***************

2007 Zulu (1507 Local)
Somewhere in Appalachia
North Carolina

Darkness descended over the little valley, but it wasn't the darkness of night. This was the brooding darkness born of a pending summer storm. Great masses of leaden clouds rolled in over the mountains, draping the dense trees and undergrowth in gray cotton and sending a multitude of animals, large and small, scrambling for cover.

A sudden breeze whispered through the trees, rustling the leaves and dancing in the underbrush. A fox lifted her muzzle, sniffed the air, and nudged her kits back into their snug burrow. She glanced around, and then followed them inside, curling her body around the restless babies, and whining gently at them until they settled down into a sleepy mass of shapeless fur. She lifted her head, looked once more toward the entrance of the burrow, and then tucked her nose down around her young, instinctively protecting them from the coming storm.

By the time the first fat raindrop darkened a leaf of the mighty oak, most of the local inhabitants had already found shelter, and the few who remained scurried under rocks and overhangs, seeking protection wherever they could find it. One raindrop was soon followed by others, scattering dust and pollen off the leaves and leaving shiny damp polka dots in their wake.

The breeze grew, gusting through the narrow opening at the head of the valley, only to find itself trapped by the mountains on either side. It howled angrily as it raced through the forest, bending the young saplings almost double, and making the older, less resilient trees creak loudly in arthritic protest.

A brief flash of lightning was followed several seconds later by a rumble of thunder. More rain fell, and the shiny polka dots grew, merged, and solidified as water dripped off the leaves, washing onto the bushes and shrubs below.

In the distance a new sound, manmade and alien, caused a hawk to lift its head and look around warily.

Another flash of light, this one followed almost immediately by a roll of thunder, and the wind became a living thing, frenzied and violent, tearing viciously at the leaves and branches then tossing the ragged bits around like gang members with a child's toy. There was a sudden sharp crack, and a branch, weakened by age and decay, snapped off a tree, tearing through smaller branches and tangled vines on its way to the ground.

The manmade sound grew louder as it approached over the ridge of the eastern mountains, the steady thwap thwap barely audible over the wind and rain.

There was another flash of light, this one accompanied almost immediately by a crash of thunder that shook the leaves of the trees, scattering water into the underbrush in a shower of moisture.

The howling wind ceased abruptly, and in the sudden silence the rotating blades of the helicopter were unnaturally loud. It crested the mountain, spectral in the gray-green light of the storm, and began to move across the valley.

What happened next occurred in the blink of an eye, yet those who survived would remember the events in freeze frame; a horror movie experienced in agonizingly slow motion.

The wind, eerily silent moments before, burst to sudden, swirling life. It grabbed the helicopter and spun it once, twice, three times, before shoving it down and in against the unforgiving face of the mountain. There was a screech of tearing metal, a crash of falling trees, and a single ear splitting explosion of thunder.

Moments later, it was over. The wind left the valley as quickly as it had come, and the lightning flashes dimmed, then faded away, taking the thunder with them. Silence, broken only by the soft hiss of rain in the foliage, descended over the valley. On the side of the mountain, barely visible against the clouds and the mist, a plume of smoke began to rise into the sky.

2012 Zulu (1512 Local)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia

Mac looked up from the file on her desk.

"Opening statements are tomorrow?" she asked Sturgis.

"Yes, Ma'am. 0900," he answered. "And I hope to wrap it up within two days. There are quite a few witnesses, but the case itself is pretty straightforward."

"Good. That'll get us that much closer to putting the Imes mess behind us." Mac closed the folder and added it to the stack of files that sat next to her. As she pulled her hand back, a sudden flash of intense pain at her temple made her wince, and she rubbed the spot reflexively, unaware of the small sound she made as she did so.

"Colonel? Are you okay?" The concern in his voice reminded Mac that she wasn't alone, and she forced herself to drop her hand and smile at him.

"I'm fine, just a bit of a headache. Will there be anything else?"

"That's it for today."

"Thanks, Commander."

She waited for the door to close behind him before she reached up to rub the spot that still throbbed with pain. She'd never felt anything like it before, and she wondered at its cause as she reached into the top drawer of the desk and took out the small bottle of Tylenol. She chose two and took them with a sip of water, then leaned back in her chair with a weary sigh.

She'd been acting JAG for two weeks now, ever since Admiral Chegwidden's Dining Out, and the official Change of Command Ceremony wasn't until Monday morning. She'd never liked the responsibility that came with this position, and as she rolled her head, easing a knot out of her neck, she thought again how relieved she'd be when the new admiral was officially installed.

The knock on her door reminded her of her duties, and with a sigh, she answered its summons.

"Come in."

Jen entered, requisitions in hand, and Mac automatically reached for her pen.

"These need your signature, Ma'am." Jennifer handed the forms to Mac who scanned over them quickly before quickly signing her name and handing them back.

"Anything else?"

"Commander Roberts would like to see you if you've got a minute."

"Send him in."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Jen left, and moments later Bud walked in. Mac noted the pride in his walk with an inward smile. The new stripe on his shoulders suited him well.

"What can I do for you, Bud?"

"I wanted to ask you about this case I'm defending against Commander Turner."

"Have a seat."

He did, and they spent the next thirty minutes discussing the case, the witness list, and possible defense strategies. They were wrapping things up when her phone rang and Bud stood, preparing to give her some privacy. She gestured to him to stay, and he relaxed into his seat.

"Colonel Mackenzie."

"Ma'am? This is Major Sotheby at Fort Bragg."

"Good afternoon, Major. I trust Commander Rabb made it there all right?"

"Actually, Commander Rabb is the reason I'm calling."

Something in the major's voice chilled Mac's blood, and she sat up straighter in her chair.

"There's been an accident," he said, sending Mac's adrenalin into high gear.

"What kind of accident?" She forced her voice to stay calm.

"We lost the Black Hawk that was taking him to the site of the mishap."

"Lost? How do you lose a helicopter, Major?" Her tone was scathing, and the major's answer was apologetic.

"It dropped off the radar screens about thirty minutes ago."

"Any indication of trouble before that?"

"No. There's been a bit of weather around here, but nothing serious. There was no distress call from the helicopter, and we're not receiving an emergency signal. At the moment, we're assuming they had to put down somewhere because of a lightning strike."

"When will you know for sure?"

"We're putting together a search and rescue team now, Ma'am. We hope to know more within the hour."

"Keep me informed."

"Yes, Ma'am."

She hung up slowly, and then looked at Bud.

"When am I going to learn, Bud?" Her soft, worry-filled voice brought his eyes to hers.

"Ma'am?"

"When am I going to learn not to let Harm within a hundred miles of anything that flies?" The question was meant to be rhetorical, but Bud answered anyway.

"Excuse me?" His puzzled expression might have made her smile if the circumstances had been different.

"It seems that the helicopter that was taking Harm to the site of a mishap investigation has disappeared somewhere in the mountains."

Concern washed over Bud's face.

"Disappeared?"

"Dropped below radar, at least."

"They can't reach him by radio?"

"Apparently not."

She punched a button on the intercom. "Jen?"

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"Will you please gather everybody in the bullpen?"

"Right away, Ma'am."

She released the button and turned back to Bud.

"I'd better inform the masses before they hear about this on ZNN."

A few minutes later, she entered the bullpen, not surprised at the atmosphere of silent tension that greeted her. She scanned the anxious faces, wishing she didn't have to be the bearer of bad news.

"A few of you know that Commander Rabb left this morning to investigate a training mishap at Fort Bragg." She took a breath. "I just received a telephone call from Major Sotheby at Fort Bragg. Apparently, the Black Hawk that was flying the commander to the accident site dropped off the radar screens about a half hour ago. The base hasn't been able to contact the crew, so they're assuming for the moment that they had to land due to a lightning strike."

"Are they sending in a search and rescue team?" asked Sturgis.

"Yes."

"When will they start looking?"

"I don't know that yet."

"They didn't tell you?"

"Not yet. Major Sotheby will keep us informed."

"Colonel…" She could tell by the tone of his voice that he wasn't satisfied with the way she was handling this, and she resented the implication that she would do less than her best to bring Harm home safely.

She stared him into silence, and he subsided, recognizing the rebuke for what it was - a reminder of the current, though admittedly temporary, chain of command.

Mac allowed her eyes to scan the rest of the people in the bullpen. "Anybody else have any questions?"

She waited a few moments, then sent everybody back to work and turned to go into her office.

**********

Harm gradually became aware of muffled noises and a trickle of cold water slipping down the back of his neck. He stayed still, concentrating on sensations and impressions, waiting for understanding to dawn. Rain. That was what he was hearing. Rain and a creaky metal on metal sound that set his teeth on edge. He forced his eyes open and gingerly lifted his head, stifling a groan when pain exploded inside his skull.

As he looked around him, taking in the twisted mass of spare parts that used to be a helicopter, he remembered what had happened – or at least, parts of it. He'd been on his way to a classified location in the mountains to investigate a training incident. Two Marines had gotten separated from their team and were caught in a rockslide. Both had been seriously injured.

He and … What was her name? He thought hard for a minute. Oh, yes. Colonel Palmiro - the officer in charge of the training exercise. He and the colonel had been on their way to the accident site when they'd gotten caught in some sort of bizarre weather event. The last thing he remembered was a single frantic Mayday call as the world exploded in noise, an impossibly bright flash of light, and then…nothing.

With memory came concern for Colonel Palmiro and the flight crew. Gingerly, he unbuckled his shoulder harness, grateful to realize that he didn't seem to have any broken bones. Free, he began to look around for the others. The pilot and co-pilot were still in their seats, but their slumped bodies told Harm that they were either unconscious or dead. He eased his way forward to check for pulses. No luck. Neither man had survived the crash.

With a soft but heartfelt curse, he turned to look for Colonel Palmiro. He didn't see her at first, but then a flash of color outside the aircraft attracted his attention. He eased his way out of the helicopter, gingerly putting weight on his legs, not surprised when one ankle complained bitterly. If a sprained ankle and an ungodly headache were the worst he got from this, he'd consider himself lucky.

When he finally reached the colonel, he checked her pulse, breathing a sigh of relief when he found a faint but steady heartbeat. He did a quick visual examination, trying to determine whether or not it would be safe to move her. One leg was twisted at an unnatural angle, obviously broken. She had plenty of cuts and bruises, and she'd landed right in the middle of a bed of poison ivy. Lucky for him, he'd never been very allergic to the stuff. He had no idea whether or not Colonel Palmiro had been blessed with the same resistance.

Deciding that it was probably safe to move her, he eased her closer to the downed helicopter, careful not to jostle her leg any more than necessary. She groaned once, but didn't wake up. That done, he climbed back into the helicopter, searching for survival kits and first aid gear.

It didn't take him long to discover that the electronics had been fried – either in the crash, or by a lightning strike on the way down. Obviously, they weren't going to be able to call for help. Lovely. He didn't know if the emergency transmitter was working or not, but decided to assume it wasn't. If lightning had taken out the radio, it might've killed that, too.

It wouldn't do any good to worry about it. He needed a first aid kit. If he didn't at least attempt to set the Colonel's leg, there was a good chance she would lose it – and maybe worse. He finally located the kit jammed underneath a mangled seat and, after much struggle and a string of colorful curses, managed to wrench it free.

Most of what was inside the kit was pretty much useless. Band-Aids, alcohol pads, and a tube of antibacterial cream wouldn't go far toward helping him set a broken leg. Then he spied a roll of gauze and pulled it out with a sigh of relief. This would help. Now all he needed was a splint.

A few minutes later, he'd located a pair of suitable sticks and immobilized the leg. That done, he covered her with flight jackets he'd taken off the dead pilots, and pillowed her head in some downed evergreen branches. There was nothing more he could do for her now except hope that help would arrive quickly.

Tired, his head and ankle aching, he sat down to plan his next move. Within moments, he was asleep.

**********

Mac rubbed her aching temples and sighed wearily. Two hours had passed - two of the longest hours in recent memory. And still, there was no word from Fort Bragg. Finally, frustrated with the delay she reached for the phone, but when she placed it to her ear, she was somewhat unnerved to hear somebody speak.

"Colonel Mackenzie?"

She regrouped, realized that she'd picked up the handset just before the ring sounded, and answered.

"Yes."

"This is Major Sotheby."

"Yes, Major. What can you tell me?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. We still haven't heard anything from the missing aircraft."

"No transmitter signal?"

"Nothing. We had a radio call from the pilots about twenty minutes before they dropped off the radar screen. They said they were changing course to bypass a storm cell."

Mac didn't like the sound of that.

"What about the SAR team?"

"Ready and waiting, but base command won't send them out until the weather clears."

"Exactly how bad is it down there, Major?"

"It's pretty ugly, Ma'am. There's a line of intense squalls moving in from South Carolina and Georgia."

"How long, Major?"

"I'm sorry?"

"How long until the team leaves?"

"One moment please…"

She drummed her fingers impatiently and listened to fragments of whispered conversation.

"They're estimating six hours, Ma'am."

Mac sat up abruptly, her spine stiffening in shocked disbelief.

"Six hours?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Those people could be injured – or worse. And you're just going to sit there and do nothing?"

"I'm afraid it's not my call, Ma'am."

"To hell with your call, Major." Her icy tones left no doubt in the major's mind about her feelings in the matter. "I want a team out there…immediately."

"I'm sorry, Ma'am. I can't do that."

Mac sighed. She knew she didn't have the power to make this happen, and the feeling of helplessness that washed over her at the knowledge was overwhelming. She ended the call abruptly, slamming the phone into its cradle with significantly more force than necessary, then stood and moved to the window, staring into the rainy afternoon while she considered her options.

Her first instinct was to go after Harm herself. It was what she wanted to do - what every fiber and molecule in her body ached to do. And yet, she knew she couldn't. Her position as acting JAG made it altogether impossible.

Her second choice would be to send somebody after him – but who? Sturgis? No. He was a bubblehead. He'd likely be worse than useless in the mountain wilderness.

Bud? No way.

And that was it. There were no other choices. All she could do was sit back, wait, and pray. She slammed a fist into the back of the chair, venting a small portion of her frustration on the nearest available victim. Then she sat down, picked up a pen, and forced herself to concentrate on the never-ending parade of paperwork that marched across her desk.

**********

Harm awoke with a start, sitting up quickly, then dropping back again when pain flashed behind his eyes. He waited for the throbbing to ease, recognizing the symptoms of the concussion, but aware that there was nothing he could do but wait it out. After a few moments spent fighting down nausea and vertigo he sat up again, more slowly this time.

The light had changed, taking on the greenish yellow tint of another approaching storm. Thunder rumbled ominously, and flashes of lightning outlined the trees and mountains in sharp relief, and then cast them back into the deepening shadows of twilight. He realized he needed to find shelter, and he needed to find it fast.

He checked on the colonel, relieved to find that her pulse was stronger, though she was still unconscious. Then he used the remainder of the gauze to wrap his painfully swollen ankle. He tore his pant leg up to his knee to ease the pressure, and then stood gingerly, pleased to discover that the pain was almost bearable. Straightening, he looked around, scanning his immediate surroundings for something that might do as a shelter.

When he saw an outcropping of rock slightly above them and to the right, he breathed a sigh of relief. With a little bit of luck, he could get himself and Colonel Palmiro safely inside before the storm broke. A glance at the dense growth of shrubs and berry bushes caused him to take a deep breath. The hike up wasn't going to be easy, but he didn't see any choice in the matter.

It took him fifteen precious minutes to fight his way through the foliage and up to the narrow rock ledge. The dent in the mountain was just deep enough to allow the two of them to get in out of the weather. After a quick scan to make sure they wouldn't be sharing the space with any possessive four legged inhabitants, he returned to the crash site.

The first heavy drops of rain splashed the rocks around him, and thunder rumbled its ominous warning as he finally dragged the colonel under cover. Exhausted, he made sure she was safe and dry, and then seated himself at the back of the small cave, resting his back against the wall. He knew there were things he needed to think about, survival issues like food and water.

Luckily, it was summertime, so he didn't need to worry about cold weather, but the mosquitoes were going to be a problem unless he could get a fire going. Right now though, he was too tired to dig through the underbrush looking for enough dry wood to start a fire. It would just have to wait until after he'd rested for a while. With any luck, the ugly weather would keep most of the insects away during the night.

He closed his eyes, giving in to creeping exhaustion brought on by a moderate concussion and exacerbated by his efforts to drag the colonel up the side of the mountain.

0830 Zulu (0330 Local)
Mac's Apartment
Georgetown

Mac moved restlessly in her sleep, unaware that her body was acting out the stages of her dream. She twisted and turned, her legs first tangling in the sheets, and then kicking them off entirely. She moaned once, the muffled sound serving as soft accompaniment to the thunder that rumbled beyond the windows. Suddenly, with a small, sharp cry that could have been either pain or fear, she sat up, her eyes blinking open, her head turning toward the window, but without seeing the rain that beat against it. It took several long moments for her breathing to calm and awareness to return, after which she grabbed a robe and headed for the bathroom and a hot shower. There'd be no more sleep for her tonight.

Thirty minutes later, showered and dressed in casual clothes, she stood in the kitchen, waiting for the coffee pot to finish working its magic. She drummed her fingers impatiently while she glared at the machine, willing it to work faster. Finally, mug filled, she went to the living room. She set it on the end table, and then made herself comfortable on the couch.

It was still far too early to go to the office, and too stormy for the SAR team to have headed out. She was restless and impatient. She knew now. She knew exactly where they needed to look. What she didn't know was whether or not they'd listen to her. The last time something like this had happened, she'd had Admiral Chegwidden around to back her up. This time, she was on her own.

When the helicopter had gone down, forced into the mountain by a microburst, they'd been miles from their flight path. She already knew the emergency transmitter wasn't working. Major Sotheby had told her that much earlier in the day. She also knew that the wilderness area where the crash had occurred was both remote and densely wooded. Locating the downed helicopter was going to be like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.

She had no idea why they'd been so far off course unless they'd been trying to avoid the storm. She shook her head roughly and stood up. This was getting her nowhere. Ignoring the cooling coffee, she hurried to the bedroom to change into her uniform. There was nothing she could do here, but there might be something she could do from the office.

An hour later, she sat in her temporary office, and for the first time, she wasn't uncomfortable sitting in the admiral's chair. Harm needed her, and she'd finally figured out something she could do to help. With a sure hand, she looked up the number she needed, and picked up the phone. She was pretty sure she knew what the response would be, but she had to at least try. If they turned her down, as she fully expected they would, she would go to plan B

She straightened when a tired voice answered the phone.

"Major Sotheby."

"Major. This is Colonel Mackenzie at JAG."

"Colonel. I'm afraid I don't have much information for you."

"Has the SAR team left yet?"

"Not yet. The weather's clearing, though. They expect to leave within the hour."

"I have some information that might prove useful in the search."

There was a beat of silence before the major spoke.

"What kind of information?"

Mac took a deep breath. This was it. Sink or swim.

"I know where they are."

Silence again. She could almost hear the wheels turning in the major's mind, but to his credit, his voice gave no clue to his feelings.

"Where?"

She gave him the latitude and longitude information then waited while he looked it up. She heard a low whistle.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but that location's fifty miles off their flight path. It just doesn't make any sense."

She'd expected that reaction, had prepared herself for it, but it still stung.

"I assure you, Major. That's where they are."

"One moment please, Ma'am."

She heard a muffled conversation, including what sounded like a snort of derision, before the major came back on the line. She clamped down on the urge to let the major know just how much that annoyed her. It wouldn't help anything if she lost her cool now – no matter how desperate she was to get Harm some help.

"Ma'am?" Major Sotheby came back on the line. "Would you mind telling me how you know this…exactly?"

Mac sighed. She really didn't want to have this conversation. Her…abilities…weren't something she really wanted made public – especially to strangers. Still, this was about Harm, and at this point, she was willing to do anything if it would only bring him safely back home.

"I just know, Major."

"Somebody contacted you?"

"You might say that."

He missed the twinge of irony in her tone.

"Ma'am. If' you've heard from somebody on that chopper, we need to know about it."

"No, Major. I haven't heard from anybody on the chopper."

"Then how…?"

"It doesn't matter. Are you going to send the SAR team to those coordinates?"

"If there's time after they complete the standard search pattern we will."

Mac blew out a frustrated breath.

"And how long will the standard search pattern take?"

There was a brief pause while he consulted his notes.

"From what I see here, and from what I know about the flight path, I'd say it could take several days, Ma'am."

"Several days! He could be dead by then!"

"Ma'am, I'm sorry. I understand your concerns, but I can't change the search parameters based on the information you've just given me. I'll have them check it out after they finish the standard pattern. I'm afraid that's the best I can do."

Mac's frustration was evident in her voice when she answered. "I understand. Keep me informed, Major."

"Yes, Ma'am."

She ended the conversation and returned the phone to its cradle. Then she stood and walked to the window, staring sightlessly into the first glimmering hint of dawn.

Now what? Every instinct she possessed was screaming at her to go after him. The mere thought of him out there, lost, maybe badly hurt, was making her crazy. She couldn't leave Falls Church, though. For the next few days, at least, she was acting JAG, and that meant she might as well have been chained to her desk. No matter how badly she wanted to help, no matter how desperately she longed to go and find him herself, she was duty bound to her responsibilities here. The only faint glimmer of hope was the fact that she knew he was still alive. As long as she could still feel him, she would keep fighting.

She turned away from the window at the soft knock on her office door.

"Yes?"

Jennifer came in with another stack of forms to sign and memos to review.

"You're here early, Jen."

"Yes, Ma'am. Couldn't sleep. Any news about the commander?"

"Not yet. The SAR team should be departing Fort Bragg within the hour."

"They're only just now starting to look?"

"They were grounded by the weather."

Mac picked up a pen and sat down at her desk, beginning to sign the papers, barely glancing at them as she did.

"How's Mattie?" she asked.

"She's worried."

Mac looked up. "I'm sure she is. This must be hard on her."

"On you too, Ma'am."

"On all of us." Mac neatly deflected Jen's hidden message, then went on. "Is she with her dad today?"

"Yes. I think she's going to stay with him until she hears about Harm."

"That's probably best."

"Ma'am? Can I ask a question?"

The serious tone in Jen's voice brought Mac's eyes up from the paper she was scanning.

"What is it, Jen?"

"Why aren't you doing anything?"

Mac's eyebrows shot up at that. "Excuse me?"

Jennifer had the sense to realize she was treading on dangerous ground but, true to form, barreled ahead without thinking through the consequences.

"When you were in trouble, Commander Rabb gave up everything to go after you. I guess I just…" she trailed off with a self-conscious shrug.

"You wonder why I'm not on my way to Fort Bragg instead of sitting here signing memos and reviewing court cases?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Mac sat back in her chair and considered the petty officer for a few long moments. By the time she finally spoke, Jen was beginning to look a little nervous.

"Admiral Chegwidden retired, Commander Rabb is missing, we have enough active cases in the office to keep thirty lawyers busy – never mind three – and you wonder why I'm sitting here instead of running down to North Carolina to look for a needle in a haystack?"

"When you put it like that, Ma'am…"

"When I put it like that, you should realize that you're way out of line, Petty Officer. You're dismissed."

"Yes, Ma'am."

When the door closed quietly behind Jennifer, Mac stared grimly at it. Maybe she'd been hard on Coates, but the girl had to know that there were boundaries that should never be crossed. Better to learn that now, with her, than later, with a new admiral in place.

Mac spent the next hour planning her day, reviewing paperwork, and fielding a call from the SecNav about the search. She handled staff call, informed them that the search for the downed Black Hawk had begun, and was about to head for the break room for a fresh cup of coffee when Jen buzzed to ask if she had time to see Bud.

"Send him in," she answered, setting the empty mug back down and taking a seat. It was barely 0850 and her day was already chaotic.

Bud came in and closed the door behind him. Mac indicated that he should sit down.

"What can I do for you, Bud?"

"It's about the commander."

Mac sighed. "Et tu, Bud?"

He looked puzzled.

"Never mind," she said. "What's your question?"

Bud looked uncomfortable.

"What is it, Bud?" she prodded.

"It's just that I can't help remembering…"

"Yes?" she was starting to think wild horses might be required before Bud finally said what was on his mind.

"It's just that, when Commander Rabb had that accident on the way back from quals a few years ago…"

Mac realized what he was trying to say and stood up abruptly, moving to the window to stare out at the gray morning.

"Ma'am?" He sounded concerned now, and she hastened to reassure him.

"I'm fine, Bud." She rubbed the back of her neck and turned to him. "You remember that I found him that time."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"And you're wondering if I can do it again."

"Actually…Yes."

Mac turned back to the window, and her next words were so quiet, he had to strain to hear them.

"I know where he is, Bud." The tone of defeated frustration in her voice went right over his head. He couldn't hear past his own feelings of relief and excitement.

"Then you can go get him!"

"No, Bud. I can't."

"You can't?" The disbelief would have been almost comical if she'd been in the mood to appreciate it. Instead, she was mildly irritated.

"No, Bud. I can't."

"I don't understand."

"I have responsibilities here."

He looked at her, puzzled.

"Ma'am. I may be out of line, but didn't Commander Rabb have responsibilities here when he came after you?"

"You're right, Bud. You are out of line. Way out of line."

She let that hang in the air between them for a moment.

"When Harm came after me, he didn't walk away from a leadership position to do it."

"Ma'am, I…"

"That's enough, Commander. You're dismissed."

A hurt expression settled over his boyish features as he stood and came to attention. He executed a formal about face before leaving the office. Mac heaved a sigh when the door closed behind him, then collapsed into her chair. Great. Just great. So far this morning, she'd been laughed at, had her authority questioned twice, and signed a dozen memos and forms that she couldn't even remember. Meanwhile, she was no closer to getting help for Harm.

A sudden idea occurred to her, and she grabbed her cover and purse before leaving the office. She told a stunned Jennifer Coates that she'd be out of the office for a couple of hours, and left headquarters, turning her car towards McLean before she could second guess herself.

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled up in front of A.J.'s house. She sat there for a few minutes collecting her thoughts, and then she took a deep breath, picked up her purse, and left the car, setting the alarm without conscious thought. It wasn't until she knocked on the door that it occurred to her that he might not be home. She knew he hadn't left on his summer trip with Francesca yet because he was taking part in the Change of Command Ceremony on Monday morning, but he could still be out doing any of a hundred other things. She said a quick silent prayer while she waited.

When the knob turned a few seconds later, she breathed a sigh of relief. Now she just had to convince him to help.

"Mac? What are you doing here?" He looked at her, taking in the shadows under her eyes and the tension in her back and shoulders. "Is everything all right?"

"No, actually. It isn't. May I come in?"

"Of course you can." He held the door wider, and she walked inside, waiting until he closed it and turned to face her.

"Harm's missing," she said bluntly, then watched as the momentary shock in his eyes was replaced by amused resignation.

"What did he get himself into this time?"

She felt a stab of defensiveness on Harm's behalf.

"It wasn't his fault, Admiral."

He heard the irritation in her voice, and changed tactics.

"Come sit down." He guided her into the living room. "Can I get you a drink?"

"No, thank you. I'm fine." She caught his arm before he could move away. "I need your help."

"My help?"

"Yes."

He crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels, not sure he wanted to hear what she was going to say next.

"I know where he is…"

"Then he isn't missing."

Mac sighed. "Perhaps I should start at the beginning."

"Might be a good idea."

She did sit down then, and when he'd seated himself across from her, she plunged in. It took almost twenty minutes to tell the whole story, and by the time she was done, A.J. looked grim.

"You say the people at Fort Bragg won't check the coordinates you gave them?"

"They will, but not until after they finish the standard search, and that could take days."

He sighed. "So what is it you want me to do?"

Mac took a deep breath. This was where things could get sticky.

"I want you to go after him."

"Mac…"

She cut him off before he could voice his objections.

"I know he's alive, Admiral, but I don't know about the other people who were with him." She looked into his eyes and allowed a hint of desperation to creep into her voice. "And I don't know how badly he might be hurt. He might not have a week to wait for the SAR team to find him."

A.J. considered her words for only a few moments. Then he sighed. "Where is he?"

"Do you have a map?"

His look of disbelief that she would ask him such a question drew a small smile from her. "Just a second."

Minutes later, the map was unfolded on the dining room table and the two of them bent over it, heads close together and pencils in hand.

Mac pointed to a location deep in the Appalachian Mountains. "Here. He's in a narrow valley. The mountains on either side are steep, but if you enter from the north end," she pointed. "Here. I think you can get in fairly easily."

"Okay, let's see." A.J. spent a few minutes looking at the map, and then pointed to a thin line about ten miles from the valley she'd indicated.

"That looks like a logging road. I should be able to find a place to park along there, then hike in." He considered the distance, and then glanced at his watch. "It's going to take a good six hours to drive down there, then another five or so to hike in. If I'm going to get there before dark, I'd better get going."

"You'll do it, then?"

"Of course I'll do it." He looked at her curiously. "Did you doubt it?"

Mac hesitated. "You and Harm haven't exactly been on the best of terms lately."

A.J. snorted. "That's an understatement."

He considered her, apparently debating just how much to say.

"I don't have a lot of time to go into this right now, but you need to know that I was hard on Harm for a reason."

Mac lifted her hand to stop him. "It's really none of my business, Admiral. I'm just glad you're going to go after him."

"I'm a SEAL, Mac. I don't leave men behind."

Mac considered pointing out that he'd seemed willing enough to leave her in Paraguay, but decided this was neither the time nor the place for that discussion.

"Thank you, Admiral."

"You're welcome."

She left then, comforted by the knowledge that A.J. would do everything in his considerable power to bring Harm out safely.

A.J. hurried to the garage to get his backpack. Quickly, and with the ease of years of experience, he loaded it with a first aid kit, food, and bottled water. He added a change of clothes, an emergency transmitter, a hand held GPS, and an old fashioned compass. He had never learned to completely trust technology. He tossed in a jacket, some waterproof matches, and a small tarp that could serve as either shelter or blanket in an emergency, and he was ready to go. Within thirty minutes, he was on his way out of town.

************

Harm stood at the edge of the overhang, looking out over the valley. He'd spent a busy morning trying to turn the crash site and their temporary refuge into something vaguely resembling a shelter, and now he was taking a break to consider his next move. He glanced over at Colonel Palmiro. She'd been restless all morning, and he suspected she would wake soon. He felt sorry for her. With that leg, she'd be much more comfortable asleep then awake. Awake, she was going to be in excruciating pain, and there wasn't much he could do about it.

He'd been down to the crash site at first light. The storm had moved off by then, leaving the valley in a sort of misty dream world. Thick gray fog had blanketed everything, and he hadn't been able to see more than a few feet in front of him. If he hadn't stumbled across a skid of the downed helicopter, he might have missed the crash site all together. As it was, he'd managed to add a few new bruises to his record-breaking collection.

He'd been relieved to find that the storms had kept animals away from the bodies of the dead pilots. He wouldn't have wanted to explain that to their families. This was going to be hard enough as it was. He'd known burial was out of the question. He didn't have any tools, and the family would want the bodies back for proper burial back home – wherever home was. In the meantime, to protect the men from hungry predators, he'd blocked access to the helicopter as well as he could. He wasn't sure his efforts would be fail-safe, but it was the best he could do.

That done, he'd scavenged for anything that might make waiting for the SAR team a little less miserable for himself and the colonel. The sigh of relief he'd exhaled when he'd stumbled across the survival kit was heartfelt. The items inside - matches, chocolate bars, utensils – wouldn't exactly make them feel at home, but they would keep them alive.

He'd dragged the kit up to the shelter, and then set about finding enough dry firewood to start a fire. They didn't need it for warmth, but the smoke would help keep insects away, and might catch the attention of the rescue team. He was building the fire when he heard a groan behind him and realized Colonel Palmiro was finally waking up. He moved quickly to her side, stopping her from moving too quickly with a gentle hand to her shoulder.

"Lie still," he said. "You're pretty badly hurt."

"What the hell happened?" she mumbled, her voice hoarse.

"We were in a helicopter crash," he answered. "I'm sure it'll come back to you soon. Just try to stay still."

"My leg's killing me."

"Yeah. I figured it would be. You broke it in the crash. I've got a splint on it, but I'm afraid you'll need a doctor to set it right."

"Where are we?" Her voice, though still gravelly, was a little stronger.

"Best guess?"

"Yeah."

"Somewhere in the mountains of North Carolina."

"Radio?"

"Destroyed in the crash. Along with the emergency transmitter and my cell phone."

"Survival kit?"

"Also mostly destroyed. I've salvaged what I could. We should be okay for a few days."

"Flare gun?"

"Got it."

"Thank God."

Harm chuckled at that. "I'm afraid I'm finding it a little difficult to be grateful right now."

"Well, it could have been worse. We could've been killed."

"I'm afraid the pilots were."

She looked at him, her face pale with pain and grief. "Both of them?"

"Yes. I'm sorry."

She turned away from him, and he left her to her grief, going back to laying the fire. A few minutes later, he had a small flame, which he fed carefully until he had a respectable blaze going. Then he sat back against the wall of the cave, grateful to get his weight off his injured ankle.

************

Mac was reviewing the script for the Change of Command ceremony when her phone rang.

"Colonel Mackenzie."

"Mac, it's A.J."

"Oh. Hello, Admiral. Where are you?"

"Just about to begin hiking in. It's pretty mountainous here. I'm surprised I have a signal at all, and I doubt I'll have any once I get into the woods."

"I understand."

"Any word from the SAR team?" His voice was hopeful, and Mac wished she had better news.

"Just that they're still searching."

"Idiots."

"Excuse me, Sir?"

"If they'd listened to you, Harm would be back by now and I wouldn't be risking my neck going after him."

"Yes, Sir."

"You don't have to call me 'Sir' anymore, Mac. I'm retired now."

"I know, but it's going to be a hard habit to break."

"Hmph…Well, I'd better get going. Any message you'd like me to deliver to the commander?"

Mac considered that for a moment.

"Just…tell him it's too quiet around here without him."

"I'll tell him. And Mac?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"I fully intend to bring him out alive."

"I know you do. Thank you."

He brushed aside her gratitude and ended the call. Mac hung up and leaned back in her chair. With a little bit of luck, A.J. should find Harm before dark. She crossed her fingers, said a little prayer, and half wished she believed in good luck charms. Then, with a sigh, she bent her head back to her work.

************

"How long was I out?"

Harm turned from where he'd been staring into the fire, looking over at the colonel.

"About eighteen hours."

"So it's Thursday?"

"Thursday afternoon, yes."

She sighed. "Bill's probably worried sick by now."

"Your husband?"

"Yes. He's a civilian. Teaches high school history in Fayetteville."

"Ah. Yeah, I can see that he'd be worried."

"He's been after me to get out of the Corps, but…"

"You can't bring yourself to give up your commission?"

"No. I love the Marines. I can't picture myself as a civilian."

"I understand. I tried being a civilian not too long ago." He shook his head at the memory. "It wasn't exactly a roaring success."

She laughed a little at that. "You must be good if they took you back."

Harm thought about the backhanded way the admiral had invited him back. "Or something," he said.

"Or something?"

"It's a long story."

She looked pointedly at her leg, then up at the empty gray sky. "Doesn't look like we're going anywhere anytime soon."

"Let's just say my C.O. and I agreed to a cease-fire."

His voice still held a trace of bitterness, and rather then dwelling on the memories, he decided to change the subject.

"Do you and Bill have any kids?"

"Not yet. Bill wants kids, but I convinced him that I need to practice on something easy first." She grinned at him. "We have Moby, instead."

"Moby?"

"He's our goldfish."

Harm laughed out loud at that. "Interesting name for a goldfish."

"Well, he's got delusions of grandeur. What can I say?" She shifted slightly, grimacing in pain as the movement jarred her leg, then went on, her voice determinedly cheerful.

"Bill's angling to move up to a Guinea pig, but I've been putting it off. I just don't know if I'm ready for the responsibility, you know?"

He smiled at her. "I have a teenager. Believe me. I understand."

She grinned. "Are the rumors true?"

"Which rumors?"

"The ones that say teenagers are impossible."

"Nah. Mattie's a good kid."

"Glad to hear it."

"I'm sure she's worried too, though. I'm glad she has her dad for support while I'm gone."

"I'm confused. Aren't you her dad?"

Harm put another stick on the fire, then turned back to her. "No. I'm just her guardian. She's been staying with me while her dad works through some pretty serious personal issues."

"I see."

She looked at him closely, and he wondered what she was thinking about.

"I'll bet you're a good dad," she finally said.

He laughed. "Based on what?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Instinct? Intuition?"

"I do my best."

They sat quietly for a few minutes, listening to the birds and staring at the crackling flames. Harm allowed his mind to drift, thinking about Mac, and Mattie, and the people back at JAG. When the colonel spoke again, he started slightly at the sound.

"I'd bet your wife's as worried about you as Bill is about me."

He looked over at her. "I'm not married."

She raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "You're joking."

"Nope."

"That surprises me."

"Why?"

She lifted and dropped a shoulder. "I don't know. Handsome man like you? And you must be reasonably intelligent if you're a JAG officer."

He smiled crookedly at her. "You're embarrassing me now."

"Sorry." She looked appraisingly at him. "There's someone special in your life, though, isn't there."

Harm thought about Mac. 'Special' hardly described what he felt about her, but for the moment, it'd have to do.

"Yes," he said quietly. "There is."

Something about the look on his face must have given him away, because the colonel's eyes widened slightly.

"You love her."

"Yes."

"But you're not married?"

Harm hesitated. "It's…complicated."

She grew quiet then, and Harm reached into their small stash of food supplies to pull out a candy bar. He handed her half, and put a piece into his mouth, allowing it to melt on his tongue. The rich sweetness slipping down the back of his throat did little to satisfy his hunger, but since they had no idea how long they'd be stuck here, he was rationing their supplies carefully.

When the candy was gone, he took a few sips of bottled water and handed the container over to her. They only had four bottles, so they were being careful. She sipped, handed it back, and he replaced the cap before storing it safely at the back of their shelter with the other supplies. Then he looked over at her, noticing that her face looked pinched and white.

"You should try to sleep."

She indicated her leg. "With that?"

He shrugged. "It's worth a try."

"You're right. I'll give it a shot."

"While you rest, I'm going to gather some more firewood."

"You sure you're up to it?"

"I have to be. We can't let the fire go out."

He left her there, easing his way down the mountain until he found the dead tree he'd located earlier. It was a rich source of firewood and he should be able to collect enough to get them through the night without too much trouble.

0027 Zulu (1927 Local)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia

Mac rubbed her temples and glanced at her watch, more to give her a reason to look away from the computer screen than out of any need to check the time. It was getting late, and she hadn't heard from either the SAR team or the admiral in hours.

As if on cue, her telephone rang, and she snatched it up, hoping for good news.

"Colonel Mackenzie"

"Colonel? It's Major Sotheby."

"Any news, Major?"

"I'm afraid not yet. I just wanted to let you know the team has checked both the original flight path and the point of last contact."

"And?" She didn't bother to hide her impatience.

"No joy."

"Now will you check the coordinates I gave you?"

"Not yet. Now we start a circular search pattern, beginning at the point of last contact and widening concentrically."

"Major. They're more than a hundred miles from point of last contact. At that speed, it's going to take you days to find them."

"Ma'am. I'm not sure why you're so certain of your information, but you have to believe that we'll check on it just as soon as we exhaust the more traditional search methods."

Mac sighed heavily.

"All right then, Major. Thanks for the update."

"You're welcome."

She ended the call, and sat back in her chair. Harm was still alive. She knew that much, trusted her bizarre sixth sense enough to believe in it. But she had no idea if he was injured, and if he was, how badly. She also knew that it would be at least another couple of hours before A.J. could even get close to where she'd told him to look.

It hit her suddenly that she could be wrong. The coordinates she'd given him could have been far off the mark. That being the case, and A.J. being just one lone person in a vast wilderness, chances were pretty high that he wouldn't be able to find the crash site based on what she'd given him. The pencil she'd been holding in her hand snapped, startling her. With a grunt of disgust she dropped it in the trash and grabbed her coffee mug. Maybe a short break and a refill would help.

Abrupt silence and cold stares greeted her entrance to the break room. She stopped in the doorway, momentarily puzzled by the unusual reception. Sturgis mumbled something about a case and ducked out quickly. Jen went back to stocking the coffee supplies, her back turned to Mac. Bud was the only one who didn't try to escape in some way, but the look on his face was vaguely accusatory.

"Hi, Bud."

"Ma'am."

"Everything okay?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

She raised an eyebrow at him, silently encouraging him to tell her what was on his mind.

"Any word on the commander?" he asked, straining for nonchalance and falling shy of the mark.

Ahh…So that was what was going on. They were upset about her apparent indifference to Harm's plight.

"Only that they haven't found him yet," she said.

She couldn't tell him what was going on, couldn't risk word getting around that she'd circumvented the SAR team and sent out a single individual on what most people would consider to be a wild goose chase. If anything happened to Admiral Chegwidden…No. She wouldn't think about it. Hard as it was, and lonely as it obviously was going to be for a while, she knew she had to trust her intuition, and she had to keep her own actions to herself. With time – and massive amounts of luck – all would turn out fine in the end. She hated being in this position though, and wondered how the admiral had handled the stress as long as he did – especially with her and Harm to deal with.

"Ma'am?"

She started.

"I'm sorry, Bud. I didn't hear what you said."

"I asked about the time for the Change of Command Ceremony."

"Oh. It's at oh nine hundred Monday morning."

"Uniform of the day?"

"Summer whites. Yes."

"Okay, I'll make a note on my calendar." He glanced at his watch and caught his breath. "I'd better run. I'm supposed to pick up little A.J. from daycare. I'll see you tomorrow, Ma'am."

"Goodnight, Bud."

He left at a fast walk and she turned to fill her mug. As she walked back to her office, she noticed that the bullpen was rapidly emptying as the workday ended and people hurried home to their families. She didn't have a family to head home to. Instead, she had a full inbox and more worry than she knew what to do with.

She sat down, barely conscious of the solid comfort provided by the big leather chair. Swiveling, she stared out the window. Oblivious to the view outside, her thoughts turned inward.

Is this what it had been like for the admiral? Day in, day out, for years on end, forced to keep his own counsel about the vast majority of his work? His professional life had to have been one massive effort to keep the scales balanced between getting the job done, and keeping his superiors happy. There must have been countless times when he'd known things that, if made public, could have done untold damage. And yet somehow, in all that time, he'd never given any indication that the pressure bothered him.

Wait. That wasn't entirely true. During the last year of his service, A.J. had been…off somehow. Not himself. Had the stress gotten to be too much? Had that been why he'd been acting so strangely? She didn't know – probably would never know. A.J. Chegwidden wasn't exactly forthcoming when it came to personal information.

She'd never understood why A.J. hadn't taken Harm back after the Paraguay fiasco, and she figured that the odds of her ever getting an answer to that one were about as high as the odds that the polar ice caps would suddenly boil away. But there was one thing she did know – one thing she understood now better than she'd ever been able to before. The admiral's decisions during that awful time had not been made in a vacuum. He'd had pressure on him from all sides. The staff, including Harm, had wanted something done to make sure she came home safely. She'd also be willing to bet that both the SecNav and the director of the CIA had told him to stay the hell out of it.

In a way, she felt guilty about the whole mess – as though it were somehow her fault. But the practical side of her denied it. She'd been following orders, and it was not her fault that things had gotten out of control. She only regretted that the fallout had been so incredibly far reaching.

She took a sip of her coffee and went back to staring out the window. Loren Singer had always been open about her ambitions. Everybody knew that she'd wanted to be the first female Judge Advocate General. She shook her head. Two weeks as acting JAG, and Mac was all but ready to jump ship. No way did she want this position full time. Oh, she could handle the job. She knew that - had proven it on more than one occasion. But her place was definitely in the courtroom, not playing the part of juggling politico.

She turned her attention to her desk, tidying it up and putting files and folders away, locking the cabinets as she went. Then she shut down her computer, forwarded her phone to her cell, and left the office. She could brood at home just as easily as she could here, but at least there, she could do it in civvies.

************

A.J. stopped to pull out his water bottle. He was slightly out of breath, and there was a fine sheen of moisture on his forehead. Breaking trail through this mess was not fun. Sure, there were open meadows to cross. Those were easy. But there were also patches of undergrowth so dense he'd found himself wishing for a machete on more than one occasion.

He took out his compass, checked his heading, and grunted in satisfaction, then checked his watch. Not much time left before dark. He'd have to hurry. And he'd have to hope that Mac's coordinates had at least been in the ballpark. He also had to hope that somebody on that downed chopper was in good enough condition to build a signal fire or send up a flare.

He tucked the water bottle back into his pack and started forward, his strides long and confident. As he walked, he allowed his mind to wander and found himself pondering the interesting change of circumstances brought about by this accident. The last time there had been a major crisis, Mac had been the one missing, he'd been the one in command, and Harm had been the searcher. He shook his head, wondering idly if the odd twist had occurred to Harm or Mac.

Another mass of brambles greeted him on the far side of the tiny clearing, and he glared at it balefully. He was beginning to hate blackberries. Then he thought about Harm, missing, possibly hurt, and undoubtedly completely lost, and attacked the offending bushes with a vengeance. As he struggled and yanked, pushed and pulled, he thought about the past year.

What a mess. He'd known a long time ago that it was nearing time for him to retire. When he'd first started considering it, he'd thought long and hard about the people he'd be leaving behind. He wanted the best for them. In many ways, they were family to him, and he knew he wouldn't be able to feel good about retiring unless he could feel that he'd done his best by his people.

Then there'd been Singer's murder, and Paraguay, and months of malcontent in the ranks. Sturgis had been angry at Bud. Mac had been, and probably still was, dealing with the aftermath of Sadik's head games. Bud seemed to be struggling to find his way, and Harm…well, he hadn't known, and still didn't really know, what to do about Harm.

In many ways, Harm was the son he'd never had, and as in many father-son relationships, they didn't always see eye to eye. There were so many things still unsaid between them, many of which would probably never be said. His relationship with Harm was the one thing that still felt incomplete about his retirement. Sturgis and Bud had worked things out, and Harm and Mac seemed to have finally gotten their friendship back on track. But there was still tension between himself and Harm, and he regretted that.

With a final tug, he found a way through the bushes and moved into the woods. As he walked, angling toward the location Mac had marked on the map, he cleared his mind. This was no time to daydream. There was work to be done. He glanced up at the sky, muttered a curse at the gathering storm clouds, and then focused his eyes forward, his attention firmly fixed on the task at hand.

************

Harm put another branch on the fire. It wasn't a cold evening. Instead, it was muggy. The air had the heavy feel it sometimes acquired just before a storm. That thought in mind, he'd moved his small pile of firewood into their improvised shelter. The storm would probably put the fire out, but if he could keep some wood dry, he should be able to get it started again when the rain stopped. He glanced over at Colonel Palmiro, glad to see that she seemed to be sleeping reasonably comfortably. Then, with a final glance at the gathering clouds, he eased his way down the mountain.

His arms were full, his mind occupied with thoughts of their dwindling survival supplies, when a sound in the distance caught his attention. He stood from where he'd been reaching for a branch and waited silently, hoping to hear the sound again. For several moments, there was nothing, and he'd about decided he'd imagined it when he heard it again. It was closer this time, and sounded…human. He dropped the load of wood and moved back to the shelter as quickly as his ankle would allow. Quickly, he pawed through their meager supplies, hunting for the flare gun. He found it, breathed a quick prayer, and shot a flare into the sky.

He waited a few minutes, but heard nothing. Hoping against hope, he fired a second flare, then put the gun away and went to stand at the edge of their shelter, looking out over the valley floor. He listened, staring hard at the area of the woods from which he thought the sound had originated. Silence again. Nothing greeted his strained senses but the sounds of birds and insects, the feel of sweat trickling down the back of his neck, and the smell of burning wood.

He was ready to give up, had even started to turn back into the cave, when a familiar figure stepped out of the trees below him.

"How in the…?" he rubbed his eyes and looked again. "Admiral?"

Sure enough, Admiral Chegwidden strode out of the dense underbrush, stopping to look up at him with a faint smile on his face.

"Fancy meeting you here, Commander," he called as he began to climb to where Harm stood.

Harm was, maybe for the first time in his life, rendered speechless. He stared at the admiral, half expecting him to disappear in a puff of smoke. The admiral, finally reaching him, grinned. "Close your mouth, Commander. Mosquitoes don't provide enough protein to be worth the effort."

Harm closed his jaw with a snap, and shook his head sharply causing a jolt of pain to flash behind his eyes. He rubbed his temples absently while he looked at the admiral.

"How did you…?"

"Find you?"

"It does seem odd that you should happen upon us on a casual hike, yes."

"Trust me, Commander. This day has been a lot of things, but casual definitely isn't one of them."

"Then how..?"

"Mac."

Harm blew out a breath, his shoulders relaxing. He should've known. Mac had found him once before. It shouldn't surprise him that she'd done it again. Still…

"Why didn't she send a SAR team?"

"Trust me, she tried."

"But?"

"They did everything but put her in a straightjacket." He shook his head in remembered anger on her behalf. "They certainly didn't believe that she could pinpoint your exact position from a dream."

"Exact?"

"Well, not precise to the geographic minute, but close enough, obviously."

"Amazing."

"Agreed."

A.J. looked around, taking in the crude shelter and the sleeping colonel at a glance.

"She okay?"

"Broken leg, maybe some internal injuries. She needs a doctor, but she's holding her own."

"What about you?"

"I got lucky. Just a sprained ankle and a hell of a headache."

"And the pilots?"

Harm shook his head sadly. "Didn't make it. They're still in the chopper. I did the best I could to make sure animals wouldn't get to the bodies, but I haven't been back to check them since this morning."

"I'll have a look." A.J. glanced up at the sky as thunder rumbled ominously. "Looks like we've got more weather coming in."

"Looks that way, yes."

"I've got an emergency transmitter, but in this weather…" he shrugged.

"Signal probably won't get through until it clears."

"That's what I'm thinking. Looks like we'll have to hunker down and wait it out." He swung his pack down against the wall. "There's some food in there, couple of blankets, first aid kit. We'll be okay for the night."

Harm chuckled a little. "It's got to be better than last night was."

"Where's the crash site?"

"I'll show you."

Harm glanced over at the colonel, checking to make sure she was still sleeping, then slipped over the edge of the overhang and led the way down to the crash site.

************

Mac waited for the phone to be answered at the other end, absently running a finger around the edge of yet another cup of coffee while she did.

"Hello?"

Mattie's voice sounded young and a little frightened.

"Mattie? It's Mac."

"Mac! Have they found Harm?"

"I'm sorry, Sweetie. Not yet." She considered telling Mattie about the admiral, but decided against it. The story behind A.J.'s unplanned hike was long and involved, and frankly, she was too exhausted to want to get into it.

"I wanted to check in with you, see if you're all right."

"I'm doing okay. I'm just so worried about him."

"They're going to find him, Mattie."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I just…am. Besides, I've known Harm for years. If anybody can survive something like this, it'd be him."

Mattie laughed a little at that. "Sort of like Superman, huh?"

"Seems that way sometimes."

There was a comfortable silence, and then Mac spoke again.

"You okay staying with your dad?"

"Yeah. He's cool with it."

Mac smiled a little at that. "And you? Are you 'cool' with it?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Mac shifted, glancing at a candle that flickered on the end table. "Listen, Mattie. I'd better go. I don't want to keep the phone tied up."

"Oh. Right. In case they call."

"Right. Listen…Mattie."

"Yes Ma'am?"

"I promise I'll call if I hear anything."

"Thanks, Mac."

"You bet."

Mac hung up the phone, glad that Mattie was staying with her father for a few days. Thank God she had his support while Harm was missing.

She glanced over at the television, which was tuned to ZNN. The weather report was on, and she glared at the line of storms she saw crossing the Appalachians. She'd been hoping the admiral would get to Harm tonight and be able to contact the SAR team, but those storms would probably cause signal interference. Frustrated, she threw a pillow at the screen, then flipped it off, blew out the candle, and went to bed.

0243 Zulu (2243 Local)
Somewhere in Appalachia
North Carolina

Harm and A.J. stared at the struggling flame while thunder rumbled and lightning flashed. Rain poured down in a steady torrent, forming a translucent curtain between the tiny cave and the outside world. The fire crackled and hissed, fighting a battle for life against the constant spray of moisture from the falling rain. Behind them, the colonel moaned, causing both men to turn. When she subsided back into a restless sleep, Harm glanced back out at the falling rain.

"I hope this passes quickly," he said quietly. "She needs a hospital."

The admiral's voice rumbled softly in the shadowed cave. "I know."

They were quiet then. Each man occupied with his own thoughts. Harm felt a little awkward as he listened to the rain splashing against rocks and foliage. He selected and discarded various possible conversational gambits until he finally gave up and sat quietly, allowing his mind to wander. This tragic accident had caused an interesting role reversal, and he pondered that as he stared into the flames. For nine years, he and Mac and the admiral had worked and related within clearly defined boundaries.

For a brief moment, he compared this experience to Paraguay, shaking his head at the odd twist of roles that seemed to have overtaken the three of them. Suddenly, he was the one needing rescue, the admiral was the one doing the rescuing, and Mac was the one holding things together back home.

His eyes flickered over to where the admiral sat, stoic and silent as ever, staring off into the night. What he wouldn't give to somehow mend the rift that had opened between them during this past year. For the life of him, he couldn't understand what had happened to drive such a wedge between them.

He thought back to better times, times when the admiral had treated him with an air of patient good humor. Harm knew he wasn't exactly a traditional naval officer. He seemed to have a knack for finding trouble and burying himself in the thick of it. But the admiral had tolerated it, even encouraged it at times, until Singer and Paraguay. Those two events had set off a chain reaction that had all but destroyed their relationship until they sat here now as near strangers, neither one able to find a safe topic of conversation.

Harm put another stick on the fire, sending a shower of sparks rising into the air. The way he saw it, he had a choice. He could let this opportunity pass, thereby allowing a friendship to fall by the wayside, or he could take a chance and speak up. One of two things would happen if he spoke up. Either he and the admiral would be able to lay some ghosts to rest, or they wouldn't. Either way, one thing was certain. He wasn't going to pass the next however many hours until the SAR team arrived staring silently at nothing.

"Admiral?"

A.J. looked over at him. "Yes?"

"What happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"Ever since Singer's murder you've been…" He hesitated for a moment, searching for the right word. "Different."

The admiral didn't say anything for a long time, and Harm waited patiently, knowing better than to push.

"You were always a cowboy, Harm," he said finally, repeating something he'd said before. "But I tolerated it because you were a good man and a damn fine attorney."

Harm started to say something, but the admiral lifted a hand to stop him and he quieted.

"You didn't trust me."

The words sliced into Harm with all the knife edged sharpness of a battle ready bayonet, and Harm cringed.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I…"

The admiral interrupted him, "I know, you were protecting your brother."

He stared at Harm, his expression almost sad. "And later, when it was Paraguay, and Mac – you were protecting somebody you love then, too."

He took a drink from his water bottle, and then went on. "What I didn't understand then – what I still don't understand – is what made you think you couldn't trust me."

He moved over to check on the colonel then, leaving Harm alone with his thoughts.

The admiral was right. He hadn't trusted him. Hadn't trusted anybody, for that matter. Instead, he'd done just like he'd always done, charged headlong into battle, and damn the torpedoes.

Well, there'd been a heavy price to pay for his knee jerk behavior. He'd spent time in the brig, sent Mac spinning away from him at high speeds, and caused the admiral to re-evaluate their long-standing friendship. Still, while he acknowledged his own part in the morass of their relationship, the admiral wasn't exactly guilt free, and here, tonight, they were on equal footing. No need to worry about protocol when you were hidden so deeply in the wilderness that you needed a psychic to dig you out.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" he asked, when the admiral was once again seated across from him.

"What would you have me say, Harm?" The admiral rearranged his legs, looking without success for a comfortable position on the rock ledge. "That I knew you didn't kill Singer? That Mac needed you? That your actions were right and proper and well within the boundaries of protocol?"

Harm smiled slightly. "I'd have settled for any one of those."

"Not possible."

"Because?"

"Because my saying I knew you weren't guilty would have raised questions when you were eventually acquitted, for one. There always would have been somebody out there who would've wondered if you'd been let off because you really weren't guilty, or because I stood up for you."

"Maybe, but…"

"No maybes about it, Harm. And I wasn't going to take that chance."

Harm let it go, recognizing the validity of what A.J. was saying.

"And Paraguay?"

The admiral looked at him in disbelief.

"Think about it, Harm. You were going into hostile territory, against CIA and military orders, to rescue a renegade agent and a Marine who has, on more than one occasion, proven herself perfectly capable of taking care of herself."

"Right…"

"Look, I won't deny that you did what needed to be done. Mac and Webb got themselves into more trouble than they could handle. But there was no way I could officially condone your going in there."

"So you pushed me until I resigned my commission."

"It was the only way."

Harm thought about that, and then nodded.

"But what about after? You'd let Mac back in after she'd resigned her commission all those years ago, but when I came back from Paraguay, you wouldn't even consider taking me back." He looked at the admiral, a note of accusation creeping into his voice. "As I recall, you were a little…harsh about turning me loose for good."

"I didn't have much choice. If I'd taken you back, it would've looked like the whole thing had been a setup."

"Since when have appearances bothered you?"

"Since they would've affected your future career with the Navy," A.J. shot back, not missing a beat.

"What do you mean?"

"It was Singer's case all over again, Harm. If I'd taken you back, there would always have been the perception that you'd gotten away with your behavior, that there'd been no consequences for your actions."

"But there were consequences. Mac…"

"I'm talking about professional consequences. By the time the Paraguay incident was put to bed, I'd already determined that it was time for me to retire. No way was I turning you over to a new JAG with any more gray areas on your service record than absolutely necessary."

Harm smiled a little at that. "I don't know, Admiral. There are so many twists and turns in my record already…I'm not sure one more would matter all that much."

"It mattered to me." He observed Harm carefully for a few moments, then went on, his voice quiet. "And there were personal reasons, too."

"Personal reasons?"

A.J. quirked an eyebrow at him. "How long have we known each other?"

"Going on nine years, I guess."

"And for most of that time, I watched you get away with things that would've cost any other officer his stripes." He went on before Harm could respond. "I realized that a lot of that was my doing, and that because you'd never been held accountable, you'd never really had to grow up and take responsibility for your actions." He shrugged. "I guess I decided it was time to stop letting you off the hook."

"Wow," said Harm, with a trace of a smile. "When you decide to keep somebody on a hook, you use a pretty big one."

A.J. smiled too. "It's a basic rule of fishing, Commander. Always match your tackle to the size of your quarry."

They shared a chuckle that was drowned out by a flash of lightning and an ear splitting crack of thunder that caused both men to jump slightly, and then grin. Below them, a tree crashed to the ground, one more victim of nature's fury.

"I'm going to go ahead and set up the transmitter," said A.J. "Then we should probably try to get some sleep."

Harm looked out at the storm, then over at the admiral, raising his eyebrows.

A.J. shrugged. "I said we should try. You didn't hear me say anything about actually succeeding at it."

The men moved about companionably for a few minutes, setting up the emergency equipment and banking the fire for the night. Then they each wrapped up in an emergency blanket and settled down to wait for the dawn.

************

Mac's phone rang, waking her out of a restless sleep and into the dim shadows of predawn.

"Hello?" she said, shaking her head slightly to clear the cobwebs.

"Colonel Mackenzie?"

"Yes."

"Colonel, this is Major Sotheby."

Mac was instantly wide awake, and she sat up against the headboard.

"Major. Any news?"

She crossed her fingers in a childish plea for luck.

"Maybe. We picked up a faint emergency signal about an hour ago. I've sent the SAR team to check it out."

"Where?"

"Ma'am?"

"Where is the signal coming from?"

She already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear him say it, so she drummed her fingers on her knee while she waited through the silence.

"It's…just about where you said it would be," he finally answered after clearing his throat.

"Aha," she said, trying and failing to keep the note of accusation out of her voice.

"I'm…sorry, Colonel, but you have to understand. We can't ignore regulations based on one person's intuition."

"Major, I've lost count of the number of times I've bent the rules when the situation warranted. Now, I can't speak for your CO, but I can tell you that if a Marine under my command failed to pursue every available means of rescue in favor of sticking to the regs, and if, because of that Marine's inflexible attention to the rules, a fellow soldier was made to suffer longer than absolutely necessary…Well…Let's just say that the Marine in question would hear about my displeasure in no uncertain terms."

Mac waited a moment for that to sink in, and then went on. "Do I make myself clear?"

Her tone was icy, her anger snaking down the line and into the unfortunate major's ear with enough venom to make him pull the handset away from his head and glance at it nervously.

"Yes, Ma'am. I understand, Ma'am." His voice was subdued, and Mac decided she'd made her point.

"When does the rescue team expect to make contact?"

"Within thirty minutes, Ma'am."

"I want to know as soon as they do."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Mac dropped the phone back onto its base without bothering to say goodbye. Then she stood up and headed for the bathroom. Time for a quick shower and then coffee.

************

Harm heard it first. The steady and familiar thwap thwap thwap of helicopter rotors. He threw off the blanket and stood up, staring into the predawn fog toward the source of the sound. He cursed the clouds and mist, and then turned to the fire. It wasn't likely to be very noticeable in this murk, but he was going to try anyway. He felt a light touch on his shoulder and turned to the admiral.

"Pulled this out of my pack," A.J. said, indicating the wide muzzled gun in his hand. "Do you have any flares left?"

"Two. They're over there." Harm nodded to the jumble of supplies against the wall and turned back to the fire, nudging it to life and then feeding it until it burned brightly, pushing back the wall of mist that cocooned the small cave.

The helicopter sounded like it was moving closer, and Harm put the last of the wood on the fire then moved back to the edge of the shelter, straining his eyes for some sign of the aircraft.

He finally spied the dim glow of searchlights approaching from the south.

"There," he said, pointing. "They must've picked up the emergency signal."

He looked around, and then began gathering things together while A.J. shot a second flare into the sky.

"They won't be able to land," he observed. "They're going to have to lift us out."

"Yep," answered A.J., and then, with a small smile. "You know, happy as I am to see them, I almost wish it'd taken a few days longer."

Harm looked over at him in obvious surprise, and A.J. chuckled. "If they hadn't found us until Monday, we'd have had a great excuse to miss the Change of Command Ceremony."

He ignored Harm's snort of amusement and picked up his pack, his hands moving to settle it on his shoulders and then buckle the straps. By the time that was done, the helicopter had located them and Harm scrambled to put out the fire before the breeze from the rotors could spread dangerous sparks into the underbrush. For the first time, he was glad for the recent rainfall.

Colonel Palmiro stirred for the first time since the previous afternoon, awakened by the noise of the chopper. Harm moved over to her and sat with her while he watched the helicopter crew lower two members of the rescue crew and a basket. In a few short minutes, the colonel, along with Harm and A.J., had been lifted into the helicopter.

The two members of the rescue crew were to remain behind until a second chopper could arrive for the bodies of the pilots. Meanwhile, a ground crew was being dispatched to the site to secure the area and retrieve the remains of the downed chopper. As they left the scene, Harm breathed a sigh of relief, and then settled into his seat, buckling his shoulder harness securely and enduring the corpsman's medical evaluation without complaint.

************

Harm opened his apartment door, smiling when he saw Mac.

"Hi."

"How are you feeling?" she said, as she stepped inside and turned to face him.

"I'll live. Ankle's still a little sore, but the head's mostly back to normal."

"As normal as it gets, anyway," she said.

"Hey!"

She grinned unrepentantly, and he couldn't resist pulling her into his arms for a quick hug.

"I understand I owe you a thank you," he said, releasing her and moving to the kitchen for a couple of bottles of water.

"You're welcome," she said, coming to stand at the island. "Is Mattie okay?"

"Yeah. She was frantic at first, but she calmed down a bit when she realized I was okay. She's a little annoyed with you, though."

"With me?"

"Yeah. When I told her we had you to thank for my safe return I had to explain the circumstances. She was a little annoyed when she found out you knew I was safe and didn't tell her."

Mac sighed and took a sip of her water. "I wanted to tell her. I just couldn't figure out how to say it that wouldn't make it sound like I belonged in a loony bin somewhere."

"I wouldn't worry about it, Mac. She's a teenager. Her mood changes with the wind."

Just then, there was a knock on the door and Mattie breezed in, only to come to an abrupt stop when she saw Mac.

"Oh," she said. "Hi."

The lack of enthusiasm in her voice made Mac glance over at Harm, but he just shrugged in a 'see what I mean?' type of gesture, and she turned back to Mattie.

"Mattie. I'm sorry I didn't tell you what I knew."

"It's okay. Harm explained it to me. I just…wish you would've trusted me."

"It wasn't about trust, Mattie – or at least, not about trusting you. It was more about trusting myself."

"I don't understand."

Mac shrugged self-consciously. "This…thing. It doesn't happen very often, and I'm never sure how accurate it is. I didn't want you to get your hopes up only to have it turn out that I was wrong."

Mattie considered that for a few seconds. "I see your point. That would've been pretty awful."

"Yes. It would."

Behind her, Mac heard a sigh of relief, and turned to see Harm smiling at them both.

"Since we're all friends again," he said. "Who's buying lunch?"

"You are," Mac and Mattie answered together, and then laughed. Harm just shook his head and picked up the single crutch he'd been using to help him get around until his ankle healed.

"Let's go, then. I'm starving."

1357 Zulu (0857 Local)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia

A gentle breeze ruffled the edges of the American flag as Bud took his place at the podium. He looked at the group of JAG officers and staff standing at attention in neat rows. Beyond them, were several rows of civilians, family, and friends who had come to view the ceremony. He looked a question at the group seated on the platform. At a nod from CNO Clark, he glanced at his notes, then keyed on the microphone.

"Good morning Ladies and Gentlemen. Welcome to today's ceremony. We are here to witness an important event – The Judge Advocate General Change of Command Ceremony. We are honored to have Admiral Vern Clark, Chief of Naval Operations as the presiding officer for today's ceremony.

On the platform with me are Admiral Clark, the Honorable Edward Sheffield, Secretary of the Navy, Admiral A.J. Chegwidden, Judge Advocate General, and Admiral John Carroll Blankenship IV, Judge Advocate General Designate."

As Bud spoke each person's name, they nodded their heads slightly, accepting scattered applause from the civilians.

"For today's ceremony, Commander Sturgis Turner will be acting as Commander of Troops, and Petty Officer Jennifer Coates will be acting as Adjutant."

A lone bugler played the adjutant's call, and Petty Officer Jennifer Coates stepped sharply forward, and then turned to face the ranks of officers and staff. Meanwhile, Admiral Chegwidden stepped off the platform and moved to stand before the ranks.

"Present…Arms!" Every arm snapped forward and up, holding the salute. Jen turned and saluted the admiral.

"Sir," she said. "The group is formed."

The admiral returned Jen's salute then turned to survey the assembled staff, his eyes resting momentarily on each familiar face.

"Order…Arms!" Sturgis ordered, and every hand snapped forward and down.

Bud keyed the microphone back on, continuing his narration for the benefit of the assembled civilians. "A distinctive feature of military ceremonies is the formal presentation of command to the presiding officer. The group formation represents all the men and women who have served with Admiral Chegwidden and the men and women who will serve with Admiral Blankenship.

After Admiral Chegwidden presents the command, Ruffles and Flourishes and the Flag Officer's March will be played in honor of Admiral Clark. Ladies and gentlemen, please rise."

"Present…Arms," ordered Sturgis, and hands snapped to salute once again. Admiral Chegwidden faced about, saluted Admiral Clark, and said, "Sir, I present the Command."

They held the salute while the small military band played four ruffles and flourishes, and then the Admiral's March. As the last note of the Admiral's March faded, Admiral Clark returned Admiral Chegwidden's salute.

A.J. faced about again, returning his attention to the assembled officers and enlisted.

"Order…Arms!" Sturgis commanded, and hands snapped down in a neatly executed return to attention.

Bud spoke again. "In days of old, the color guard led the charge into battle. These guardsmen braved the enemy fire to inspire their fellow warriors to victory. Escorting the colors of the United States Navy is the Norfolk Naval Base Honor Guard. Ladies and gentlemen. Please remain standing as the colors are brought forward and our National Anthem is played."

After the National Anthem and departure of the color guard, the admiral ordered the troops to present arms and then to parade rest. A naval chaplain did a short invocation, and then it was time for the inspection of the troops.

"Atench…Hut!" ordered Sturgis, and the staff snapped to attention.

"Present…Arms!"

With the staff standing at attention and stiffly holding the formal salute, Bud continued his narration.

"A traditional part of the change of command ceremony is an inspection of the troops prior to the exchange of leadership. Inspection of the troops began with the restoration of Charles the Second to the throne of England. When one of Cromwell's regiments offered its allegiance, the king carefully scrutinized the face of each soldier in the ranks. Convinced of their sincerity, he accepted their escort. This tradition is carried on today as Admiral Chegwidden prepares the JAG Corps to be turned over to Admiral Blankenship."

Admiral Chegwidden moved slowly down the ranks, his eyes meeting each staff member's gaze for a few moments before he moved on. He lingered a few times, giving almost imperceptible nods to Sturgis, Mac, and finally Harm, but he kept his face expressionless, his bearing stiff. Nobody would know how much this part of the ceremony tugged at his heart. Finally, his inspection complete, he nodded to Sturgis.

"Order…Arms!" Ordered Sturgis, and then "Parade…Rest!"

Bud continued his narration. "The Change of Command has a long and honorable history. In the middle ages, it was not uncommon for the soldiers to be unaware of who their commanders were or what they looked like. A formal Change of Command afforded these troops the opportunity to witness the proceedings and actually see their commander. The continental army of the United States under the command of General George Washington conducted the first official ceremony in America.

The Change of Command symbolically transfers authority and responsibility from one commander to the next, thus ensuring a continuous unbroken chain of command. In keeping with this honored tradition, Admiral Clark will preside as Admiral Chegwidden relinquishes command and Admiral Blankenship assumes command of the Naval and Marine Judge Advocate General Corps. Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the Change of Command ceremony."

Sturgis brought the staff back to attention then waited while Bud read the order. Then Admiral Chegwidden turned to Admiral Clark and saluted.

"Sir, I relinquish command."

He held the salute until Admiral Clark returned it. Then Admiral Blankenship stepped forward. He was shorter than Admiral Chegwidden, and rounder, with craggy features and an aristocratic bearing. He saluted Admiral Clark.

"Sir," he said in a smoothly cultured voice. "I assume command."

Admiral Clark returned the salute and Bud keyed the microphone.

"Please join me in welcoming the new Judge Advocate General, Admiral John Carroll Blankenship."

"The fourth," murmured the new JAG under his breath, as he nodded gravely in response to the polite applause. Then he moved to stand before the JAG staff and Admiral Chegwidden returned to the podium.

"Admiral Blankenship will now receive the traditional first salute from the JAG Corps," said Bud.

Admiral Blankenship took a few seconds to scan his eyes across the assembled staff before nodding to Sturgis to bring them to attention.

"Present…Arms!" ordered Sturgis, and Admiral Blankenship was pleased at the precision with which all hands snapped to attention.

"Order…Arms!" Hands snapped back down in unison.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said Bud, reading from the script. "The men and women of the Judge Advocate General Corps are proud to have served with Admiral Chegwidden, and we wish him well in his retirement." He looked over at A.J., gave him a brief, heartfelt nod of respect, and then turned to Admiral Blankenship.

"We also welcome Admiral Blankenship and his family as he assumes his new duties."

There was another round of polite applause as the military band began to play the Navy Anthem. When the last note faded away, Sturgis commanded the staff to parade rest and then waited while Bud spoke his closing lines.

"Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of Admiral Clark, Secretary of the Navy Sheffield, Admiral Chegwidden, and Admiral Blankenship, we would like to thank you for your support and attendance at today's ceremony."

Sturgis dismissed the ranks, Bud keyed off the microphone, and the ceremony came to an end. As the staff dispersed for the formal reception, Harm stopped Mac with a light touch on her arm.

"You did a good job pulling that together," he said.

She smiled. "Thanks, but I have to say I'm glad it's over. I much prefer being in the courtroom to being in command." She glanced to where A.J. was shaking hands with Admiral Blankenship. "I can't imagine how he did it for as long as he did."

Harm followed the direction of her gaze. "You know, he wasn't always the easiest man to work with, but I respect him more than just about any other man I know."

Admiral Chegwidden finished talking to Blankenship, and walked over to them. Harm and Mac snapped to attention. A.J. smiled slightly.

"Relax," he said. "I'm retired now, remember?"

Harm and Mac relaxed, moving automatically to the familiar parade rest position.

"Sir," said Harm. "It was an honor serving with you."

A.J. considered that with a crooked grin. "It was…interesting," he said.

"You'll be missed, Sir," said Mac.

"You won't have time to miss me, Colonel. From what I hear about Admiral Blankenship, you'll be too busy." He looked back at Harm. "How's the ankle?"

"Better, Sir. Thanks. And thanks for coming after me."

"If I hadn't, I think Mac would've resigned her commission and done it herself," answered A.J., and Mac shifted a little, uncomfortable at the comment.

There was a brief awkward silence, and then A.J. cleared his throat.

"Time for me to go. It wouldn't do to be late for the reception."

"Yes, Sir. We'll see you there."

Harm and Mac exchanged a glance, and then snapped to attention, saluting their commanding officer for the final time. A.J. returned the salute, and then left, walking briskly toward the parking lot.

"It's not going to be the same with him gone," said Mac.

"I know," said Harm. "He was good man, and a great leader."

He nodded across to where Admiral Blankenship had stopped to talk to Sturgis. "What do you think?"

"Too early to tell," said Mac, "though I'm a little nervous about the four after his name."

Harm chuckled a little, then glanced at his watch. "We'd better get to the reception - wouldn't want to make a bad first impression."

Mac grinned. "Do you think the admiral warned him what he was getting into?" she asked, as they turned toward the parking lot.

"I doubt it," said Harm. "If he had, he'd probably have left the country just as fast as his legs could carry him."

By silent agreement, they headed for Harm's SUV, climbing in and closing the doors with a muffled thud. As the powerful engine purred to life, they exchanged a smile. They'd lost an anchor in A.J. Chegwidden, but they were forging a new one in each other.

*** ** The End *****

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