JAG - Retold (Season 3)
Author's Note: This series picks off after the events in JAG - Retold (Season 2), now available on FanFiction-net. Please check with your local provider on availability in your area.
This is an attempt to rewrite the entire JAG saga, with a heavy concentration on Harm & Mac's relationship. Some scenes you may remember from the original TV show, and some scenes may be completely new - hence the title of the piece, 'JAG - Retold.'
Ultimately, all I hope for is that you enjoy my favorite TV show of all time, as retold through my eyes. :) Thank you.
Disclaimer: JAG and its characters are the property of Belisarius Productions, CBS and Paramount Television. As the courts will not allow me to change my name to any of the aforementioned, I am sad to report that I do not own JAG. I shall appeal!
Spoilers: Any episode with Catherine Bell in it, from Episode 1x22 'Skeleton Crew' onwards.
Rating: T
Episode 1:
Ghost Ship (Part 1)
1800 ZULU
CIA HEADQUARTERS
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
It looked like every person on a CIA payroll filled the large hall, chatting in quiet whispers, nodding at familiar faces in greeting, smiling cordially at jokes. It was a spook convention, and they convened because the old Director of Central Intelligence - Wyatt Garrison was calling it a day.
But they were really here because there was a new Director of Central Intelligence, and it was never a bad idea to see who the new boss was.
They gathered in the main auditorium, sipping on coffee and juice. This was no gala event. This was the sort of party thrown together by a person who had no idea what was supposed to happen at a party. Still no one complained.
Clay might not be complaining but that didn't mean he was satisfied either. Far from it, he was giving up an off day and a date with a very beautiful supermodel from South America to be here in a room filled with nervous sweaty men and equally nervously sweaty women.
He sighed. Truth be told, Clay liked pretty things. Though he worked in intelligence... or perhaps because of it, he had little use for companions who were intelligent themselves, so he really liked Carmelina. She was good in bed, knew that she was, and didn't bother to know anything else.
"Clay, nice to see you give up an off day to be here." a familiar voice called to him and Clay turned to the man.
"DCI Garrison." Clay greeted the former CIA director. And he really looked old - the job had taken its toll - though perhaps the years of hard liquor he consumed in his office after hours had played a role too. "I wasn't aware that I had a choice."
"We all have choices, Clay. Some just are better for us than others." Garrison smiled sadly, and Clay wondered what regrets the older man was thinking about right now.
"What do you think of the new director?" the old man asked as he indicated the man in the middle of the room. It seemed fitting, the man in question was the middle of everything - middle aged, medium build, middling features. The man stood out like camouflage, Clay wouldn't have noticed him even if he tried.
"Can't say I can get a read on him."
"I know. And it's maddening." Garrison agreed. "How can a man so unnoticeable get to the top?"
Clay looked at the spymaster with surprise, "You didn't nominate him?"
"Nominate who?" the man in question snuck up on them. Clay put on his most stoic face and greeted the man.
"Director Blaisdell."
Blaisdell greeted both of them, "Director Garrison. And you must be the infamous Clayton Webb." the new DCI looked closer at Clay, "Your father spoke about you often."
Clay was surprised. "You knew my father?"
"Neville saved me once. But I'd like to think I repaid that favor." Blaisdell said with a wink, "After all, I helped him meet your mother."
"How?" Clay asked, curious about any story of his past. His mother refused to speak much about her life before he was born, and indeed refused to speak much about his father.
"A story for another time perhaps. Follow me." he told Clay and as he was the new head of the CIA, Webb had no choice but to obey, leaving Garrison to enjoy the rest of his party.
Blaisdell found a secure room and ushered the younger man inside, locking the door behind them. Once their privacy was secure, Blaisdell stared at Clay. "I heard about Lagunov's list. Russia's not happy."
Webb's face revealed nothing, even though he played a vital role in securing the list in the first place.
Lagunov's list was a microdot containing a list of names - American POWs captured in the Vietnam War that had been sent to Siberia for internment... or worse.
The man who compiled it, Vilen Lagunov had died as he tried to smuggle it out of Russia, killed by the FSB, the replacement of the old KGB, and as many of its agents came from the old spy service, as did its methods, the FSB proved to be nothing more than a glorified renaming exercise.
"The list was destroyed." Clay lied as he'd been ordered to do. Officially that was the story, but the truth was Clay had saved it from destruction and had delivered it to former DCI Garrison himself.
"Was it now?" Blaisdell said casually, "Well, I trust it'll be undestroyed in time. But it doesn't change the fact that FSB has agents scouring the globe for it."
"It's their resources to waste." Clay said.
"I would like to believe that, but you see there are two things I know that you don't, Clay. One, Lagunov wasn't the first one to put together the list."
"You mean..."
"There's another list out there. One which we tried to get at before, but failed."
"Who compiled it?" Clay asked.
"A Vietnamese Colonel. He was the one who made the passenger list. And that list is just as damning as Lagunov's."
"How do the Russian's know about the second list?" Garrison questioned.
"Perhaps one of the old KGB generals remembered. Who knows, but Lagunov's list seems to have shaken a few old memories out of their drunken stupor." Blaisdell said.
"And the second thing I don't know?" Clay asked.
"The FSB are looking for your friend Rabb."
Clay's face hardened at that sobering news. Harmon Rabb Jr. had been instrumental in finding Lagunov's list. And as the FSB showed with Lagunov, they weren't exactly known for playing nice.
"I hope you know what you've stirred up." Blaisdell looked at Clay. "Perhaps it's fitting - your father created the situation. Maybe it's time his son saw it home." he said with a grim expression and left Clay to stew.
oxoxoxo
1320 ZULU
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA
Lieutenant Commander Harmon 'Harm' Rabb Jr. sat in one of the chairs, next to his JAG partner, Major Sarah 'Mac' MacKenzie. Behind both of them in one of the smaller seats was Lieutenant j.g. Bud Roberts and in front of them all, peering at the three from behind his desk was their CO - the Judge Advocate General himself - Admiral A.J. Chegwidden.
The Admiral whipped off his reading glasses and addressed the three officers under his command.
"The city of Alameda is attempting to preserve the USS Hornet as a museum ship. While workers were inspecting her hull for corrosion, they found a skeleton in the void."
"The void, sir?" Mac asked. Unlike the three men in the office, she was not a sailor and had not served aboard ship.
Harm glanced at her casually, catching her eye. "That's the space between the inner and outer hulls, Mac." he said and gave her a quick if wry smile. She didn't react.
Seeing her non-reaction, Harm turned back to his CO. "Admiral, the void is sealed during construction. How would a body get in there?"
Bud quickly jumped in, "Well, the same as it did on the Great Eastern, sir."
The three senior officers turned towards the young man.
"Enlighten us, Mr. Roberts." the Admiral said, prompting him to continue.
Put on the spotlight, Bud stuttered a little but soon his mouth caught up with his excitement, "She was a double-hulled ship too, sir. During construction, a ship fitter fell asleep in the void and was accidentally sealed inside."
"And no one thought to look for him?" Mac asked, curious.
"Well, they thought he'd just gone AWOL, ma'am. But they said that you could hear him pounding on the inner hull for years."
Bud's claim was greeted by a look of increased skepticism.
"Years, Bud?" Harm asked his subordinate.
Bud blushed, "Ah, perhaps not years sir. But when they scrapped the Great Eastern, they found a skeleton between the hulls."
The Admiral interrupted Bud's storytime, "Well, the skeleton on the Hornet wasn't a ship fitter." he said as he handed the file to the senior JAG, Harm. "He was dressed in Naval aviator gear, and he apparently died of a fractured skull."
"Murder, sir?" Harm asked as he leafed through the report.
"Unless he somehow sealed himself up after death, Commander, it looks like it." A.J. said before continuing. "He was hidden with no identification other than wings, bars and his patch."
Harm recognized the patterned patch immediately. "This is a Skoshi Tigers patch, Admiral." he turned to Mac, "They were a South Vietnamese air force squadron. Flew F-5s out of Bien Hoa."
The Admiral nodded, "Which means that our skeleton was entombed during the Vietnam era."
"God, my father flew off the Hornet on his first tour. Could have been in this guy's squadron." Harm said, looking up at his CO.
"He very well may have, Commander." A.J. said.
"Sir, isn't this technically a matter for Alameda Homicide, since the Hornet's their museum ship?" Mac interrupted Harm's unabashed trip down memory lane.
"Not yet, she isn't. Navy still owns the pink slip. If Alameda can't raise the funds to maintain her as a museum, she'll be sold as scrap." the Admiral answered her question. "In any case, the victim died while the Hornet was in commission. Alameda Homicide says this investigation is all ours."
A.J. leaned back in his seat, "Or should I say all yours. Get to it."
As one, the three officers rose with an "Aye, aye, sir."
oxoxoxo
Bud had been ordered to stay behind to do research, which posed three problems for him. One, he had really wanted to see California. Two, he had a date with Harriet that he had to cancel. And three, she followed him to the Navy Archives... where Millie Shaker, the brunette who worked the information desk on Friday nights was a little too familiar with Bud for Harriet's liking.
Of course, that Harriet still helped Bud looked through a mountain of microfilm information for everything concerning the USS Hornet, spoke volumes of her character.
Or perhaps she was afraid of leaving Bud alone with Millie Shaker. Either way, it was a long, lonely and chilly weekend for the young Lt. j.g.
oxoxoxo
0300 ZULU
USS HORNET
NAVAL AIR BASE ALAMEDA, CALIFORNIA
The JAG fleet car pulled up to the dock the old aircraft carrier now called home. Harm exited the driver's seat and admired the view... she was everything he remembered her to be.
Mac stared at her attractive JAG partner and tried not to admire him the way he seemed to admire the ship - openly and unabashedly.
She popped her garrison hat on her head and asked him. "You ever fly off her?"
He turned to the attractive Marine Major and flashed her a winning smile, "No, she's too small to handle Tomcats. But I was on her once."
The memories came flooding back, clear and sharp as if they had happened yesterday.
oxoxoxo
SEPTEMBER 1969
USS HORNET
Five-year old Harm stood upon the deck of the USS Hornet, looking wide-eyed at his surroundings as if trying to see everything all at once.
The F4-Phantom II's with their open cockpits gleamed in the sun, their whitish-gray paint jobs seeming unnaturally bright. Little Harm held his hand up to shield his eyes.
"Hey, son. You wanna see where your daddy works?" Little Harm heard a man's voice ask and he turned in that direction.
And saw his father, his mustache barely concealing his upturned lips. This close up, it wasn't hard to see where Little Harm would get his dashing good looks one day - he really was his father's son, the very spitting image of.
Little Harm smiled as he took his father's hand.
oxoxoxo
PRESENT DAY
USS HORNET
Harm climbed the ladder up to the flight deck and turned to offer Mac a hand. She looked up at him and shook her head, refusing his offer. She was fine and soon she joined him.
"What's the bulkhead number where they opened the void?" Harm asked her.
She looked at the paper in her hand, "Two-Delta-42 Zebra-8-Victor. Hike."
He shot her a look, indicating he thought she was being a smart ass, "Very funny."
"I'm a funny lady." she smiled back before catching herself. She was falling into old habits again, bantering with him so easily when she knew she had feelings for him.
Feelings that she shouldn't be having. Feelings that weren't healthy. Feelings that she knew would only hurt her in the end.
There were many reasons why she felt so strongly for Harm, but chief among which was that he was so much like her childhood friend, Eddie. Beautiful Eddie. Kind Eddie.
Eddie who had time and again come to her rescue, saving her from everyone and everything. Saving her from every mess she made of her life.
Eddie who died in that accident on graduation night. That had been the final push she needed to fly right on her own - to finally accept Uncle Matt's help and become a Marine.
But not before Eddie rejected her romantically, so completely that she ran to another man. The wrong man.
Mac could see herself falling for a man like her partner, but she wouldn't put herself through that pain again. Those who didn't learn from history were doomed to repeat it, and Harm was one mistake she was not going to repeat.
Mac turned away from him, ignoring his warm smile as she made her way towards the interior of the ship.
oxoxoxo
Mac's flashlight cut through the gloom of the interior, searching the darkness for a sign. The glow of Harm's flashlight joined hers, illuminating the bulkhead number.
"Two-Delta-42. It should be down here." she said. It should be, but as far as Mac could see, it wasn't.
The beam of Harm's flashlight split off from hers and searched for more clues to their location. He read out what he saw, "Six-Tech-Victor. Eight-Tech-Victor." Then he saw what they were looking for. "There it is. Hole they cut in the void."
Mac joined Harm and saw the empty void. "Looks like they removed all the evidence."
As if to punctuate that point, the entire ship gave an unearthly groan. Mac looked up and around her in panic. "What was that?" she asked once the sound faded.
"It's metal contracting. Ship's cooling as the sun goes down." Harm said as he aimed his flashlight down the corridor.
And saw a faint glow of light coming from a neighboring chamber. Mac noticed it too as it faded from view.
"That is not metal contracting." Mac pointed out.
"Kill your light." Harm said as he turned his flashlight off.
"What?"
"Kill your light." he hissed a little bit harsher as he pushed her behind him. He raised his flashlight like a club, ready to strike at the approaching ball of light.
Mac turned off her light and waited in the dark. She felt Harm's body back into hers, pressing against her slightly. She could feel the warmth of his body even through their layers of clothing - he was like a sun god, radiating warmth and heat even in the coldest and darkest of places.
Harm saw the unearthly glow near and he reached out, swinging the heavy flashlight down. But he stopped when he saw the 9mm in his face.
Mac would have swung to action if she hadn't caught sight of the brass badge on the gunman's belt. A cop.
"Jesus, I almost shot your face off." the cop said in a Texan accent as thick as his mustache. He retracted his gun.
Harm glared at the man before lowering his flashlight. "I doubt it." At the cop's raised brow, Harm explained, "Safety's still engaged."
The cop checked it, Harm was right. "Well, then I guess I'm lucky you didn't bean me then. We don't look too kindly on people who assault cops."
"You're trespassing on government property."
"Yeah, well the badge means I work for the government too, Commander. Lieutenant Mark Falcon, Alameda Homicide." the mustachioed policeman introduced himself, offering a handshake.
Harm didn't take it. "You know who I am?"
"No. But you never forget how to read a sailor's stripes." Falcon pointed out Harm's shoulder boards. "US Army MP. Spent my year in Saigon chasing AWOLs and breaking up bar fights. I saw my fair share of swabbies."
Sensing Harm's continued belligerence, Mac stuck out her hand to shake Falcon's. "Major Sarah MacKenzie. This here is Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb."
"I thought Alameda was handing this over to JAG." Harm said pointedly.
"Oh, we are, Commander. I'm here on my own time. Never could pass up a good mystery." he said before taking in both of them. "And what were you two doing here in the dark? Or is that a personal question?" Falcon smirked at the very attractive Marine Major and the moderately handsome Lt. Cmdr.
Mac glanced over at Harm and clarified quickly. "We thought you were a ghost."
"Well, if the Commander hadn't stopped when he did, I might be one now." Falcon smiled winningly at Mac.
"So what do you think of the case so far?" Harm asked, trying to glean as much info from the cop.
"Well, I think the salvagers were looking for something other than rust when they cut into the hull. You don't need to check the void to make a scrap bid."
"You mean they were looking for the body?" Mac asked.
"No, I think they were looking for something more valuable." Falcon explained, "You know, treasure."
Harm smirked smugly, "Sorry, we stopped lining our ships with gold sometime in the 1640s."
"Well one man's trash is another man's treasure, Commander. You don't know how much old stuff gets sold for at auction. Especially if it came from a famous ship. And the Hornet has her fair share of history."
Harm warmed up a little to the man. "My father flew 167 missions over the North, half of them from this deck."
"Have you told him about this?" Falcon asked.
Harm replied solemnly, "He didn't come back."
Falcon's face softened with sympathy, "I'm sorry." he said, before steering the conversation into lighter territory, "Hey, have you guys had dinner? I know a little fish place where the branzino's as good as in Italy."
Mac looked at Harm. "Well, we haven't eaten since D.C."
Harm caught her look and his mood lightened some. "Yeah, and it's not a good idea to keep you starving." he said with a faint smile.
As they made their way out of the ship, Harm sensed... someone watching them. He turned around and shone his flashlight around one last time. And found nothing.
"What is it, Commander?" Falcon asked.
His eyes scanned the corridor, squinting to make details out in the dark. And still saw nothing. He gave up. "Nothing. Let's eat." he said, turning off his light.
Though he saw nothing, Harm still couldn't shake the feeling completely. Someone... or something was on this ship.
oxoxoxo
Night made the interior of the ship even gloomier than its already dank and oppressive self. The sound of something banging against metal echoed through the deserted corridors. It sounded as if a caged animal was working on getting into the ship.
Or worse - Out.
Mac found herself onboard the Hornet, except she was alone. Her flashlight danced about the corridor and revealed nothing. The corridor was deserted.
"Harm?" she called out when she didn't see her partner. She moved forward, hoping he'd just be around the bend. "Harm, where are you?"
The only reply came from the ship itself. It groaned and sighed, like a monster rousing from sleep, and hungry. Mac felt shivers run up her spine.
Mac then noticed that the air had become thick with fog. No, not fog. Smoke. Something burned, and it was another second before Mac realized it was the ship. The ship was on fire!
She rushed forward and came face to face with an uncontrollable blaze. And in the middle of it was the unconscious form of Harmon Rabb Jr.
"Harm!" she shouted and looked around for something to put out the fire. There was nothing. The blaze grew hot enough to make her skin bead with sweat and the air shimmered.
"Harm, get up." she shouted at him as she found a heavy blanket and pulled it over her head. She braved the flames and moved towards her stricken partner. She knelt down beside him and turned him over.
But she was too late. Burning steel fell from the ceiling.
Mac woke with a start, her body covered in a sheen of sweat as if she had just faced the fire of her nightmare. She looked around her tiny motel room before forcing herself to take deep calming breaths.
She flopped back on to her pillow before she took a look at the wristwatch she had on the nightstand. It read 4:37 and as it was still dark outside, it had to be morning.
Mac sighed as she tried to get back to sleep, and couldn't. Instead she hugged one of the pillows tightly to her body as she lay awake in the dark.
oxoxoxo
Harm entered the lobby of the motel the Navy had put him and Mac in and saw Mac already waiting for him. He didn't know how she managed to do it, to be so alert and so ready to go so early in the morning, while also appearing so stunning the rest of the day, whereas he needed coffee to just get his motor running.
Mac was leafing through one of the magazines that lay about when she saw him enter.
"You're 11 minutes late." she said as she put down the article about holidaying in sunny Australia.
He checked his watch. "Ten." he said smugly as they exited to the parking lot.
"Eleven." she corrected without batting an eye. "You probably dropped a minute when you reset your watch."
He checked his watch and fixed the discrepancy. He'd learn to trust her innate sense of timing. Trust and rely on. "Probably." he said as he reset his watch on their way to the car.
"UPS overnight for you." she said, handing him a brick sized paper box. "From La Jolla?" she asked as he opened it.
"The tapes. I had my mom send them." Inside the package was about ten or so music cassettes. "God, I haven't heard these since I was a kid."
"Let me guess. Billy Joel? Kris Kross? Kenny Rogers?" Mac made fun of him as she threw the car into gear.
"These are letter tapes from my father." he said putting in one of them into the tape deck.
Harm's father's voice filled the car cabin, "Morning, Trish. At least, it's morning here on the South China Sea. Hot and muggy."
"My mom cassetted the tapes my dad sent her from the Hornet in '66." Harm explained, his face revealing he was already halfway down memory lane.
"Booney and I just flew CAP for some A-6s visiting Uncle Ho." Harm's father continued.
"Booney?" Mac asked.
"My dad's wingman. Tom Boone."
"The CAG on the Seahawk?" Mac asked and he nodded.
"We're gonna grab some shut eye soon, but I wanted to make this first. I wish I had the time to do this more often but... well the Reds aren't rescheduling their missions to my convenience. At least they stay home whenever it gets too wet."
Mac saw the smile on Harm's face and could almost imagine it mirrored his dad's as he said those words.
"How's my boy? I hope you're playing these tapes so he won't forget my voice."
Harm looked down guiltily. He hadn't listened to these tapes in years... since he was 16. Since too long ago, and not too long ago he had trouble remembering what his own father sounded like.
"Trish, I gotta cut this short to make the mail. There's so much I want to say... so much we have to..."
Harm Senior's voice cut off, obviously struggling to find words, or to choke back emotion. A second later he was back on, his voice once more strong and clear.
"Give our son a big hug and a kiss for me. I miss you dearly. I'll be home soon. I love you guys."
Harm ejected the tape. "That was recorded on the Hornet near the end of his first tour in '66. He came back from that one."
Mac heard the tone in his voice. Plaintive. Resigned. Afraid. Hopeful. "You're still hoping he's alive." Mac said.
"The chances are 10 million-to-1 against it, Mac." he said. "Still someone always wins the lottery, don't they?"
Mac nodded. She didn't have the heart to tell him that someone always did win the lottery. But more times than not, there was no winner.
oxoxoxo
"Single blow to the back of the head with a heavy blunt object." the middle-aged medical examiner said as he explained the cause of death for the sailor found inside the Hornet's void to Harm and Mac.
"Like a steel rod or a hammer?" Harm asked.
The ME contemplated both scenarios a second before answering, "Not a hammer, wound is oblique in shape. Maybe a rod, or another tool." he said before continuing, "Preliminary examination indicates that the deceased was a Caucasian male between 25 and 30 years of age."
Harm picked up a piece of cloth already bagged in clear plastic from one of the tables.
"Oh, that was found clutched in his right hand." the coroner said as he examined more of the skeletal remains.
"Clutched in a skeleton's hand?" Mac asked.
"Yes. You see, as the flesh deteriorated, the bones maintained their position." the doctor reenacted the pose most likely the victim adopted in his final moments. "Well, I'd say that he was clutching it when he died."
Harm turned the evidence over in his hand and saw velcro bands on the underside of the patch, "The South Vietnamese wore patches velcroed to the front of their flight jackets. How about if, in a struggle, our lieutenant snatched this off his murderer's jacket?"
"Oh, that's possible." the ME confirmed.
Mac found a watch in the stainless steel kidney tray. "I assume this was found with the remains?"
"Yes, around his left wrist. Guess your man here was not a southpaw."
Harm looked at the wristwatch, "Looks like a "Go to hell" watch."
"What's a "Go to hell" watch?" Mac asked him.
"It was standard issue to combat flight crews. No names or inscriptions in case they were captured. Should be a serial number, though."
Mac turned the watch around. "There is. Maybe we can trace it."
"You keep records that far back?" the county coroner asked, surprised.
"Hey, this is the Navy, doc." Harm smirked, "We have Popeye's enlistment papers on record somewhere. Big question is... where?"
oxoxoxo
2100 ZULU
NAVY ARCHIVES
WASHINGTON, D.C.
"Federal stock number Delta-3684. Lot number 4, 58771." Bud read out the serial number from the 'Go to Hell' watch the Commander had provided over the phone. He was on the floor surrounded by boxes and boxes of records about the USS Hornet.
With him, equally surrounded by boxes herself was Ensign Harriet Sims, the woman who one of these days would finally get a chance to have dinner with Bud... that is if he ever finished with this investigation.
"Five-eight-seven-seven-one." Harriet checked and exclaimed. "I found it."
Bud scooted closer to her, "Now, we're looking for serial number 19293..."
"Three-seven." she completed the string of numbers. "I know, Bud." she said with a sigh.
Bud realized he was being a bad boyfriend and turned to her "Oh, you're terrific, Harriet."
"Not so terrific." she said with a pout even as her fingers searched through musty files.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, if I were so terrific, you wouldn't be dating girls like Millie." she said more than a little testily.
"I'm not dating Millie. Or anyone else, except you."
She looked up at him, "So does this mean we're exclusive?"
"Exclusive?" Bud asked.
"Guess not." Harriet said and Bud realized that he was now sitting next to a nuclear time bomb about to explode. He quickly moved to diffuse the situation.
"No, Harriet. We are. I mean, we're only... or I am at least... with you."
"What do you mean 'I am at least?' Are you saying I'm playing the field?" she glared at him.
"No. I don't mean that. Just that you're pretty enough to have any guy... I don't know why you'd choose me."
That admission blurted out diffused the Harriet bomb immediately. "Why wouldn't I choose you, Bud? You're funny, kind, an excellent kisser..."
"Harriet..." Bud blushed furiously.
Harriet continued as she searched the files, "Besides you're... number 192937."
"What?" Bud stared at her in shock. He was Number 192937?
Harriet picked up the file they were looking for and showed it to him. "The file, Bud. Serial number 192937."
"Oh, the file!" Bud sighed in relief as he grabbed the file and scanned it quickly, "Issued to a Lieutenant Brian Tate on September 13th..."
oxoxoxo
2204 ZULU
USS HORNET
NAVAL AIR BASE ALAMEDA, CALIFORNIA
"... 1974." Mac reported to her JAG partner as they waited outside their car on the pier where the old ship was docked. "He's our skeleton, Harm. He was listed as missing at sea on April 30, 1975."
Harm knew that date by heart. "That's the day Saigon fell. Lots of confusion that day, I'm surprised anybody noticed him missing that quickly. Who made the report?"
Mac checked, "... His wife, Phan Thi Hoa."
"She could have gotten a Skoshi Tigers patch..."
"I doubt it." Mac looked up from the file she had open on the hood of the car. "She reported him missing in San Diego. She's an American citizen, has been since she was eight."
"So you're saying..."
"The date Brian disappeared may be one the Navy investigator made up, just so they could close the case."
"Damn it." Harm cussed before checking the time. "Hey, wasn't Falcon supposed to meet us here at 1300?"
"He's six minutes late." Mac confirmed without looking at her watch.
Harm folded his arms across his chest, "Look, tell Bud to fax Lieutenant Tate's dental records to the Alameda medical examiner and see if there's a refugee list in the Hornet's records."
"Refugee list?"
"Someone wore a Skoshi Tigers patch when they tangled with the Lieutenant. Any US serviceman wearing one of those would have gotten a lot of strange looks. That only leaves..."
"Vietnamese passengers." Mac saw where he was going with that thought. "But Harm, Bud's been at it nonstop for 32 hours and 24 minutes."
He quirked an eyebrow at her. "How do you do that?"
"My mother's Swiss." she said glibly and was rewarded with a heart-stopping grin.
"Okay, after he faxes the dental records and does a refugee search, he can hit the rack for a couple hours."
"Should he also do KP and run the Gauntlet while he's at it?" Mac said teasingly.
"Mac, he's a Naval Officer, he's pulled double shifts before. We all have."
"Yeah, and I can tell you I have some pretty choice words about that even now. But okay, what else?"
"When he's back at it, tell him to see if the Hornet suffered any hull damage in '75."
"Hull damage?" Mac asked as she jotted down the note.
"Yeah. If she had hull damage, they might have opened the void to repair it." Harm explained.
Mac's face lit up. "That'll give us timeline! That's brilliant, Harm."
"Oh, suddenly I'm not an ogre?" he grinned.
"I never said you were." she said back, her gaze shying away from his.
"No, but you were thinking it pretty loud." Harm said as he grabbed his walkman.
"Hey, where are you going?" Mac asked.
He looked back at her as he pulled on headphones, "I'm taking a walk with my dad."
oxoxoxo
Harm walked the flight deck of the old aircraft carrier, his father's voice keeping him company on his trip down memory lane.
"Hi, Trish. I've got the day off and thought I'd give you and Harm a tour of the Hornet at sea. I'm standing on the flight deck where we're launching Corsairs."
Harm stared out at the view. It was empty and quiet now but it was impossible not to imagine the sight of jets blasting off this small piece of tarmac in the ocean. Even now, the smell of jet fuel rose from every pore of the ship, smelling as foul and fresh as the day it was spilt.
"I wish you could see how beautiful this is. Here goes the first one." Harmon Rabb Sr. said just before the loud roar of a Corsair taking to the sky temporarily drowned out his voice.
After several seconds, Harm Sr. could be heard again, "You can't possibly hear me over all this noise. So I'm going inside where I can talk without shouting."
Harm retraced his father's steps based on the tapes. He entered the hangar deck, the same one his father had stepped into over thirty years ago.
"Here we are on the hangar deck, Trish. It's not nearly as noisy as topside, even though it's busier than hell. Pardon my French if Harm's hearing this."
"I don't know what news they're showing back home, but there's nothing to worry about. We're doing better than they want us to believe, and the squadron's still got a perfect attendance record, so looks like you'll be stuck with me for the time being, Trish."
Harm paused at the top of the stairs. He heard the happiness in his father's voice but there was something else. Relief perhaps. Fatigue definitely. As light and easy as Harm Sr. sounded, it was clear he was putting on a brave front for mom.
Taking a deep breath, he made his way down the steep steps. Where something hit him from behind and gravity pulled him down the rest of the way.
Harm landed hard, his eyes tearing up instantly as pain shot through his body. Harm though saw movement - a man, a shape looking down at him... a tall man in khaki gear. Harm squinted and as unconsciousness started to close in, he made out faint details. Faint but familiar details.
"Dad?" Harm called out as his world grew dark.
Continued in Next Chapter
AN: Wouldn't mind hearing your thoughts about the episode so far :)