concerns, even if they could have known that they weren’t transmitting an IFF signal at all. Harm was fighting to keep the jet in the air while Skates’ eyes were glued to the radar screen. “We’ve got nothing but storm cells around us,” Skates reported.

“We’re losing PC2,” Harm said, his eyes on his panel, where another light was blinking at him. “Recheck Oceana weather.”

Skates switched the radio back to Oceana, but instead of the comforting voice of the radio controller at Center, she got a cold, mechanical recording. “This is Oceana metro. Reporting ceiling and visibility zero,” the recording intoned.

She uttered a soft ‘Damn’ under her breath. If their flight had been bad before, it had just gone to hell. “Field’s closed,” she told Harm, even though he’d heard the same recording she just had.

“Check Pax River,” Harm ordered, referring to the next closest field, but when she flipped the radio switch, they got an almost identical recording.

“Closed,” she said. She began calculating in her head. Andrews and Dover, the next available landing sites, were about the same distance away. They’d be critical on fuel with either choice, but heading for Dover, they’d have no choice but to turn north and fly right through the storms. There was no way to go around, not with their fuel level. Andrews had just become their best bet, assuming it was open. She switched the radio channel again, resisting the urge to cheer when she got Washington Center instead of a recording. “Washington Center, this is Navy 241, approximately 250 miles east southeast of Andrews at ten thousand. We are experiencing serious flight control problems heading for Norfolk. Norfolk, Pax River are closed. Requesting deviation to Andrews.”

“Deviation approved,” Center replied. “Advise when 150 miles out.”

“Roger,” Skates replied. “Harm ….”

The plane shuddered as it was stuck by lightning, Harm momentarily losing control. They inverted before he managed to fight the stick and turn the plane back upright. Then the lights went out in the cockpit, both Harm and Skates pulling out their flashlights so they could read their instruments. “Generators are out,” Skates reported.

“Reset.”

Skates pressed a button on her panel, but nothing happened. “Can’t,” she said, shaking her head.

Harm studied his panel. They’d risen in altitude slightly, their altimeter reading thirteen thousand. But a difference of three thousand feet from where they should be was nothing compared to all their other problems. “We’ve lost the electronics,” he said. “Switch to emergency IFF.”

Skates did so, reporting, “Squawking seven seven hundred. We’ve gone to four hundred knots.”

“We’re going to have to fly straight through,” Harm told her.

“Harm,” Skates countered, the fear creeping back into her voice, “that will put us in the middle of the biggest thunder bumper in the whole damn world.”

“I’m flying it on trim as it is right now, Skates,” he reminded her, his tone calmer than hers. He recognized that she was moving rapidly towards terrified and hoped that he could calm her again. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep her in the air and now we’ve got to fly further than we were.”

Come on, Skates, she admonished herself. You’ve got a job to do. Harm can’t do this by himself. “Check the wet compass to get our heading,” she said.

Harm lifted his flashlight, shining the light on the compass, the needle far from steady. “Best bet,” he reported, “north northwest.”

“Come left twenty degrees,” Skates instructed, “350 knots, ten thousand feet.” Harm followed her directions, turning them to the left to try to get them pointed back in the direction they were supposed to be going, or as close to it as she could estimate.

USS PATRICK HENRY

The Petty Officer manning the radio breathed a sigh of relief when a blip appeared on his screen from 241’s emergency IFF, but it was tempered by the knowledge that they were surrounded by storms. “We have an emergency IFF signal, Ma’am,” he reported.

She immediately picked up the intercom and radioed Ingles. “Bridge, combat,” she announced, “we have an emergency signal three hundred miles northwest, heading three four five.”

Ingles acknowledged the news impassively. “Roger that, Commander,” he replied. “Keep me informed of any change in status.”

On the bridge, Ingles turned to the navigation officer. “Come right to course three four five,” he ordered. “All engines ahead two-thirds.”

The navigation officer immediately turned to his Petty Officer and repeated the order. “Right standard rudder,” he said. “Come right to course three four five. All engines ahead two-thirds.”

“Aye-aye, Sir,” the Petty Officer replied, executing the course change to carry them closer to 241’s last reported position.

The Captain picked up the intercom again, calling air operations. “Air ops,” he said, “notify FAA and the Coast Guard that we’re commencing search and rescue operations and get the Air Boss and Paddles to meet me in CIC.”

“Aye-aye, Sir,” the officer on duty in air ops replied. Ingles hung the microphone up and strode off the bridge heading towards CIC.

SOMEWHERE OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN

Harm realized that he was losing control of the plane and that their chances of making Andrews were virtually zero. It was time to consider alternatives. “Skates, what’s the nearest point of land?”

“Cape Fear,” she replied immediately, having already gone over the possibilities in her mind. It had helped distract her. “Estimate one hundred twenty miles due east.”

“We’re at two seventy five indicated air speed,” Harm reported.

“Twenty five minutes flying time,” Skates informed him after quickly calculating it in her head.

It was still too far, Harm realized. He had to admit that they’d finally run out of options. Mac’s face floated into his thoughts as he made his decision. He had faith that they’d make it. Skates had a fiancé waiting back in Washington for her and he …. well, he might not quite have Mac, but things were definitely looking better on that score than they had just hours before. “We’re going to have to punch out,” he told her calmly.

“We’re at eight thousand,” she reported. “When do we go?”

“At five thousand,” he replied.

Skates broadcast a distress call over all channels, her voice shaky. “Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! Navy 241, one hundred twenty miles east of Cape Fear.”

She adjusted her harness and called out to Harm, “Lock shoulder harness.”

“Locked.”

“Visor down,” she continued.

“Visor down.”

“Mask on,” she said, locking her own mask into place on her helmet.

“Mask on,” Harm echoed, positioning his mask.

“Lower seat.” She dropped her seat into position while Harm did the same.

Check,” he replied.

“Passing seven,” she reported. Just two thousand more feet. A matter of seconds in a Tomcat. When she spoke again, the reality of their situation was evident in her frightened tone. “Harm, I’m not a strong swimmer.” About the only thing that was mildly comforting to her was that they had zero chance of crashing into the deck of a carrier. No chance of fire, no chance of being caught in the ship’s screws.

“Just remember your survival training,” he said calmly.

“Harm, we’re passing six,” she told him, her voice still shaky. “Command ejection rear seat.” She pulled the level to give her control over their ejection as she tried to tell herself that Harm was counting on her as much as she was counting on him.

“Skates, we’re going to get through this okay,” he said reassuringly. “I’ll see you down there. You have my word on it.”

Skates managed a small smile behind her mask. “You haven’t let me down yet,” she said, remembering again her crash and his rescue of her.

For a brief instant, Harm was reminded of Mac and promises.

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep.”

“I haven’t yet.”

He’d made a promise to Mac as well, one to return. Originally, it had been a promise that he’d return for her wedding, but once that was over, it had turned into a promise to return to her. And that was one promise that he’d move heaven and earth to keep.

The plane shuddering beneath them, not responding to his control, Harm realized that they weren’t going to make it to five thousand. “I’ve lost her, Skates,” he called back to her. “Eject us now.”

“Position yourself,” she instructed, crossing her arms over her chest while Harm did the same. “Good luck, Harm.” She reached over and pulled the ejection handle, the canopy blowing, her seat following seconds later.

“Damn it,” Harm swore, his seat still firmly in place in the cockpit. “Eject.” He reached down under the front of the seat and pulled the manual ejection handle, his seat finally firing. Seconds later, his chute opened, slowing his descent as the Tomcat dove into the ocean at over two hundred knots, shattering into pieces upon impact with the water.

USS PATRICK HENRY

Ingles was conferring with the officer of the watch, the Air Boss and Paddles in CIC, standing in front of a large electronic map of the ocean and East Coast of the United States. The officer of the watch was motioning towards the map. “This is their last known location,” she reported. “They were at ten thousand feet.”

“All right,” Ingles said, “describe an arc around here of fifty miles. That’s where we’ll start our search. Boss, notify the Coast Guard, FAA, and AIRLANT. I’m the on-scene commander.” He was responsible for them being out there. It would be his responsibility to bring them home.

“Aye-aye, Sir,” the Air Boss replied. He turned to Paddles, who had been silent so far. “I want you to spearhead this in a Viking.”

“Roger, Boss,” Paddles replied, not waiting to be dismissed before turning to leave. He had things to do and not a lot of time to do them. He needed to be up in the air now. In a situation like this, every second counted.

The Air Boss turned back to Ingles, who ordered, “As soon as they’re ready, I want Paddles and the Seahawk in the air.”

“Aye-aye, Sir,” he replied, turning on his heel to leave.

Ingles stared out the window again, watching the rain pound against the glass. He picked up the intercom microphone and announced, “Captain Pike to the Captain’s Ready Room.”

He left CIC, mentally preparing himself for the toughest duty, bar none, that any commander would ever have to perform and the one that every one prayed they’d never be called upon to do.

Once in his ready room, Ingles allowed himself a private moment in which the impassivity he wore like a mask slipped and he let his emotions show in his manner, his expression. Waiting for the CAG, he slowly paced the room. Twelve steps to the far wall, twelve back. And while he paced, he considered the two officers whose lives were depending on what he did this night.

He’d had his run-ins with both of them over the mishap, which had led to Skates’ court-martial. He’d been so sure he’d been doing the right thing, bringing charges against her. A pilot and RIO could have lost their lives that night. But although he would never admit it, even he’d been impressed by Skates’ testimony, when she’d offered to resign. It had reminded him of a story he’d once heard of a CAG facing court-martial who’d testified that when the day came when he felt he could no longer serve the Navy he loved, they wouldn’t have to ask for his resignation because he would tender it himself without hesitation. She’d eventually been acquitted and had returned to duty on the Patrick Henry. Many Captains, despite her acquittal, might have transferred her off their ship, but he’d given her another chance, his silent way of saying that he may have been wrong. And she’d made the most of it. He was truly sorry that they were going to lose her to shore duty when she got married.

During the court-martial, Harm had been Skates’ lawyer, so he’d been the enemy in Ingles’ eyes. It didn’t matter that he’d spent six months flying off the Patrick Henry previously, earning his second Distinguished Flying Cross. All that mattered was that the pilot-turned-lawyer-turned-pilot-turned-lawyer was a very prickly thorn in his side. Later, he’d admitted to himself that if their positions had been reversed, he probably would have behaved the same way Harm had. He’d just been doing his job. He was tenacious, whether in the courtroom or in the air. He’d shown that earlier today. He might have started out a bit shaky – although it appeared Paddles had been just a little late with the wave off – but he’d shaken it off to nail his next four landing attempts, posting the highest scores of all the pilots flying their quals.

He stopped in mid-step as Captain Pike stepped into the Ready Room. Ingles was gratified to note that he was carrying a couple of folders with him, which he presumed held contact information for Harm and Skates. He sat down at the table, motioning to Pike to take a seat as well.

“We’ve lost contact with 241,” Ingles said without preamble. “They dropped down to ten thousand because of a low oxygen light and ran right into that storm out there. They suffered at least one lightning strike and subsequent systems failures, according to controllers at Norfolk. We think they’ve gone down a little more than halfway between here and Norfolk. We lost radio contact, then a few minutes later picked up an emergency IFF signal, then lost that, too. The last voice contact with 241 was reported by Washington Center. It was a mayday, right around the time we lost the emergency IFF.”

“Rabb’s a good pilot,” Pike said. “If anyone could have held that bird long enough for them to eject, it’s him.”

Ingles nodded slowly. “I know,” he said. “We’re getting ready to launch a Seahawk and a Viking piloted by Paddles towards where we think they went down.”

Pike handed over the folders he had brought with him over to Ingles. “I suspected what is going on when you called for SAR,” he explained. “I knew Hammer and Skates were the only ones still in the air at this point, so I went ahead and pulled these.”

Ingles sighed heavily as he opened Skates’ folder, perusing her emergency contact information. “Lieutenant Commander Robert Drake,” he read. “Her fiancé?”

“Yes,” Pike replied. “They’re getting married in five weeks.”

“Damn,” Ingles whispered. Anyone who ever made command rank prayed that he or she would never have to utter or write the words ‘We regret to inform you ….’ Those words gave even the most battle-hardened veteran pause. He picked up the phone and requested a ship to shore line from communications. In less than a minute, the line was ringing as the connection was made. He glanced at his watch, which he kept set to the time in Norfolk, the Patrick Henry’s home base. The joke between him and his wife was that she wanted him to always know the time where she was, so he didn’t try to call home too early or too late.

It was just past 2330 hours on the east coast, so he wasn’t ready to give up even after the phone rang several times. Since it was late and he was probably expecting his fiancée to arrive in the morning, the man was likely in bed. Finally, the phone was picked up after the fifth ring. “‘lo?” the sleepy voice asked.

“Lieutenant Commander Robert Drake?” Ingles asked. In his quarters at the Washington Naval Yard, Robert Drake sat straight up in bed, suddenly wide-awake. He’d been in the Navy long enough to recognize the voice of someone in command when he heard it and hearing such a voice in the middle of the night was never a good thing.

“Yes, Sir,” he replied, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he balanced the phone between his ear and shoulder. He climbed out of bed and went to his closet, pulling out a neatly hung summer white uniform.

“This is Captain Tobias Ingles from the Patrick Henry,” Ingles said. Robert froze, the hanger he held slipping from his hand, his uniform landing in a puddle of fabric on the floor. He’d expected the call to be from someone on base, reporting that there was some kind of accident or incident requiring him to speak to the media in his capacity as the base public affairs officer. He’d never imagined that the call would be about Beth. She should have been sound asleep in her bunk on the ship, resting up before taking a COD to Washington in the morning. “Lieutenant Hawkes was on her way to Norfolk when contact was lost with the Tomcat in which she was flying approximately 200 miles east southeast of Norfolk. We’re launching search and rescue teams as we speak.”

“What was Beth doing in a Tomcat?” Robert asked, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. He glanced through his curtains, watching the rain fall outside the window. He loved the rain – it was something he and Beth had in common. They loved taking walks in the rain. Now she was out in it, fighting for her life. “She was supposed to be taking a COD back in the morning.”

“One of our pilots was flying to Norfolk then driving on to Washington tonight,” Ingles replied. “Lieutenant Hawkes was given permission to fly with him rather than wait until morning to leave. They dropped down in altitude because of a low oxygen light and ran into a storm that had moved directly into their flight path faster than expected. Commander Rabb tried to keep her in the air, but they suffered multiple systems failures and at least one lighting strike from what we’ve been able to find out from Oceana Center.”

“Commander Rabb was the pilot?” Robert asked. He’d heard Beth speak often of the man, who almost sounded like he could walk on water from her description. If he were the jealous type, he might have a problem with her close friendship and obvious admiration of the man. But she’d introduced the two after her court-martial and Robert knew that if the man was as good in the air as he had demonstrated he was in the courtroom, then she stood a fighting chance. But that confidence was tempered by the knowledge that Beth was not that good a swimmer. Previously, he’d teased her about that, a sailor not being a proficient swimmer. Suddenly, it was not funny at all.

“Yes, he was,” Ingles confirmed. “She’s in good hands out there.”

“I concur,” he replied softly. “From what Beth’s told me, he’s the best she’s seen.” He bent down and picked up his white uniform, hanging it back in the closet, making sure it was hung neatly, just to keep his hands busy. He then pulled out another hanger, this one holding a khaki uniform. “Sir, I would like to come out to the Patrick Henry. I’d like to be there when Beth is rescued.”

“Commander, nothing’s coming out to this ship tonight,” Ingles pointed out. “We’ve already lost one aircraft to this storm. The only vehicles going anywhere will be the search and rescue craft.”

“Sir, I need …. “ Robert began.

“However,” Ingles continued, as if Robert hadn’t spoken, “there is a COD that flies out here from Norfolk every morning. Obviously, if the weather is still bad, the flight will be cancelled. But if it flies, there should be room for a passenger.” Maybe not quite standard operating procedure, but Commander Drake was Navy. He would know to stay out of the way of the ship’s crew while they did their jobs. And maybe Ingles felt he owed Skates this small consideration.

“I’ll leave for Norfolk as soon as I can throw some things in a bag,” he said quickly. “Thank you, Sir.”

“If there’s any news before you fly out, we’ll contact the terminal at the airfield in Norfolk,” Ingles assured him.

“Thank you, Sir,” he said gratefully. “I …. um, I appreciate this. Just …. do everything you can, Captain.”

“We are doing everything to rescue them,” Ingles stressed.

“I know,” Robert whispered. “Thank you again, Sir.” He clicked off the phone, not caring if the Captain might find that rude, letting the handset slip from his hand to fall to the floor. Clutching his uniform in his hands, he sank down on the edge of the bed, his eyes falling on a picture of Beth sitting on his nightstand. He reached over and picked it up, his eyes moving over her smiling face. It had been taken during their last leave together, when they’d spent a few days up at Martha’s Vineyard. That had been the weekend they’d finally set a date for their wedding.

A single tear slipped down his cheek as he whispered in prayer, “God, just bring her home safe. Please just keep her safe and bring her home.”

CHEGWIDDEN RESIDENCE
MCLEAN, VIRGINIA

AJ was wide-awake and sitting up in bed before the phone had finished ringing the first time. It was a skill honed during over thirty years in the Navy. When the phone rang in the middle of the night, there wasn’t time to slowly wake up, to allow whatever news was being imparted by the person on the other end to sink in. So he’d learned to awaken in an instant. A person speaking to him after waking him up in the depths of the night would swear he’d been wide awake already when the phone rang. He picked up the phone on the second ring. “Admiral Chegwidden,” he said.

“Admiral, this is Captain Ingles from the Patrick Henry,” Ingles said. AJ’s breath caught in his throat as he realized what he was about to hear. He closed his eyes as the other man continued, “Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Hawkes were flying a Tomcat to Norfolk when they experienced flight control problems and they flew into a storm that had moved faster than forecast. Contact was lost with them about 200 miles east southeast of Norfolk. We’ve launched SAR towards their last reported position.”

“Understood,” AJ said, pushing back the bed covers with his free hand, already planning what he needed to do. “I’ll head into JAG. You can contact me there when you have news. I assume you’ll handle contacting the Commander’s family?”

“Actually, the Commander’s emergency contact information lists only you and Colonel Mackenzie,” Ingles said. “I don’t have information for any members of his family.”

“Colonel Mackenzie?” AJ muses, wondering why she would be down as an emergency contact. Suddenly, he remembered. Harm had put her down as a contact just before he’d gone to Russia the first time, before AJ had made the decision to send Mac with him. He must have never changed it. He didn’t envy Ingles the job of telling Mac that her best friend was missing, although a part of him considered suggesting that he contact her, but he knew that Ingles would consider it his duty to do so. It was only lack of information preventing the captain from calling the Burnett’s or Harm’s grandmother. “That’s okay, I remember. I believe we have contact information for the Commander’s parents and grandmother in his personnel folder at JAG.”

“Admiral, the weather is nasty out here,” Ingles informed him, his voice tinged with regret. He wanted to make sure AJ was fully aware of just how dire the situation was. He figured the ex-SEAL would not want it sugar-coated for his benefit. “I may have to pull the SAR team if it doesn’t let up.”

“Understood,” AJ said, intellectually knowing that Ingles had to take into account the safety of the men and women tasked with trying to find Harm and Skates. It didn’t mean he had to like it. “Keep me informed.”

“I will, Admiral,” Ingles replied. Without another word, Ingles disconnected. AJ stared at the phone for a long moment, pondering how to proceed. He’d never thought he’d face a situation like this again, having to inform family, friends and co-workers that someone close to them was missing. He thought he’d seen the last of that when he’d left the SEALs, then left Surface Warfare for JAG. Being a lawyer had to be about as close as you could get to a safe occupational specialty in the military – unless your name happened to be Rabb or Mackenzie.

He smiled grimly as he remembered the last time he’d faced a situation similar to this, when Harm and Mac had been reported dead after crashing a MiG-29 into a lake in Siberia. Of course, that time he’d known that there had been more to the story and he’d moved heaven and earth to find them. Then, there had been something he could do. Now, there were no bad guys lying through their teeth, no hope that this was just some sick joke. Harm and his RIO really were lost in the middle of an angry, dark, storm-tossed sea.

“Colonel, the Commander is too damn pig-headed to leave this world.”

God. How is Mac going to react, he wondered. Right now, Captain Ingles was probably talking to her, telling her that her best friend was in danger. Tomorrow – no, today, he corrected himself, glancing at his alarm clock – should have been the happiest day of her life. And now …. he shook his head. He’d stopped long ago trying to figure out that tangled web and it hardly mattered now. All that mattered was that he be there for his people as they waited and prayed for one of their own. It was an unspoken law of command – never get too close to your subordinates. But somehow during the last five years, the people at JAG had managed to become like a family, with him as its head and, although the gruff Admiral would never admit it aloud, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sighing, he clicked on the phone and hit speed dial four, wondering how to tell two people who’d already endured more than their share of tragedy during the last few months the news about a man who was probably like a brother to them. Then maybe when that was done, he could figure out how to start telling everyone else.

MAC’S APARTMENT

Mac jerked awake as a loud banging invaded her sleep filled consciousness. She ran a hand through her hair, then rubbed the sleep from her eyes, praying that it wasn’t Mic. She hadn’t been able to get a hold of him yet and with every hour that passed, bringing the wedding closer, the knot in the pit of her stomach grew larger. She’d wanted to get it over with, to feel the weight lift from her shoulders. But not now.

Filled with apprehension, she grabbed her robe from the closet and pulled it on, knotting the belt around her waist as she walked to the door. She glanced through the peephole, gasping with surprise when she saw who was on the other side. With a wide smile, she threw the door open.

“Harm!” she exclaimed, his mouth coming down on hers before she could say more. His arms went around her, holding her tight against him as he moved her back towards the bedroom. “I thought you were going to talk to Renée first.” She managed to stutter between dazzling kisses, which were igniting a fire that was spreading its liquid warmth throughout her body.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he whispered, his mouth leaving hers to press light kisses along her jaw. “I ….” His voice trailed off as his lips moved lower down her neck and over her chest.

“I’m glad,” she replied, moving her hands between them to tug down the zipper of his flight suit, the fabric parting to reveal the white t-shirt he wore underneath. She ran her hands over him, her fingers finding and circling around his nipples, working them into hard peaks. “I thought we’d need space, but I wouldn’t have been able to stay away either.”

His hands weren’t idle either, pulling on the tie at her waist, her robe falling open. He looked down and smiled when he recognized the nightgown she was wearing. He trailed a finger along the top edge of the bodice, her body tingling from his light touch. “You know how many fantasies I’ve had about you in this nightgown?” he muses.

She smiled slyly, letting her robe fall from her shoulders, turning around slowly as he looked his fill, reveling in his admiring gaze. When she finished her revolution, her hands went to his shoulders, pushing the top of his flight suit off. “You’ll have to fill me in sometime,” she told him in a husky whisper. “I want to hear all about your fantasies.”

“Later,” he countered, sitting on the edge of the bed to remove his boots. He stood again long enough to remove his flight suit and the rest of his clothes. Mac started to lift her gown over her head, but Harm put a hand on her arm to stop her. “Leave it.”

“Those must have been some fantasies,” she teased as he sat back down on the edge of the bed, pulling her into his lap, pushing the skirt of her gown out of the way, bringing their bodies in intimate contact. She pressed against him, delighting in his harsh groan.

“It’s better …. than I remember,” she gasped, tossing her head back as they came together. He leaned forward, the tip of his tongue tracing a path down her throat. “Oh, Harm ….”

Harm cupped the back of her head, lifting her up to meet his gaze. “God, Sarah,” he whispered, his tone tortured, “I love you. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before, but I love you ….”

“I love you, too, Harm,” Mac murmured in her sleep, her head tossing back and forth on the pillow, caught up in the explicit dream she was having. “I tried so hard to convince myself that I didn’t, that I loved Mic instead, but I can’t do it anymore.”

Commander Mackenzie strode the deck of the Somers with firm, measured steps, nothing of his thoughts showing in his expression. Nearly the entire crew was gathered on the deck, watching the proceedings with fearful eyes. But for the grace of God, any one of them could have been up there, a rope around his neck, about to be hung as a mutineer. Those who had heard whispers and had secretly applauded the proposed action thanked Heaven that they hadn’t gone further and offered their support. Those who staunchly supported the captain knew that an example had to be made of these men lest others try the same thing. A few fair minded sailors wished that the accused had been held until they docked, where Naval authorities could handle their punishment, but they didn’t dare speak out or it might be their necks in a noose.

Mackenzie stopped in front of each man, forgiving them their transgressions as he personally pulled a black hood over each man’s head. First, the son of the Secretary of War, the mastermind – if such a word could be applied to the nervous Spencer – of the plot to take over the ship. Then Seaman Jacobs, a conscript who rumor said wanted nothing more than to get off the Somers through whatever means. He was about to get his wish, although in a manner that he had probably never considered. Finally, Chief Burnett, a veteran Navy man for whom the evidence was mostly circumstantial. But it was his involvement in the mutiny, which bothered the captain the most. He was the highest-ranking enlisted man on the boat, a sailor to whom just about every enlisted man looked up. If his involvement had been more overt, Mackenzie knew he wouldn’t have stood a chance of putting down the mutiny. While Burnett might have been only peripherally involved, in a way his death was the most necessary to send a message to the rest of the crew.

Mackenzie’s cold eyes swept over the mutineers one final time before he lifted his arm, prepared to give the signal to the men manning the rope which would snuff out three lives. His eyes remaining on the condemned men, he brought his arm down, ordering, “Pull!”

With grunts and groans, the sailors pulled the rope, lifting the three men off the deck, legs kicking as they fought. Jacobs even lifted his hands, clawing at the rope tightening around his throat. Mackenzie watched impassively as the three men kicked and jerked, then one by one their bodies spasmed, then all was still ….

“Harm!” Mac screamed, her eyes snapping open, gasping for breath as Harm must have done in her dream. No, not Harm, she told herself. Just someone who looked like him. Right, she chided herself. Someone who looked amazingly like Harm being put to death by a tyrannical Naval commander who could have been Mic’s twin?

Suddenly, Mac started laughing, realizing how ridiculous the dream was. Mic wasn’t like that. He would not be happy to have the wedding called off and it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that he would blame Harm to some degree. But Mic wasn’t a murderer.

It was simply stress, she decided. Mic hadn’t called, so she still had the specter of the wedding hanging over her head. She was facing an unknown future, having given up the guarantee of a home and family with Mic for the uncertainty of trying to build a relationship with Harm. She no longer drank her way to oblivion to escape her life, so her mind was searching for other ways to hide from all the pain she knew today would bring.

With a shaky laugh, she rolled onto her side and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force herself to go back to sleep. She figured the time and guessed that Harm would be landing in Norfolk about now. Recalling her earlier dream, she smiled. Maybe dreams could come true, she told herself. Maybe she’d wake up in a few hours to find Harm on her doorstep.

Smiling at the thought, she tried to focus her mind on the first dream, but her train of thought was broken by the ringing of the phone. She drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled, trying to mentally prepare herself to tell Mic her decision. She let the phone ring two more times before she picked it up, knowing that there was no way to fully prepare herself for what she had to say.

“Hello?” she said nervously.

“Colonel Mackenzie, this is Captain Ingles,” Ingles said, causing Mac to freeze. She almost wished it had been Mic, knowing that there was only one reason why the captain of the Patrick Henry would be calling her in the middle of the night.

“What happened to Harm?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice steady, her fingers tightening around the phone. She would not lose it, she told herself. She had to be strong.

“Contact was lost with Commander Rabb’s Tomcat about two hundred miles east southeast of Norfolk,” he told her. “We’ve launched a Seahawk and Viking as part of a search and rescue operation.”

“What happened?” she asked. Russia flashed in her mind. At least when they’d had to punch out, they’d managed to come down on solid ground rather than in the lake. But Harm was out over the ocean, miles away from land. “Why did he go down?”

“From what we’ve found out from Oceana Center, they had an oxygen problem and were forced to descend to ten thousand,” he explained. “They flew right into a number of thunderstorms and suffered more systems failures.”

“I thought the weather was supposed to be clear in their flight path?” she demanded. She’d been worried about Harm, tired from his flight, driving from Norfolk to Washington. It had never occurred to her to worry about the flight itself.

“The weather forecast was wrong,” he said simply.

Mac laughed bitterly. “That’s usually supposed to be a joke, saying that the weather forecasters got it wrong,” she retorted. She uttered a few colorful oaths in Farsi under her breath.

“Colonel, we are doing everything we can to find Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Hawkes,” he tried to assure her.

She took a deep breath to calm herself, realizing that she was close to losing it. Harm will get through this, she said to herself, repeating it like a mantra. If she said it enough times, maybe she’d convince herself enough to hold it together until he was found. “Captain, if they went down in bad weather, what about search and rescue?” she asked. “Are they going to have problems because of the weather?”

Ingles hesitated for a moment, before deciding that the Marine he was talking to would not want him to soften the truth. “The weather is a concern,” he told her. “We have a low ceiling and twenty foot swells, but we will stay out there as long as we can keep the rescue craft in the air. No one here is giving up on Rabb and Hawkes.”

Forcing back tears, Mac said, “Thank you for being straight with me, Sir.” Why now? She finally had a chance with Harm and now this. She stared down at the bedspread, tracing random patterns on top of it with a finger while she struggled to figure out what to say next. It came to her and she steeled herself for an argument. She had to tell Harm …. He just had to know. “Captain, I’d like to come out to the Patrick Henry.”

Her eyes widened in surprise when, instead of the fight she’d been expecting, she got his agreement. “Lieutenant Hawkes’ fiancé made the same request when I called him a few minutes ago,” he revealed. “Nothing is certain because of the weather, but there is a COD scheduled from Norfolk in the morning. If it goes, a seat on the flight is yours.”

She nodded before realizing that Ingles couldn’t see the gesture. “Thank you, Sir,” she said gratefully. “I’ll throw a few things in a bag and leave for Norfolk within the hour.”

“If there is any news, I will contact the terminal at Norfolk and leave a message for you and Commander Drake,” he told her. “Colonel, we will find them.”

He sounded so confident that Mac wished she could borrow some of that for herself. Not that she doubted Harm’s survival skills. Far from it. They’d been through enough life and death situations together that she had no doubts about that, at least the Marine in her didn’t. The woman in her, however, was terrified and wouldn’t rest easy until she could see him alive and well, until she could hold him in her arms. “Thank you, Captain,” she said softly before clicking off the phone.

She set the phone back on the nightstand. She wanted to shake, needed to scream about the unfairness of it all, desired to give free reign to the tears she was currently holding at bay. But she couldn’t. There was too much to do. Forcing back her emotions, she jumped from the bed and grabbed her overnight bag, throwing things in it automatically, knowing how and what to pack through years of practice.

While she packed, she considered whom to contact. She wanted to call Chloe, hear her youthful optimism that everything would be fine. Maybe Bud and Harriet could remind her again of all the dire situations that Harm had faced before and had come through just fine. But she was afraid that any one of them might try to talk her out of going to the Patrick Henry and she wasn’t about to be dissuaded. She didn’t really want to talk to him right now, but she knew she needed to call Mic. He had to be home by now and she owed it to him to not let any more time pass before he was told of her decision.

With a heavy sigh, she stopped her packing and picked up the phone, dialing Mic’s number. In his apartment, he lay sprawled face down across his bed, where he’d thrown himself after Alan and Bud had driven him home, too drunk to be bothered by the ringing phone.

When Mac got the answering machine, she hung up without leaving a message, pushing thoughts of Mic from her mind. How or when he would find out had just become the least of her worries. What did a wedding, a cancelled one at that, matter when Harm was out on the ocean somewhere, fighting for his life?

She returned to her packing, stripping off her nightgown and folding it, laying it on top before zipping her bag up.

“Leave the lingerie at home this time.”

“Not this time,” she said aloud, managing a half-hearted smile at the memory. Maybe it was crazy, but that nightgown, the one she’d worn in Russia, carried with it some very fond memories. If nothing else, it could remind her while she waited for news.

Quickly, she dressed in her uniform and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to bring some semblance of order to it, glancing at her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. God, look at me, she thought. Harm’s missing and I’m worried about how I look. A single tear slipped down her cheek and she brushed it away.

She turned away from the mirror and went to her nightstand, opening the drawer and withdrawing Harm’s letter and his wings. Clutching the wings in her hand, she promised herself that as soon as she saw him, she’d return his wings. Harm had shown her that flying wasn’t more important than her by giving them to her, so she’d pin them back on his uniform to show that she wasn’t threatened by his need to fly.

Oddly calmed by the thought, she carried her bag, the letter and wings to the living room. She set the bag on the couch, stashing the letter in a side pocket of her bag, keeping the wings with her. She went over to her desk and booted up her laptop so she could send a message to the Admiral. Technically, she was on leave for the next two weeks, but she needed to tell him something, especially if he ended up getting caught up in the fallout from what she was about to do.

While she waited for the computer to come up, she retrieved Harm’s flight jacket from the closet and pulled it on. Even though she’d had it for two days, she could still detect a faint whiff of his aftershave. She wrapped her arms around herself, imagining that it was his arms around her, holding her tight, his scent invading her senses. She wondered if she closed her eyes, if she would see him standing there.

Finally, she heard the musical tones that signaled that Windows was coming up. Sitting down at her desk, she forced herself not to fidget while Windows finished loading. Once it was up, she opened her e-mail program and composed a message to AJ.

To: chegwiddena@jaghq.navy.mil
From: mackenzies@jaghq.navy.mil
Subject: FYI

Admiral,

I’m sure you’ve already heard about Harm’s crash. Captain Ingles called me – I guess Harm never took me off his emergency contact list. I asked that I be allowed to go out to the carrier and he agreed that Skates’ fiancé and I could come out on the morning COD, provided the weather clears. I need to be there when they find Harm. I’m sorry to tell you like this, but honestly I didn’t want to take the chance that you would try to talk me out of this. I have to do this.

I know that this will cause a lot of problems for some people and there is a lot of stuff going on that no one knows about yet and this is not the time to get into all that. I did try to contact Mic, but he’s either still not home or not answering his phone. If he asks questions – and I’m sure he will – you can tell him whatever you feel you need to. I know that I will have to deal with him eventually, but I can’t right now. Right now, my primary concern is Harm.

She read over the message. It felt incomplete, but she wasn’t sure what else to say. She hated dumping her problems with Mic in her friends’ laps, but she didn’t have a choice. With a heavy sigh, she signed off on the message and sent it, her e-mail program set to automatically dial her internet service, in this case the remote access to the JAG server. Once the message was sent, she powered off her laptop and leaned back in her chair, deep in thought, trying to figure out if there was anything else she had to do before leaving for Norfolk.

She practically jumped out of her chair and went over to the bookcase, pulling off the shelf the photo album, which had so fascinated Chloe two days earlier. She would have several hours’ wait ahead of her in Norfolk, maybe more if the weather didn’t clear. She would look through the album, remember everything she and Harm had shared, and remind herself that Harm was first and foremost a survivor. And he would survive this. She refused to believe anything different.

THE ROBERTS’ RESIDENCE
ROSSLYN, VIRGINIA

Harriet lay curled up against Bud’s side, too keyed up sleep. The last time she’d felt this anxious had been the night before her own wedding, when she’d had doubts about her own future after watching her fiancé be led out of a strip club in handcuffs. But this was her best friend’s wedding – or was supposed to have been. She should have been the one offering comfort to a harried bride, not trapped by wakefulness, wondering what tomorrow would bring.

She was worried – not so much about Mac. When she’d left Mac’s place earlier, it had amazed her how well Mac had been holding it together. Oh, she had been worried about telling Mic and how he would react, but she’d sounded so sure about the decision itself. It was about time Mac sounded sure about something, she admitted. It was the fallout that concerned Harriet. Mic had thrown himself, heart and soul, into the idea of marrying Sarah Mackenzie and she wasn’t sure how he was going to react to having his dreams shattered just hours before they were to come true. She didn’t think he would turn violent, at least not towards Mac. But Harm …. Harriet knew from Bud what had happened in Sydney, how Harm and Mic had beaten each other black and blue. Ostensibly, the fight had been ordered by the Admiral as punishment for breaking Bud’s jaw, but Bud had admitted – in not so many words – that the fight had really been about other things. She knew that Mac did care about Mic and that it was hurting her to hurt him, but if he became angry and turned that anger towards Harm, Harriet wasn’t sure what would happen, how Mac would react.

She studied her husband for a moment, marveling at how simple her life was by comparison. Sure, she and Bud had experienced more tragedy than she’d ever thought they would, but they’d held onto their love for each other, and their love for their son, and it had seen them through. After they’d managed to survive the death of their daughter together, she was confident that she and Bud could get through anything as long as they had each other. To her, that was what love boiled down to – being there for each other, supporting each other, bolstering each other’s spirits. She didn’t think she could ever understand how Mac had come so close to marrying a man whom she didn’t have those feelings for and whom she suspected was not that completely devoted to her.

She didn’t doubt Mic loved Mac, but sometimes it concerned her that his love was a bit on the possessive side. The office gossips had been working overtime after Mac had publicly called Mic on calling her his fiancée in People Magazine. She hadn’t really thought about it too much at the time – it had happened just before baby Sarah had been born and died – but it seemed so obvious now that things had hardly been right in that relationship. Hell, she thought, it should have been obvious from the fact that Mac kept that ring on her right hand for ten months. Then when Mac and Harm had been in the Barents Sea, you would have thought they were on the verge of carrying on a mad, passionate affair the way both Mic and Renée had been obsessing about it, despite the fact that they were on two different submarines. And Bud had told her about how Mic had blindsided Mac – Harriet couldn’t think of another word to describe what he’d done – with the fact that he’d started his own law firm which specialized in defending people accused of crimes by the military. She couldn’t imagine Bud ever doing something like that to her – or Harm doing that to Mac.

But Harm and Mac …. they already had been there for each other, so many times. Harriet could lay awake all night and probably not remember all the stories about all the times they’d stood by each other, protected each other, supported each other. She wondered why she hadn’t thought about all this before, about the possibility that Mac was planning to marry the wrong man. It now occurred to her that the day in the office when Harriet had first noticed that the ring had moved that she’d been happier than the soon-to-be bride. Harriet had shown off her ring to everyone at the office immediately after Bud had slipped it on her finger. Mac had seemed like she was almost hoping no one would notice it, especially Harm, whom Harriet now realized had looked like he’d been punch in the gut when he’d first seen the diamond sparkling on her left hand. How could she not have seen it? How could they all have been so blind? Harm and Mac seemed to noticed everything about her and Bud’s relationship. Why couldn’t they have done the same?

Harriet jumped slightly, startled from her thoughts by the ringing of the phone. Bud stirred slightly against her. “Go back to sleep,” she encouraged him, knowing that he’d had a little too much to drink at the bachelor party for a wedding which would now never happen. “I’ll get it.”

She reached over him for the phone, wondering who would be calling them in the middle of the night. She hoped nothing was wrong with her parents or with Mikey out on the Wake Island …. or even with her father-in-law. She did not like the man – or the way he treated his sons – but he had come through for Mikey in Mexico and even Bud, who hardly ever talked about his father, had expressed gratitude for his help. “Hello,” she said hesitantly into the phone.

“Harriet, um, it’s Admiral Chegwidden,” AJ said. As much as he did not want to pass this news on to either of them, he’d been hoping to get Bud, wanted to tell him first so that Bud could hold his wife and comfort her as he told her the news about their friend. He didn’t know how to tell Harriet, didn’t know if he could take her reaction. Then again, he thought, remembering finding Bud in the darkened JAG building the night baby Sarah had died, he didn’t know how he could be the one to bring either of them such news. He’d watched both of them grow so much in the nearly five years he’d known them and he couldn’t care for them more if they were his flesh and blood.

“Admiral?” Harriet echoed, surprised by his use of her first name. Although it was rare, they’d been woken up in the middle of the night before for JAG business. But it was usually either Harm or Mac calling. But Harm was still on his way back from the Patrick Henry and Mac was supposed to be on leave for the next two weeks – at least of far as the Admiral probably knew. “I suppose you need to speak to Bud.”

AJ sighed heavily, shaking his head, even though she couldn’t see the gesture. “No,” he said quietly, surprising Harriet even more with the uncharacteristic tone of his voice. The last time she’d heard him sound like that had been when Sarah …. when he’d tried to comfort them at the funeral …. Oh, God. She shook her head, rubbing her hand over her stomach, trying to dispel the knot tightening there. “Since I’ve got you on the phone, I will tell you.”

He paused to gather his thoughts, something she couldn’t recall him doing before – he was always so confident, so sure – and the feeling of dread grew, threatening to overwhelm her. “Sir?” she ask hesitantly, becoming even more sure that she did not want to hear what he was about to say.

“Um, Commander Rabb was flying back to Norfolk when his Tomcat went down in a storm about a hundred miles east of Cape Fear, North Carolina,” he told her as calmly as he could, knowing no other way to break the news than to just get it out and over with, barely keeping his own emotions in check.

“No,” Harriet whispered brokenly, the phone slipping from her hand. She shook her head, praying that she’d wake up and find out this was all a horrible nightmare. “No, no, no, NO!”

“Harriet?” Bud asked sleepily, half awake as he’d listened to her side of the conversation. He pushed himself into a sitting position, gathering her into his arms. “Honey?”

Harriet shook her head, tears falling freely as she pressed her face against his chest, gripping his shoulders tightly as if holding on for dear life. Bud noticed the phone lying between them and, one hand running soothingly up and down her back, he picked up the phone. “Admiral Chegwidden?” he asked, confused, having heard Harriet greet him by rank earlier.

“Bud,” AJ began. Bud found himself suddenly fully awake at the sound of his name, dreading what he was about to hear, what had upset Harriet so much. “Commander Rabb went down in a storm on his way back to Norfolk.”

“Commander Rabb?” Bud whispered, incredulous. He hesitated, afraid to ask the question he most dreaded the answer to, but the one he most needed to hear. “Is he …. ?”

AJ knew instantly what Bud was trying to ask. It was the one question he dreaded the answer to himself. “We, um, don’t know yet,” he replied. “I spoke to the skipper of the Patrick Henry and he said they’re launching SAR aircraft towards their last known position. I’m on my way into JAG to wait for word.”

“We’ll be there in about half an hour,” Bud said emphatically, almost daring his superior to suggest otherwise, “um, Sir.”

AJ didn’t even try to dissuade him, to suggest that they try to get some sleep and that he would contact them when there was word. He could admit only to himself that, as much as they wanted to be at JAG to wait, he needed them to be there. “The night guard can let you in if I’m not there yet,” he said.

Bud’s eyes widened as something occurred to him. “Sir, have you called the Colonel yet?” he asked, wondering how she was taking the news.

“Captain Ingles called her personally,” he answered. “Apparently, she’s still listed one of the Commander’s emergency contacts. I haven’t spoken to her yet myself.”

“Okay,” Bud said, not knowing what else to say. He did not envy the person who had to break this news to her. What was worse, actually watching someone you loved slip away from you or hearing it second-hand and wishing that you could have been there to do something, as if your presence might have made a difference?

“Bud, the Commander …. Harm will make it through this,” AJ said with a confidence he wasn’t entirely sure he felt. Sure the man had the devil’s own luck, but how long until that luck ran out?

“Thank you, Sir,” Bud replied softly, not quite sure he could believe that, but needing the reassurance nonetheless. Neither man knowing what else to say, they hung up. Bud dropped the phone back onto the bed and wrapped his other arm around his wife, burying his face in her hair, unable to stop the tears from falling. He hadn’t felt this lost, this helpless since Sarah.

Suddenly, Harriet pulled away, her eyes wide. “Oh, my God,” she exclaimed. “The Colonel …. Mac …. what is she going to do, say after everything that’s going on ….”

“Harriet!” Bud nearly shouted, incredulous. He stared at her as if he didn’t recognize her. “How can you even be worried about the wedding now? Commander Rabb is missing, maybe even ….” he trailed off, unable to complete the thought.

“No, Bud,” she countered, gripping his arms. “You don’t understand. The Colonel …. Mac, she’s been trying to get a hold of Mic. Bud, she is going to call off the wedding. She doesn’t love Mic. She’s in love with someone else!”

Bud stared at her for a moment before understanding dawned. Everything he’d ever suspected about the often-convoluted relationship between his friends suddenly crystallized into truth. Harriet explained hurriedly, her voice trembling, “Tonight, I went over to her apartment and he called to tell her that he was on his way home for the wedding, but she told him that she was going to call the wedding off. They, um ….” Harriet hesitated, not sure if she could tell even her husband just exactly what had transpired in the last few days. She decided to gloss over that part. “Let’s just say they decided that they couldn’t ignore certain things anymore. Bud, he was coming home to her and now ….” Her voice broke and he pulled her against him again, his own tears falling, his heart breaking for his friends. “Bud, how could this happen? How can fate be so cruel?”

“I wish I knew, baby,” he whispered brokenly, unable to answer the questions any more now than he had the first time she’d asked them, several months earlier. “I wish to God I knew.”

Harriet broke away again, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. “We have to go over there,” she said, climbing from the bed and going over to the dresser. She opened a drawer and pulled out some sweats, tossing a pair to Bud. “We need to be there for her, the way she was there for us ….” She broke off, pressing her palms against the top of the dresser.

Bud got up and walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. When she spoke again, her voice was so soft that he could barely hear her. “Bud, do you believe in guardian angels?” she asked.

“Maybe,” he replied uncertainly, “I don’t know. I don’t know what I believe anymore, not since ….”

“I know,” she agreed, turning around in his arms, resting her hands on his chest. “But maybe if there are, our little girl is one and she can look out for her godfather and guide him home to everyone who loves him.”

“I hope so,” he said, smiling wanly. He picked up her sweats off the dresser and handed them back to her. “Get dressed. We’ll go over to the Colonel’s before we head to JAG. Now, she needs to know that her friends love her and are there to support her.”

Harriet managed a half-smile of her own as she nodded. “Bud,” she said as he started to turn back to the bed to get dressed. He stopped and looked back at her. “I love you.”

“And I love you, honey,” he returned. He wanted to say more, wanted to assure her that it would all work out, but if there was nothing else he was sure of in this situation, it was that there was no way he could offer such comfort.

HARM’S APARTMENT
NORTH OF UNION STATION

The door slowly opened, the dim light from the hallway casting very little brightness into the dark apartment. A woman stood silhouetted in the doorway, her eyes sweeping over the familiar scene as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. If she closed her eyes and believed hard enough, maybe she would open her eyes and find out this had all been a nightmare and that he was there with his familiar grin. Biting her trembling lower lip, she reached to her right and flipped the switch, lighting the empty apartment.

Pushing the door closed behind her, she wandered the room, caught up in all the memories ….

“What do you call this décor?”

“Priority. Finishing my apartment is low on the list.”

She stopped at the bookcase, picking up the same photo, which had sat there the first day she’d entered the apartment, her fingers tracing the form of the smiling, carefree young boy who had eventually grown into the driven man who’d managed to worm his way into her heart, in spite of all the barriers she’d erected around her heart.

She fought back tears as she studied the picture, remembering the eventual fate of the man in the photograph, so similar to his father’s before him. Could fate be that unkind, to take yet another Rabb aviator in the prime of his life? How could his mother handle it if she lost her son after losing her husband? What about his grandmother, who’d already lost her husband and son? When would it stop?

Clutching the picture against her chest, she wandered next to the desk, flipping through the case file sitting on top. The Adamson court-martial. She’d been looking for that file so she could sign off on it. With a rueful chuckle, she noticed that Harm had yet to sign off on it. That man couldn’t keep up with paperwork to save his life, she thought. Why should he, when there were far more important, more adventuresome things for him to be doing?

She gazed out the window into the black night. It sounded like the rain had slowed, the storm finally moving past Washington. But he was still out there in it somewhere. Pressing her hand against the cold glass, she remembered another rainy night, another night when she’d stood at this window, staring out into the darkness.

“I expected there to be death when I joined the Marines. Not when I joined JAG. Not like this. It’s like everyone around me keeps dying.”

“No,” she told herself aloud. “He’s not dead. He’s coming home. In a few days, we’ll probably be sitting right here, laughing about how he scared me to death with this latest stunt of his. And after I’m through kicking his six, I’m going to take him in my arms and never let him go.”

As she started laughing bitterly at the declaration, a voice inside her head countered. ‘You said it yourself,’ it said. ‘Everyone around you keeps dying. Dalton died because he was involved with you. Chris came back after you and you killed him. Your goddaughter was going to be named after you and what happened to her? Now, Harm was coming home to you and he’s gone, too.’

“No,” she said, striding over to the bedroom and grabbing a small travel bag from the closet and throwing it on the bed. His usual travel bag was gone, probably sitting at the bottom of the Atlantic, she realized grimly. “He’s not dead and he *is* coming home to me.” Grabbing a few essentials that she knew he’d probably need – some boxers, t-shirts, socks and a spare khaki uniform – she quickly packed the bag, carefully folding a t-shirt around the photo of Harm and his father. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt compelled to bring the picture with her.

Her eyes caught sight of another picture on top of his dresser and she went over and picked it up, studying the brothers smiling for the camera, remembering the moment she’d snapped the picture before they’d left Chechnya. She could hardly recall seeing Harm so relaxed, so at ease. Most people probably would have been upset, to say the least, at finding out they had an unexpected half-sibling. Somehow, it didn’t surprise her that Harm had a rather unusual reaction to the news. Within hours of finding out he had a brother, he had been doing everything he could to protect Sergei from a potential death sentence. Maybe it wasn’t so unusual, not for him anyway. After all, hadn’t he risked his career – and his life – to help her and her uncle the day after they’d met and *after* she’d apparently betrayed him?

She wrapped another t-shirt around the second picture and placed it in the bag. She’d show them to Harm when he was rescued, a reminder of the proud tradition of aviation in his family. She wished there was some way to contact Sergei, to tell him that his brother was in trouble. But even if she could get a message to him somehow, she wondered if it might not be better to let him remain ignorant for now. He’d been a prisoner of the Chechens for five months. Did he really need the added burden of worrying over the fate of his brother when his own future was so uncertain? As an alternative, maybe later she would get Harm to write a letter to Sergei and then she could contact Clay and see if there was some way to pass the letter on. Harm could have the comfort of communicating in some fashion with his brother and Sergei could be reminded that there were people outside the walls of his prison worried about him and praying for his return.

After staring at the open bag for a moment, she went into the bathroom to gather a few toiletries he would probably need. He could probably buy most of the stuff in the ship’s store, but she thought he’s appreciate having his own things – his razor, his favorite brand of shaving cream and aftershave, his … the thought trailed off as she picked up the hairbrush off the counter, blond hairs stuck in the bristles. She’d almost managed to forget that there was someone else involved – another woman who as of yet had no idea that about the true state of her year-and-a-half long relationship with Harm. She knew that Renée would have had a hard time letting go of him in any case. Now, she didn’t even know she had to and she was about to hear, if she hadn’t already, that Harm was missing. She felt a flicker of sympathy for the other woman. Much as she didn’t really care for Renée, she wouldn’t wish what she was about to find out on any woman, not matter what the circumstances.

She rubbed her forehead, staring at her reflection in the mirror hanging above the sink, thinking that she looked like she’d aged ten years in a matter of hours. Just hours earlier, despite the lingering shadow of Mic and her cancelled wedding hanging over her, she’d felt such a sense of peace. For once, her life had seemed to finally make a certain amount of sense. But now ….

“Every time I think I’ve put the pieces of my life back together, somebody comes along and jumbles them back up.”

Brushing away the tears starting to fall, she returned to the bedroom and dropped the things she’d gathered into the bag, zipping it closed. She sank down onto the bed next to the bag, caught up in more memories ….

“The only place that isn’t torn up is the, uh, bedroom.”

“Works for me.”

She’d felt so comfortable that night, sitting on top of the bed, enjoying dinner with her new best friend. It might have felt odd, sharing dinner in the bedroom of a handsome man without the expectation – or pressure – of something more, but it had also felt so good, so right. Not that she hadn’t wanted more, she admitted. Even then, so early in their relationship, it had been so simple to imagine what it would have been like to close the few inches separating them. What would have happened if she had? How would their lives have changed?

Shaking the thoughts from her mind, she got up and slung the bag over her shoulder, glancing around the room to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything that she needed to take to him. Struck with inspiration, she walked across the apartment to his desk, searching the drawers until she found his spare set of car keys, realizing that it was possible his keys were at the bottom of the ocean with the rest of his things. His apartment key was taken care of – she’d just return to him the spare key she had, the one she’d just used to let herself in. They’d exchanged them long ago in case of emergencies and, although she supposed they probably should have returned them with everything that had happened between them and others, it had just never seemed right. It had seemed like it would have been so final, like burning a bridge never to be rebuilt. Now, it didn’t seem to matter as much any more.

Dropping the keys in the inside pocket of Harm’s leather jacket, which she still wore over her uniform, she took another look around and finally satisfied that she had everything he might need, she left, carefully locking the door behind her. She stood in front of it for a long moment, pressing her hand flat against the metal door, overwhelmed for a moment by all the memories. “No,” she said, pulling her hand away. He wasn’t dead. He would be coming home then they could work on building their relationship, making brand new memories. She had to stop thinking like this.

Steeling herself, she turned and headed for the stairs without a backward glance. She would bring him home and everything would work out. It had to. She would not let herself contemplate any differently.

MAC’S APARTMENT
GEORGETOWN

Bud knocked on Mac’s door while Harriet stood just behind him, gently rocking a dozing AJ in her arms as she hummed ‘Brahms’ Lullaby’. Bud had suggested making an emergency call to their sitter, but Harriet had refused, insisting that she had to have their son with her. In the end, he had agreed, realizing that they both needed their little boy’s innocent, comforting presence. At least he was still young enough that he wouldn’t really understand what was going on around him. “Colonel Mackenzie?” he called, knocking louder. He turned and looked back at his wife with worried eyes.

“Maybe she’s in the bedroom or something,” Harriet suggested hesitantly, not really sure how Mac would react to this news. She’d never struck Harriet as the type to crawl into bed and cry her eyes out, but she couldn’t say for sure. “Maybe she’s too upset to come to the door …. or to hear us knocking.”

“Maybe,” Bud replied, unconvinced. He pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial combination for Mac’s home phone, hoping that the ringing of the phone might get through to her if she was there. They could hear Mac’s phone ringing from the hall and after a few moments, Bud clicked off his phone, shaking his head.

Harriet racked her brain, trying to figure out where their friend might have gone. The Admiral said he hadn’t spoken to her yet, according to Bud, so she wouldn’t know that everyone would be gathering at JAG to wait for word. Where else could she have gone? What would she herself done in similar circumstances? “Bud, what if she went over to the Commander’s?” Harriet asked excitedly. “Maybe she wanted to be someplace where she could be close to him. It’s what I would probably have done.”

Bud nodded slowly as he put his phone back in his jacket pocket. “Yeah, maybe she would,” he replied. He put has hand on her shoulder and gently rubbed. “Maybe she needed …. Let’s go over there. I think I need to go over there.”

Harriet nodded, covering his hand with hers. Almost as much as Mac was surely hurting, so was Bud. Harm was like an older brother whom Bud wanted so much to be like, the hero who could do no wrong in his eyes. “I know,” she said softly. “I think I need that, too.”

HARM’S APARTMENT
NORTH OF UNION STATION

Fifteen minutes later, they had made their way across town in the light midnight traffic and were parking outside of the converted warehouse where Harm kept his apartment. The building was dark – hardly surprising at this hour. Harm, obviously, wasn’t home and his downstairs neighbor had probably gone to bed long ago.

Harriet was unstrapping AJ from his car seat when Bud suddenly put his hand on her shoulder. “Hold on a minute,” he cautioned her as a car pulled into the alley next to the building. “Someone’s coming.” He wished that he thought to drop his wife and son off at JAG before coming over here. During the day, this was not one of the best neighborhoods to be wandering in. In the middle of the night, it was downright dangerous.

Harriet glanced around him, her hand flying to her mouth as she recognized the car. “Bud, it’s, um, Renée,” she told him. Bud looked back at her, his concerned expression matching hers. “Bud, what are we supposed to do? The Admiral must have told her what happened to Commander Rabb, but she doesn’t know ….”

“She won’t find out from us,” Bud said firmly. “Right now, concentrating on the Commander’s safe return is the most important thing. Everything else can work itself out later. She deserves to her about this from him, after all this is over, not now when we don’t know what’s going to happen.”

Harriet nodded her agreement as Renée got out of her car and walked up to them. “Bud, Harriet,” she greeted them, her voice hesitant. Harriet handed AJ to Bud and walked up to the other woman, wrapping her arms around her. She genuinely liked Renée and was probably one of the few who knew or understood the depth of Renée’s feelings for Harm. Harriet didn’t want to see her hurt – although that seemed inevitable – but none of that seemed important now.

“Renée, I’m sorry,” Harriet whispered. She pulled back, brushing away more tears. “There are a lot of people who love the Commander and are praying for him.”

“I know,” Renée replied. She waved her hands, frustrated. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so powerless. She was a woman used to taking action. “I don’t understand, Harriet. Why did he go down? What was he even doing flying in this weather?” She looked up at the dark sky. The rain had just stopped falling minutes earlier, but the angry storm clouds were still evident with every flash of lightning.

“We don’t even know that he went down because of the storm,” Bud tried to explain. “Tomcats are designed to fly through worse than this and Commander Rabb’s the best pilot I know.”

“When I saw him,” Renée continued, trying to control the trembling in her voice, “Wednesday before he left for Norfolk, we talked about him getting back in time to escort me to the wedding. He said ….” Her voice trailed off as she remembered their last conversation and her concerns. Suddenly, her expression hardened, her eyes flashing with anger. “He said that he promised *her* that he’d be back in time