Title: A TRIP TO AFGHANISTAN (Part I)
Category: AD/R
Author: Piper86
Email: improvkris@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13 for violence
Classification: Harm/Mac pairing, JAG story
Spoilers: Enemy Below, and a little bit of Lifeline
Summary: This fanfic is my first...so please be gentle. I wrote it in response to a challenge on the Rose Garden message board: Write a Fanfic called "A Trip to Afghanistan" It must include Taliban, terrorists, and a nice Harm/Mac conversation.

Well, I tried.

Disclaimer: I am not now, nor have I ever been a character thief. These characters belong to D. Bellesario and all his ships at sea. I am merely passing through the waters, causing a wave or two.

Also, as far as I know this idea is original. If this story mirrors someone else's, please accept my sincere apologies and my word that it was completely unintentional.

Feedback is welcome, flaming is not. If you think this story sucks, let me just apologize now and we can call it good. :)


Sarah "Mac" MacKenzie leaned back against the wall...the desert heat already emanating from it. The morning sun was just now reaching the one small window in the room. Sighing heavily, she pressed her head back against the wall and surveyed their temporary prison one more time. Obviously a supply shed of some kind, designed for security over comfort. The window too small to crawl through, and too high to reach successfully. The heavy wooden door securely locked from the outside, with what sounded like an iron slide bolt. And she was sure there were armed guards on the other side. The dirt floor was packed hard, as her aching backside reminded her when she shifted. Slowly she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She glanced over at the unconscious man sprawled on top of the wooden bunk in the corner. Harmon Rabb Jr. had not moved since their captors deposited him there a few hours before. She watched his chest rise and fall, relieved that he was breathing steadily. She only wished he would wake...

Mac pressed her forehead against her knees, and closed her eyes. How? How had they let themselves get into this mess?

"Damn you, Webb" she whispered through clenched teeth. Once more, he had goaded them into helping him. Once more, they were in danger because of it. Her mind flashed back to the days following Bud's injury in the minefield. She and Harm had been aboard the Patrick Henry when the radio call came in. The Captain immediately called the both of them to the bridge, to inform them of what had happened. She had been stunned, gripping the nearest console for support. She looked at Harm, and saw the color drained from his face as well.

Both had been in tears as they watched the helo bring Bud back from the field. He was unconscious, his right leg blown off at the knee. They stayed with him in sickbay, but he slipped into a coma and had not come out of it by the time they airlifted him off the ship. All she and Harm could do was stand and watch him go.

There were many phone calls to the Admiral and Harriet, seeking information and to provide comfort. Bud was now in the best hands possible at Bethesda. Harm and Mac both felt helpless being so far away. They wanted to be able to help. And two weeks after Bud left, Clayton Webb had seemed to provide them with the perfect opportunity.

He had met with the two of them privately in the ship's ready room.

"We have it on good authority that there is a band of Taliban fighters holed up very near where Bud was blown...um, hit." Clay had said with his usual earnestness. "We need to pinpoint their exact location, without alerting them to our presence, so we can flush them out."

She and Harm had exchanged glances. They could sense what was coming.

"Mac, with your knowledge of Farsi and the culture..." Clay began.

"Hang on, Webb," Harm interrupted, "There's NO WAY you are sending Mac into this."

"Keep your shirt on, Rabb" Webb countered, "She won't be going in alone."

Webb had then outlined their cover stories. Harm would go in as a Red Cross ambassador, assessing the war's toll on the Afghan civilians. Mac would pass as his Farsi guide.

"Clay, the Afghan culture is very restrictive of women. How will they buy me being a guide for Harm? They will suspect us right off the bat..." She had meant it to just be a tactical question, but she couldn't help the sarcasm that seeped out with her words.

Webb had merely smiled back at her, having anticipated this question. "We have an Afghan agent who will pose as Mac's brother. Anyone questioning you will see that Mac is serving at her brother's pleasure. No problem."

Right then, she knew now, she should have said HELL NO. Anytime Clayton Webb said "No problem", the opposite was sure to be true...

Harm moved slightly on the bunk, groaning. The sound snapped her back to the present. She got up stiffly, gingerly walking over and sitting beside him. She leaned over him, brushing the dirt from his face. One of her hands tenderly felt the back of his head, where the Taliban fighter had hit him with the butt of his rifle. There was a nasty bump, and some dried blood clung to his hair. He moaned again.

"That's it Harm ... wake up. Come back to me."

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh man ... did you get the number of that truck?" he mumbled.

She couldn't help but smile a little. "Yeah, I'll report it to the DMV in the morning."

He slowly turned over, now lying on his side and looking up at her. Her had slid from his wound to the back of his neck, stroking it softly. She smiled down at him.

"You sure know how to scare a girl, flyboy" she whispered.

"How long was I out?"

"Six hours and twenty-three minutes."

"Damn. Do you think we had enough time to transmit those coordinates to Webb before they took us? Whooaaaa ..." Harm tried to sit up, then thought the better of it as the small room started to grow and shrink before his eyes. He lay down on his back, shielding his eyes.

"Just rest, Harm. There's not much else we can do right now. If Webb got our coordinates, he should be here with the cavalry in no more than eight hours and fourteen minutes."

"Are you EVER going to tell me how you do that?"

She touched his cheek, letting her fingers trace his jaw line for just a moment.

"Maybe someday, if you're good..."

He closed his eyes again, smiling, and soon drifted off to sleep. Mac continued to sit next to him, her hand gently resting on his chest, feeling him breathe. She felt the warmth wash over her again: the wonderful feeling she got being this close to Harm. She allowed herself one brief pleasure, leaning down and resting the side of her face on his chest. The strong, slow beat of his heart calmed her. Reassured her. There would be a way out. She just had to find it.
Her eyes closed, and she flashed back to the night before, when they had found their objective. Her "brother" Ahmal, Harm and she had been talking with local villagers about humanitarian supplies, when some had mentioned armed men patrolling the surrounding hillsides. The trio had dug a little deeper, and been told of a small scattering of abandoned buildings further up among the rocks.

Late that afternoon, they made their plans to go up into the hills. If caught, they would explain that the Red Cross ambassador had wanted to search for displaced villagers in the hills. They were going out at night, and would explain that darkness came on faster than they anticipated, slowing their return to the village below.

Mac let out a short, hard laugh. Well, it had seemed like a good plan ...
They ran into a pair of Taliban patrollers shortly after midnight. At gunpoint, Ahmal and Mac had begun their explanations. She figured her accent must have been good enough: combined with her complexion, they never once thought she was anything but Afghani. The soldiers held a heated discussion before making a decision. They pointed guns directly at Harm's chest and ordered the three to move.

They trudged on in the dark, hands raised. Thirty-nine minutes later, Mac had spotted campfires. She and Harm exchanged one glance. In a flash, they had both turned on their captors, knocking them to the ground. Harm wrestled with them as Ahmal joined in, while Mac grabbed her cell phone and GPS. She dialed Webb, who thankfully answered on the first ring.

Mac read off the coordinates as fast and quietly as she could, knowing the commotion would bring other soldiers any minute. She hadn't had time to confirm Webb received her information. After reading the last number to him, she heard boots running over the rocks. She clicked off the cell phone, and scrambled for some nearby rocks. Her hands scraped a hole in the sand and loose rock, and she buried the phone and GPS in it. She frantically covered the hole again and smoothed the ground.

She turned around in time to see Ahmal withdraw his long knife from the chest of one of the soldiers. The other already had a dark stain spreading across his front, and she knew Ahmal had done the same to him. Harm had rolled away and was sitting up a few feet from him. She ran to Ahmal, who still had the knife in his hand. At that moment, a dozen Taliban fighters came up out of the rocks, pointing their weapons at the three. Ahmal and Mac immediately started speaking in Farsi.

"Don't shoot, don't shoot...we have the Red Cross with us"

Mac opened her eyes, focusing on Harm's sleeping face. She really didn't want to remember the rest, but it all came crashing down around her.

The Taliban had marched them to their camp, only a few yards away. They had all been searched, and Mac was thankful the only things they found were Ahmal's knife, and a notebook Harm had used to write down Red Cross information. Their covers seemed to be intact.

The band's leader questioned both she and Ahmal. Extensively. She never left Ahmal's side, determined to keep their cover. Harm could only watch helplessly, unable to understand any of what was being said. Mac's heart sunk when one of the soldiers placed Ahmal's knife on the table in front of everyone, and pointing at Ahmal began to speak in a language other than Farsi.

A few seconds later, they were dragging Ahmal towards the door. Harm leaped out of his chair, trying to help, only to have a gun smashed into the back of his head. She heard the sickening crack on his skull, and watched as his body crumpled to the ground. She and Harm had been brought to this tiny room, and she had not seen or heard Ahmal since then.

She sensed a change in Harm's breathing, bringing her back to the present. She lifted her head off his chest, and he seemed to settle down again. She brushed her lips across his forehead before rising from the bunk and going to stand under the window. Maybe, just maybe, she could lift herself up and at least see outside.

She overturned the bucket that had been thrown in for their use, and placed it under the window. She jumped up, catching her fingers on the ledge. Using her feet and arms, she slowly pulled herself up. She got about halfway up before her strength gave out and she crashed to the floor. Determined, she got back up and tried again. And again.

By the fifth try, she was angry. The adrenalin pumping through her pushed her over the edge, and she finally was able to peer out the window. What she saw horrified her.

"Ahmal!!!"

He was being dragged out of the building next to theirs. He had been beaten so severely, she could not see one spot of skin that was not covered with ugly bruises. Blood trickled from his mouth. His legs were bent at awkward angles, suggesting they were both broken. His captors strung him up, hanging him by his bound wrists from a post. Two of them proceeded to club his chest with long, thick sticks. She could almost hear his ribs cracking.

She dropped back to the floor, her heart slamming in her chest. Oh god, oh god, oh god. She looked over at Harm. Desperation washed over her at the thought of him being taken to the same fate. She had to get him out of here. She had to save him.

The door opened. The leader stepped into the room. He stared at Mac for what seemed like an eternity, then went to the bunk and roughly shook Harm awake.
She watched Harm try to focus, and when he did she saw his look of surprise that they were no longer alone.

The leader started to speak to Mac in Farsi. "I regret to inform you that your brother is dead. We only wanted him to give us truthful answers to our questions, but he refused to cooperate. I know there is more to your story than what he told us. I intend to find out what it is."

He paused, expecting Mac to translate to Harm. Her mind racing, she told Harm that Ahmal had escaped during the night. She saw no reason to tell him what she'd seen outside.

"What I think is that you and your brother were using this man. I think you are traitors working for the enemy. I think this Red Cross man was just the excuse you needed to come looking for us. Perhaps to learn of our plans, report them to the puppet government." His icy stare bore straight through Mac. Again he paused.

Mac swallowed hard. She told Harm that they had soldiers out looking for Ahmal,
and the leader was confident they would find him. She watched Harm nod.

"Since your brother would not tell us the truth, it falls to you to do the honorable thing. Tell me the truth. Tell me who sent you here, and I will release you with this man. If you continue to hide the truth from me..." his calm, measured words chilled her to the bone.

"You have one hour. I will give you that time to mourn your brother. When I return, I will expect you to cooperate." He left the room, the heavy door slamming shut. Mac closed her eyes and listened to the heavy bolt slide into place. Sealing them in. Sealing her fate.

"Mac, what is it? What did he say before he left?" Harm's voice came from behind her.

She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Their cover hadn't been blown. She had a chance to save Harm. If she kept to her cover, he would be released as an unwitting pawn. And she knew she would meet the same fate as Harm. If she broke, then he would most certainly be killed with her. One hour. Fifty-eight minutes left.

Her internal clock already had the stopwatch ticking.

"Mac??" She turned at the sound of his voice to find him sitting at the edge of the bunk. She crossed over to him, kneeling on the floor in front of him. Their eyes level.

"Mac, what did he mmmf?" his words muffled as she pressed her fingers to his lips.

"Harm ... stop. Just stop. Please." Her left hand came to rest on the top of his right thigh. She moved her fingers from his lips, allowing them to trace the side of his face, then cupped it in her right hand.

I have to do this, she thought to herself. I have to save him.

She slowly took his face in both hands, searching it with her eyes. Trying to memorize every line, every feature. She felt his hands on her forearms, rubbing them slowly, gently.

"Webb will get us out of here, Mac. I know you got the coordinates to him. I just know it."

"Yes, I'm sure Webb will get here," she whispered. Just not in time for me, she said to herself.

"Harm, I ... I have so much to say to you."

"I know. Me too. But there's time for that once we're out of here."

She didn't let him stop her. She couldn't, not this time. "When Bud was hurt, I was wracked with guilt. All my talk about going out in a blaze of glory, guns blazing, Butch and Sundance, I was so, so stupid. Bud made me realize I don't want to die like that. And I don't ... I can't live the way I have been.

Harm, I am in love with you. I love you. I have for so long, you are a part of who I am. I can't imagine existing without you." Tears rolled down her cheeks. She could feel him pulling her closer.

"Oh, Mac ... Sarah," Harm breathed her name like a prayer, wrapping her in his arms, burying his face in her neck.

Her arms were pinned against his chest, her head over his shoulder. She felt him speak the words into her skin, his lips moving over her neck. "Oh Sarah ... I love you too ... so much"

She closed her eyes, laughing through her tears. She turned and kissed the side of his head, then pushed on his chest to pull them a little apart. She looked directly into his eyes, seeing just as much love reflected there as there was in hers. She drank in his gaze, wanting to take as much strength from his love as she could, for what was to come.

He took her face in his hands, thumbs brushing away her tears. Leaning towards each other, their lips met. Passion flooded through her as she felt him hungrily devour her mouth. His tongue probed her lips, and she opened her mouth to him. Both started to breathe harder.

Her hands pressed on his shoulders, as they had over a year ago on the Admiral's porch...the heat of the kiss building as it had back then. She had been the one to end it, and now she recalled bitterly the words that she had spoken

"We're getting too good at saying goodbye."

She felt a chill at those remembered words, then pushed the memory away and renewed her assault on his mouth. When they both finally had to come up for air, she pressed the side of her face against his, speaking softly into his ear.

"I love you. I love you. Oh Harm, always know that. Always remember."

Just then they heard the bolt on the door slide back. They separated, and Mac stood to meet the leader entering the room.

"Now. Will you cooperate?"

Mac turned to look at Harm, then back at the leader. She slowly shook her head.

Rage crossed the man's face. He raised his hand and struck her hard across the face, sending her sprawling onto the floor. Harm was off the bunk in a second, kneeling beside her. She could taste the blood in her mouth.

Two soldiers pulled her to her feet and dragged her out into the corridor. She heard Harm yelling for her, desperate.

She was brought to the same building where they'd kept Ahmal. His blood was still evident on the walls and the wood floor. She was ready. She had saved him. He would be all right. It was worth it.

The pain soon became overwhelming. Blow after blow to her arms and legs. Screaming in her ear. Demanding to know everything she was hiding.

He would be all right. He knew she loved him. It was worth it.

A fist ramming into her stomach, making it hard to breathe. A boot stomping on her hand, bones crunching, her screams piercing the air.

Farsi. Only Farsi. You are Afghani. Not American. Must ... protect ... him.

Pulling her out of the chair. Face pressing into the wall. The back of her clothing being ripped. A razor blade scoring her skin. Blood dripping from the angry welts.

Worth it. Save him. Love him.

Throwing her onto the floor, the wood burning the gaping wounds on her back. More boots, kicking her ribs. Questions, demands hurling at her from above.

His face. Every line. Every feature. I love ...

Shouting, gunfire. Boots running across the floor, outside. More gunfire. Silence.

She lay in a heap on the floor, where the force of the last kick had shoved her. Burning pain every time she breathed, which she did out of sheer force of will.

Webb. Made it. Harm safe.

Her thoughts were barely coming at all now. Her body was wracked with a coughing spell, and she spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor. The pain exploded through her back. She didn't have the strength to move.

Boots entering the room. A man crying out, dropping to his knees beside her. Cradling her in his arms. Harm.

"Oh god, oh god Sarah!" he didn't know where to hold her without hurting her. His forearms covered in blood from her back.

Her voice faint, weak "Can't anymore ... can't"

"Sarah please, hang on ..."

Almost a whisper, "No ... blaze ... of glory ... just ... for ... love. Kept ... ... you ... ... safe ... worth it"

"You're NOT going anywhere Marine, you hear me?!! You're stuck with me for a long, long time. I love you and I'm not letting you go."

Blackness swirled around her, finally creeping over her. With a last spurt of strength, she raised one hand and stroked it down his face.

" ... ... ... love ... ... ... ... you ... ... ... ... ... "

Her body went limp in his arms. He cradled her to his chest, rocking her and sobbing. Lifting his head, he poured out all his anger and grief in her name

"MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAC!!!!!!!!!!"