25
Monday 12 March 2001, 0758hrs EST, Sergeant Major's Office, MCCDC, Marine Corps Base Quantico, VA, (121258zMar01)
Sergeant Major Michael Conlan kept his face impassive as he stared across the desk at the Sergeant who had just reported in, but as he looked at her he could feel his guts writhing in disgust. Another Goddam Squatter! What the hell were those political weenies on Capitol Hill doing to his Corps? There was no place for women in the USMC as far as Michael Conlan was concerned. It might work out OK for squids, grunts and zoomies, but in the Corps, every Marine was a rifleman, and sometimes that meant looking the enemy in the eye and fixing a bayonet to a rifle and using the goddam thing! How the hell was a Barbie doll like the one facing him now, ever going to have the balls to use her bayonet on an enemy? She wouldn't; and that would most likely mean she'd get some real marine killed trying to save her worthless ass.
For chrissakes, the mission here at MCCDC was to prepare units for combat in Iraqistan this week, but who knew where next week? His cadre had their hands full dealing with the units rotating through, they didn't have time to spare for making sure that the MCCDC support staff were fit for role as Marines. That was why he'd had to take matters into his own hands in the first place
He scanned Sergeant Pierce's orders and SRB a second time. A goddam computer geek on top of everything else. In other words a goddam waste of rations.
"Corporal Sinclair!"
"Sergeant Major!" The Corporal shot through the door like a jack-rabbit.
"Corporal, point the Sergeant in the direction of H&S Company."
"Yes, Sergeant Major!"
"Dismissed, Sergeant!"
"Aye, aye, Sergeant Major!" Meg replied smartly, carrying out a text book about face and marching out of the office.
Corporal Sinclair was waiting for her at the main door to the building, "H&S Company is on Barrow and Wilson, Sergeant," he told her, pointing to the right. Wilson is maybe half a mile down here on the left."
"Thank you Corporal," Meg said as she placed her cover on her head and stepped down onto the sidewalk, and along to her car. Slipping behind the steering wheel, she released her breath in a long, slow sigh. Although the Sergeant Major had been formally correct, he hadn't seemed particularly welcoming, and Meg had felt waves of hostility rolling off him, much like the winter breakers she had seen crashing onto the beach at Hookipa. While Meg didn't know what exactly lay ahead of her, she had the feeling that this investigation was going to be tough as well as interesting.
Sergeant Major Conlan watched the latest addition to his unit's roster leave; despite the near perfect drill movement, he had decided to find fault with it. Not only was she a goddamm woman, she wasn't properly squared away, but then again, none of them were. With an expression that seemed to mingle disgust and despair, he picked up his phone.
He waited for only three rings on the other end of the line before it was picked up, "H&S Company, First Sergeant Santiago, sir!"
"First Sergeant, this is Sergeant Major Conlan. Your new E-5, Pierce, is on her way to you now. I've checked her SRB and her PFT is in date… but… I'm not totally happy that she is up to MCCDC standards. She's a shiny-ass Data Network Tech, headed for the HQ Records centre. Have one of the cadre put her through her paces this afternoon… say at seventeen hundred hours."
First Sergeant Rodrigo Santiago, allowed himself the indulgence of a tight-lipped grin, "Yes, Sergeant Major!"
"Thank you, First Sergeant, you know what's expected, and I know you won't let me down!"
"No, Sergeant Major!"
Following the Corporal's directions Meg had no difficulty in finding the H&S Company Headquarters building, and with purse hanging in regulation manner from her left shoulder, she walked briskly up the steps to the main door, just as it opened to let two 1st Lieutenants exit the building, Meg's hurried step back as the three avoided a collision gave her the chance to avoid falling foul of protocol, as she belatedly remembered that in her current role it was she who must salute all officers, even junior officers, rather than the other way around.
Stepping through the door into the general office, Meg removed her cover and looked around. It was, as she'd expected spotlessly clean and the linoleum floor covering was polished to a high gloss. There were two work stations in the room, one manned by a PFC, the other by a Corporal, who on seeing her, stood to attention and asked, "How may I help you, Sergeant?"
"Sergeant Pierce, reporting on transferring in," Meg replied easily.
"Do you have your orders, Sergeant?"
Meg produced her orders and the certified copy of her SRB, and handed them to the Corporal, who name tag on his BDUs identified him as Corporal Le Blanc, and whose accent identified him as coming from the Deep South. With name and accent as evidence, Meg was almost willing to wager that he was from Louisiana. Wherever he was from, Corporal Le Blanc, disappeared through a door in the far wall but returned in under a minute, holding the door open, "First Sergeant Santiago will see you now, Sergeant!"
Meg marched into the Company First Sergeant's domain, again a spotlessly clean but austerely functional room. The only items to be seen other than a desk were a facsimile of a Marine Corps Standard on one wall, and a year-planner covering most of the other wall and which appeared to have the name of every member of H&S Company listed down one side of the chart.
Santiago, as his name suggested was of obvious Hispanic descent, in his mid to late thirties, and looking every inch the United States Marine, from his buzz-cut hair to his spit-shone boots, his chest strained against the material of his uniform – like every other Marine Meg had seen this morning, he was dressed in BDUs - and in defiance of regulations his uniform appeared to be starched.
Santiago remained seated as Meg halted in from of his desk, refusing to acknowledge her presence until he'd read her orders and glanced through the copy of her SRB. Once he'd finished with her documentation he looked up, "You're out of uniform, Sergeant!"
Meg blinked in surprise. She and the Gunny had carefully gone through the joining process for MCCDU which showed quite clearly that personnel transferred in were to report in the Bravo uniforms, but realising that protest would be at best useless, and at worst counter-productive, Meg contented herself with a "Yes, First Sergeant. Sorry First Sergeant!"
Santiago emitted a non-committal grunt. "Will you be living in BEH or have you made other arrangements?"
"BEH, initially, First Sergeant – just until I have time to find an apartment within commuting distance and within financial range.
"You have personal transportation?"
"Yes, First Sergeant!"
He eyed her disfavourably, "Right. Make sure that the vehicle," – he pronounced it vee-hickle, complies with all base requirements. You'll be in Twelve Platoon. Get Corporal Le Blanc to show you where their barrack is. Your Gunnery Sergeant is Gunny Foster, and your Platoon Leader is 1st Lieutenant Mitchell, the Company Commander is Captain Young."
"Report to Gunnery Sergeant Foster now and then get your ass back here at eleven hundred hours – in the uniform of the day! Understood?"
"Yes, First Sergeant!"
Meg about faced and re-entered the main office, where she was met by a sympathetic grin from Corporal Le Blanc. Whew, she whistled silently to herself, they sure know how to make a gal feel welcome around here!
Monday 12 March 2001, 0753hrs EST, JAG Ops Bull Pen, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, (121253zMar01)
Harm raised an interrogative eyebrow as he seated himself behind his desk, and indicated with a wave of his hand that his visitor should be seated.
"Uh… thank you, sir, but I'd rather stand…"
Harm had been about to offer his visitor a coffee, but Williams' reply and a certain nervousness emanating from the younger officer gave him pause. "You said you had a question for me," he said slowly, "I'm not going to like it, am I?"
Williams shifted nervously from foot to foot. "No, sir. And please believe me when I say I don't like asking it!"
Harm nodded resignedly, "Go ahead, Commander, shilly-shallying isn't going to make it any easier."
"Sir, My wife and I took leave this weekend in Charlottesville, and we stayed at the Boar's Head, Inn. While we were dining on Friday night, I saw you in company with a lady, whom I thought I recognised as being a member of the Navy. Sir, bearing in mind the provisions of US Navy Regulations paragraph, 1137, concerning the Obligation to Report Offenses; I have to ask you, sir, whether I witnessed an offence that evening under the provisions of paragraph 1165 of those same regulations, sir."
Harm gave the younger officer a look of cold dislike. "In short, Commander, you are asking me whether or not my and my companion's presence at the Boar's Head that evening constituted an act of fraternisation?"
"Yes, sir." Williams licked his lips nervously and wished that he had taken his wife's advice and let drop the whole matter.
Harm stood, and crossing his office opened the door, "Come here, Commander," he said very quietly, indicating the now dispersing knot of female personnel, "Do you recognise anyone in that gathering?"
Williams looked, but a woman's appearance could change drastically with her clothing and her hairstyle, and he had, after all, only a few moments' sight of the Commander's companion. He was about to say that he didn't recognise anyone, when Loren looked across the bull-pen, saw Harm and smiled.
"Yes sir, I do. I recognise the Lieutenant as the lady who was with you on Friday…"
"Good!" Harm said still civilly although his anger was coming to a roiling boil, "Lieutenant Singer!" he called out, "Could you spare us a moment, please?"
Loren quirked an eyebrow and excused herself to Carolyn Imes before crossing the bull-pen, "Sir?" she inquired.
"Lieutenant, would you mind explaining to Lieutenant Commander Williams here, what it was we did this morning when we reported for duty?"
Loren look from one officer to the other, her brows creased in puzzled confusion, and the colour rising to her cheeks, "We… we went to see the Admiral, sir," she said.
"To what end?"
"To… to inform him that we… of our engagement, sir," Loren replied, now seriously concerned.
"And what did the Admiral have to say to our announcement?"
"He congratulated us… told us to keep it out of the office… and that he would have to start the ball rolling and look for a reassignment for one of us, sir!"
"Thank you, Lieutenant," Harm said, "I'll explain it all to you at lunch, OK?"
"Yes, OK, Ha…sir." A now very worried Loren answered, her eyes clouding over as Harm turned to the other officer, and hissed, "Inside!"
The two of them stepped back into the officer and Harm closed the door and pausing only to close the blinds, he turned to Williams and in a low, menacing voice, said "Lock it up, Mister!"
Williams snapped to a braced position of attention, as Harm stood at his side at an angle of ninety degrees, his mouth no more than six inches from Williams ear. "Never, in my years as a naval officer, as an aviator nor as a JAG has anyone had the brass-necked nerve to impugn my integrity the way you have just done. And not only my integrity, but the integrity of the woman who has done me the honour of consenting to be my wife. The former slur, I might be inclined to forgive at some stage in the future, but the slur on Lieutenant Singer's reputation is not one that I am likely to forgive or forget so easily!"
"Sir, I…"
"Lock it up Mister! You are at attention!" Harm turned away from the junior officer, his hands shaking from the anger induced adrenalin that was coursing through his blood. "I suppose I ought to give you credit for coming to see me and asking me face to face, rather than submitting a report, or God help us all using that damned hot line. But to tell you the truth Lieutenant Commander Williams, I am not feeling in the slightest bit charitable at the moment. Now, I suggest you get the hell out of here, and crawl back under the rock from which you emerged. And thank God every day you breathe, Williams, that you are not in my direct chain of command. Do I make myself clear!"
"Sir, yes, sir!"
"Go on… get out," Harm said as he sank back in his chair. He waited for Williams to depart, before he slumped forward, his elbows on his desk, and his face buried in his hands. He hadn't been sat like that for many minutes, when a knock on his doorjamb and a tentative, "Sir?" made him drop his hands and look up.
Harriet Sims stood in the doorway, a concerned expression on her face and a mug of coffee in her hands, "Sir, I thought a coffee might help?"
"Do you really think so, Lieutenant?"
Harriet smiled gamely, "No, not really sir. But… it couldn't hurt…"
Harm managed a grim smile, "True, just leave it on the desk, please…" Harriet, still with a troubled look in her eyes did so and turned to leave the office, only to be halted by Harm's "And Harriet… thanks."
Harriet managed a half-smile of encouragement, and scurried back to her desk.
Harm, although in little need of the caffeine kick took a couple of sips from his mug before Carolyn Imes rapped on his doorjamb. "Coming to staff call?" she asked with her lazy smile.
Harm pushed himself to his feet, and picked up his brief case, "I suppose I better had," he said as he turned to accompany the other officer along the hall to the conference room.
"You'd better prepare yourself," Carolyn said after they had taken a few steps, "I'm pretty sure that the Admiral; is going to want some pointers."
"How do you mean?" Harm asked in quick concern.
"Well, I don't know what that Lieutenant Commander said to set you going, but although we couldn't hear exactly what you said to him, the volume was certainly impressive. That 'Do I make myself clear' may not actually have been the clearest I've ever heard it said, but it was probably the loudest!"
Harm winced, "Was it really that loud?"
"Well, they might not have heard you in Richmond, but I'd bet good money that folk on the Hill were asking when the storm was going to break."
Harm grinned and then chuckled, the patent nonsense that Carolyn had come out with had the effect of lifting his spirits, so it was still with a smile on his lips that he took his seat at the conference table, noting in surprise that Mac had taken her normal seat to the right of the Admiral's chair.
Seeing him sit opposite her, she scribbled briefly on a sheet of her legal pad and tearing the sheet off, pushed it across the table to him. Picking the sheet up, he saw the one word 'Congratulations,' in Mac's flowing script, and unable to prevent himself he looked up at her, an expression of questioning surprise on his face.
He thought she grinned, but with her jaw still wired it was difficult to tell, but her dark eyes seemed warm as they looked at him, and then using her right index finger she tapped her left ring finger and nodded down and across the table in Loren's direction.
Understanding dawned on Harm, and with a smile, he mouthed, "Thank you" at the Marine.
Monday 12 March 2001, 0900hrs EST, Conference Room, JAG HQ Building, Falls Church, VA, (121400zMar01)
Tiner's call of "Admiral on deck!" brought the assembled officers to their feet as A J Chegwidden entered the room saying as he did so, "As you were!" and then taking his seat. He glanced around the table, and it seemed to Harm that the Admiral's gaze rested a little longer and a little more piercingly on him than it did on anyone else, and he shifted somewhat uneasily on his chair.
"First things first," Chegwidden growled. "You all owe a debt to of gratitude to Colonel MacKenzie, who although on hospital leave has requested permission to return to work on light duties. She will be concerning herself with our usual overflow from LSO downstairs, thereby relieving the rest of you of a somewhat tedious but necessary chore."
He waited for the murmur of appreciation to die down, "Moving on… Commander Austin is now undercover at MCCDC Quantico in the persona of Sergeant Pierce. Commander Rabb, you will be running the parallel investigation at that place, starting tomorrow. Try not to piss off the entire Marine Corps…" he paused for the somewhat obligatory chuckle from his assembled officers, "And try not to blow her cover. Gunner Sergeant Galindez is also in the vicinity of Quantico, posing I believe, as Sergeant Pierce's boyfriend. So between the two of you I expect you to bring Commander Austin home in one piece!"
"Commander Imes: The Coulter case?"
Progressing well, sir. We're just waiting for a maintenance report from base housing at Norfolk to corroborate our theory. All witnesses – well three out of four are ready to testify."
"And the fourth?"
"He was the heating technician involved in the base housing maintenance; he's since retired from the navy and according to our latest information is living somewhere near Juneau… although 'near' is a relative term considering the population density of that state!"
Chegwidden nodded, "So, when do you expect to go to trial?"
Carolyn exchanged a glance with Loren, "A week from today?" Loren nodded her agreement.
Chegwidden made a note on his file, and grunted, "Very well, make it so! I'll speak to Admiral Morris. Now… Commander Mattoni: Have you anything to occupy yourself this week?"
"Two DDOs and a UA, sir, all three still in the initial stages of investigation, pre Article 32."
"H'mm… pass them off to Lieutenants Barlow and Roberts." He fixed the two junior officers with a steely stare. "Gentlemen, let's plead these out, we don't really need to be taking up the court's time with minor offences."
"With respect, sir. One of the DDOs isn't really minor…" Alan Mattoni interrupted.
"Oh? Tell me more," Chegwidden demanded as his face registered surprise.
"It's the Maxwell case, sir," Mattoni explained.
"Maxwell? I thought that charge was insubordination to a superior officer?"
"It was sir, but the convening authority has amended the schedule of charges, sir," Mattoni continued, sliding a sheet of paper up the table to be passed to the Admiral.
Chegwidden perched his glasses on the bridge of his nose and scanned the document, his colour rising as he did so, "Wrongful Co-habitation, Insubordination, Disobeying a Direct Order, Fraternisation?" his voice also rose in pitch as he read the charges. "What the hell?"
"Captain Maxwell is a Company Commander at 8th and I Street, sir. He has been sharing an apartment with a Lieutenant Maxwell USN, and because they have the same name, people have assumed that they are husband and wife, sir. Apparently at some stage the Maxwells became aware of this misunderstanding and did nothing to disabuse anyone of the mistake. That's the basis of the Wrongful Cohabiting charge.
"Are they living together as man and wife?" Chegwidden demanded, "Have either of them applied for BHA as a married officer?"
"No, sir, to both questions. Captain Maxwell and Lieutenant Maxwell are siblings; they have been quite open about that and maintain that they have separate sleeping quarters within their apartment and deny that there is any degree of improper conduct."
"So… why this preposterous charge sheet?"
"Captain Maxwell was ordered to find alternative accommodation by his CO. He declined to do so, on the grounds that his CO had no lawful grounds for issuing such an order, and that therefore it was not a lawful command."
Chegwidden shook his head in disbelief, "And the insubordination charge?"
"Apparently the discussion between Captain Maxwell and Lieutenant Colonel Dawson, his CO, became heated, and Maxwell at one point demanded to know whether his CO was terminally stupid, and also called him a dumb-ass eunuch who got his kicks from interfering in other people's private lives."
A barely suppressed snigger was heard around the table, only to be quelled by Chegwidden's glare.
"In Colonel Dawson's defence, he was quite happy to stick to the original DDO charge, but as the news of the instance passed up the chain of command, General Lucas stepped in as the convening authority and had the additional charges framed."
"Good God man. Has the General said just why he has taken this action?"
"I've spoken briefly to him, sir, and he's being extremely… intransigent. His position is that it is not up to Captain Maxwell to decide what is and what isn't a lawful order. In his view an order is an order is an order, and is to be obeyed."
"Good grief, man! Is he some kind of dino… Forget I said that!" He glared around the table, fixing each officer in turn with his stare. He shook his head, "If the soft-shell liberadical press get hold of this… Have you spoken to both parties about a plea of some sort?"
"I have sir. At first Captain Maxwell was willing consent to non-judicial punishment on the insubordination charge, but refuses to acknowledge there is any merit in any of the other charges. General Lucas says he wants Maxwell in Leavenworth and out of the Corps, and refuses to contemplate any sort of plea."
"Maxwell was willing? Do you mean he is not willing now?"
"Exactly, sir. He now wants his day in court, his exact words were, I believe, 'let the old bastard bring it on!'"
Chegwidden grinned mirthlessly, "Not exactly conciliatory, is he?"
"Captain Maxwell is labouring under a strong sense of grievance sir; he feels that the intrusion into his living arrangements is tantamount to an accusation of an improper relationship between him and his sister. He believes that the only way he can refute that accusation is for the whole sorry story to be brought into the open in court. He has also been talking about a redress of grievance against malicious and selective prosecution."
Chegwidden pulled a face of dismay, but before he could answer, Harm interrupted, "Sir, I'd like the defence on this one, please?"
"You Commander? Haven't you got enough on your plate?"
"With respect sir, both Commander Austin and I know what's going on a Quantico, and all we're doing down there is gathering evidence. It shouldn't take more than a couple of days!"
"H'mm… that's all to the good. It might just keep you out of trouble. And we need Commander Austin back for the Krennick court-martial, she's the main witness for the conduct unbecoming charge…" Chegwidden paused as a thought occurred to him, "Commander Rabb, this eagerness to jump into a very messy case… it wouldn't have anything to do with your unwelcome visitor this morning would it?"
Harm looked blank for a moment, then he said slowly, "Actually, sir… it might just have something to do with that. He glanced around the table, "For the benefit of those of you who might have missed the early morning celebrations today, over the weekend, I asked Lieutenant Singer to marry me, and she said yes." He stopped and looked around the table somewhat surprised to see that there were no open displays of hostility and more than a few congratulatory smiles. Harm felt flushed with relief, and continued, "Unfortunately on Friday night, Lieutenant Singer and I were seen in a social setting by another officer who recognised me, and half-recognised the Lieutenant. This morning, he accosted me in my office and virtually accused me of fraternisation with the Lieutenant, so I can in some ways see why Captain Maxwell is taking a stand against intrusion into his personal life!"
Chegwidden started thoughtfully at his subordinate for a few moments before he nodded. "You're flying on a full tank of emotion, Mr Rabb. Don't make me regret this!"
"No, sir!"
Chegwidden continued to regard Harm thoughtfully for a few seconds that seemed to stretch into uncomfortably long minutes before he spoke again, "I take it your reaction to the …ah… virtual accusation was what occasioned the elephant like trumpeting emanating from your office just prior to this staff call?"
"Yes, sir!"
Monday 12 March 2001, 1100hrs EST, H&S Company Office, MCCDC, MCB Quantico, VA, (121600zMar01)
Meg, now addressed in BDUs, entered the Company office and in response to Corporal Le Blanc's cheerful "Good morning, again, Sergeant," she replied with a smile, "'Morning, Corporal, the First Sergeant told me to report here at eleven hundred…."
"Yes, Sergeant. It's just routine paperwork to bring your records up to date… Take the weight off," he offered, indicating a chair to the side of his desk. "You know how the Corps, is – it runs on paper!"
"It surely does, Corporal!" Meg agreed. At least one person in H&S Company seemed prepared to be human, and Le Blanc was only a kid, with an open face and engaging smile. Meg would have been surprised if he'd been any more than twenty one years old.
It took very few minutes to update Meg's SRB entries, but it took a bit longer for her to familiarise herself with Company standing regulations, so that it was just short of midday that Le Blanc put down his pen and said, "I'll just let the First Sergeant know that we're done, Sergeant, and if you're ready to chow down, then I'll walk you across to the mess hall."
Meg nodded her acknowledgement as Le Blanc stood, crossed to the First Sergeant's door and knocked, waiting for an invitation before he entered, and gave her wrist a surreptitious shake, she couldn't remember off-hand when she'd had to sign so many different pieces of paper in such quick succession
Le Blanc re-entered the main office together with First Sergeant Santiago, and obeying some inner voice, Meg stood as the pair approached. Santiago looked her up and down, and Meg got the impression that he was not viewing her in a favourable light. It wasn't many minutes before her suspicions were justified. "My office – move!" he rapped.
Meg darted into Santiago's office and stood waiting at attention. "You are a sorry excuse for a Marine, Sergeant," he said in an icy voice, "I don't what the hell they're doing at Camp Lejeune these days, but I can assure you that your standard of presentation is way below the standard I am prepared to tolerate in my Company. We'll just have to see if you have any other redeeming features. You will report back here to Gunnery Sergeant Van Horst at seventeen hundred hours this afternoon. Do you understand?"
"Yes, First Sergeant!"
"Good – now get out of my sight!"
Meg about-faced and made a thankful escape to the outer office, where Corporal Le Blanc, true to his word was waiting for her. As he walked Meg across to the mess hall, she ventured a question, "The First Sergeant, is he always such a hard-ass?"
Le Blanc looked troubled, "He tough alright, Sergeant, but he's pretty fair, on the whole, but I gotta admit, he seems to have taken a dislike to you."
Meg nodded, "Yeah, that seems pretty obvious… Is there anyone else he seems to have taken an instant dislike to…"
Le Blanc's face creased in a frown… "Uh… the last person who got up his butt thataways was Corporal Henderson .. and that was a few weeks ago…"
"What did he do?"
"The First Sergeant?"
"No, what did Corporal Henderson do that ticked the First Sergeant off?"
"I don't rightly know, Sergeant. Corporal Henderson seemed like a nice kid, she just sort of got off on the wrong foot with him…"
Interesting, Meg thought to herself, and obviously Le Blanc hasn't cottoned on that soldiers who 'get off on the wrong foot' are female. But two is a very small sample. "Corporal, who is Gunnery Sergeant Van Horst?"
"Van Horst? Uh… he's one of the cadre, responsible for overseeing PFT training , Sergeant."
Meg nodded thoughtfully, "Oh, I have to report to him at seventeen hundred at the company office."
Le Blanc looked at her, and as Meg met his eyes, she thought she saw a shadow of concern, but that was soon banished as he flashed a boyish smile at her, "Well, in that case, Sergeant, I recommend a light lunch!"
Meg nodded thoughtfully, as she removed her cover on entering the mess hall.
Monday 12 March 2001, 1210hrs EST, Lieutenant Colonel Sarah MacKenzie's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (121710zMar01)
Harriett Sims coughed politely from the doorway and Mac looked up to see her friend and nursemaid standing in the doorway holding two steaming mugs. "I figured it might be easier for you to have lunch in your office, ma'am?" and seeing Mac's mutinous expression, she smiled encouragingly, "Please ma'am, it's home-made tomato soup. I figured it would make a nice change from all those horrible protein drinks?"
Mac sighed wearily, but then seeing the hurt expression gathering on the blonde's face, she relented and fumbled in her purse for her drinking tube. Harriet saw the tube, and smiling in relief she placed the two mugs on Mac's desk, and closing the door, sat in one of the visitor's chairs.
Mac grimaced, she had a pretty shrewd idea of what the blonde's topic of conversation was going to be, and she wasn't sure whether she was ready to discuss or even listen to her friend. It had taken Mac all her Corps-bred discipline to congratulate Harm this morning, and so far she had managed to avoid encountering Loren Singer.
Harriet at least had the grace to drink some of her soup before she put her mug back on Mac's desk, "That was a bit of a surprise this morning, ma'am. I mean, the Commander announcing his engagement to Loren Singer."
Mac's eyebrows rose in a silent question.
"Well, I mean, I know he'd been spending some time with her ma'am, but to ask Singer to marry him." She shook her head, "It's just not right ma'am. What are we going to do about it?"
Mac scribbled on her notepad, "Nothing!"
Harriet's jaw dropped open, "But, ma'am… The Commander and you, you're supposed to be together… I know you've had your ups and downs, but you've always managed to get over your rough patches before…"
"Not this time!"
"But why not ma'am? What's so special about this time?"
Mac looked Harriet straight in the eye, and then turned her attention to her note pad, "When we were in Australia, I asked the CDR to move our… whatever up to the next level. He couldn't. So I went to Mic. Harm took it as read that I was making a commitment and cut his ties. Then when I was in hospital they came to see me. They didn't know I was awake. He told her that he loved her. He never said that to me. If I'd waited in Aus, it might have been different. I screwed up. And like Harm wouldn't chase an engaged woman, I am not going to chase an engaged man. I'll try and be happy for my friend."
Harriet read the note, and her blue eyes flooded with tears, "Oh, Mac, how could you let this happen…"
Mac's own eyes were prickling, but she fought the tears back and gritted out through her teeth, "Jus' dum' I reck'n".
Monday 12 March 2001, 1210hrs EST, Cafeteria, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (121710zMar01)
Loren moodily pushed the remains of her chicken salad around her plate and glared mutinously across the table at Harm. "If I'd known it was going to be like this, I'd never have let you put this damn' ring on my finger," she snarled.
"Like what?" Harm asked, puzzled at Loren's seemingly swift change of mood.
"All this damn' fuss!" she retorted, "I haven't been able to move this morning without falling over people who I don't like and who don't like me, gushing insincere congratulations and oohing and aahing over this damn ring!"
"It's a five minute wonder, Loren, just let 'em find something else to think about and all the fuss will die down."
"Gee, ya think?" she asked sarcastically.
"I'm sure of it, sweetheart," he told her softly.
"Yeah, well you didn't help blabbing off about us at Staff Call. I thought we weren't going to make an announcement!" Loren viciously stabbed a helpless fragment of chicken breast in an attempt to express her frustration, "A heads-up of some kind would've helped!"
"Yeah, I'm sorry about that, but Chegwidden caught me flat-footed with that crack about flying on a tankful of emotions and then questioning my reasons for volunteering for the Maxwell case. But you're right; I should have tried to give you some warning."
"Yeah, you blew that alright," Loren confirmed, "No wonder you're still single!"
Harm looked up in alarm at Loren's words, but then saw the hidden laughter in her eyes. He smiled and leaned back against his chair, "But you're still aiming to fix that bit, aren't you?"
"Damn straight I am!" Loren answered emphatically, "there's no way I'm a-fixin' to let you wriggle out of this one, sailor!"
"Oh…" Harm's voice was replete with disappointment, and his face wore a hang-dog expression.
Loren glared at him suspiciously, "What?" she demanded.
"Oh… nothing," Harm said, heaving a theatrical sigh, "it's just…"
"Just what?"
"Oh, it's just that I thought you liked it when I wriggled!" Harm shot across at her, his face breaking into a full blown grin that showed the tip of his tongue between his teeth.
"Oh!" Loren gasped in shock and went crimson as she realised just how beautifully he had set her up, and just exactly what he was insinuating, "Red light Commander!"
"H'mm, I wonder," he continued, his eyes dancing with mischief, "Can you actually give your official fiancé a red light?"
"Of course I can!" Loren spluttered furiously, "I just did!"
Monday 12 March 2001, 1318hrs EST, Commander Carolyn Imes' Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (121818zMar01)
Carolyn has seen Terri Coulter crossing the bull-pen towards her office, and stood to welcome her visitor, "Terri, good to see you." But then noticing the signs strain showing on the other officer's face, she quickly ushered her into the office, "Take a seat, Terri. Can I get you anything, a coffee, a cold drink?"
Terri managed a half-smile, "No, no thank you Carolyn, I'm good. I just stopped by to deliver my report, and to talk you through anything you're not clear on."
She opened her briefcase and extracted a file, which although slim, was still substantially thicker than the original autopsy report.
Carolyn nodded, "I'll just call Loren, I need her here for this." She reached for her telephone and . "Loren, can you come through, please, Commander Coulter is here."
She looked at Terri, "You look like you've been through the wringer. A tough one?" she asked sympathetically.
"What do you think?" Terri asked, her voice holding more than just a touch of aggression. Then she seemed to deflate slightly, "God, I'll be glad when this is all over…" the aggression gone as quickly as it had appeared, this remark was voiced in little more than a sigh.
Carolyn tried to project as much empathy as she could, "I can't imagine how you're feeling Terri, and I really am sorry that I have to put you through this…"
"You're not responsible for any of this, Carolyn. If the original ME's report had been full and accurate, then we wouldn't have had to perform this autopsy. But then, if the original report had been accurate, then maybe my father wouldn't have spent the last ten years in prison."
What more, if anything, Terri might have said was interrupted as Loren tapped on the doorjamb; Carolyn stood and opened the door for her, "Come on in Loren, Terri's just about to talk us through the autopsy report."
Loren took her seat and the two attorneys bent their heads over the report as Terri started talking.
"This is the report of an autopsy carried out jointly by myself and Doctor Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian Institute. Doctor Brennan is the foremost forensic anthropologist in the USA and Canada. The autopsy was carried out at the Jeffersonian; Doctor Brennan concentrated her efforts on the skeletal remains, while I examined the remaining soft tissue. Alright, as you can see, Doctor Brennan had an MRI and extra X-Rays taken of the deceased's skull…"
Loren's head rose at Terri's impersonal tones, but before she could say anything, she realised that keeping it impersonal was the only way Terri could handle the emotional stress of what she had been compelled to do.
"They plainly show the formation of callus at the fracture site, indicating that the fracture was inflicted some time before death. Additionally, there was very little staining on the interior face of the occipital bone, indicating that any sub-dural haemorrhage was limited in volume and duration, virtually ruling out the head injury as the cause of death."
"That would be blood stain?" Carolyn asked meditatively.
"Yes, that's exactly right. Now, having seen that the head trauma was most unlikely to have been the cause of death I turned my attention to the soft tissue. The embalming process of course drains the blood from the cadaver, but bearing in mind the note in the original ME's report concerning high levels of carbon monoxide, I performed as biopsy of the lung tissue and of the brain tissue. Both organs showed an abnormally high level of CO saturation, easily sufficient to have caused death.
"Doctor Brennan, given the reports of physical violence, then further examined the skeleton of the deceased in an effort to find any evidence of physical abuse." Terri paused.
"The only evidence of any other bone injury was a long-healed fracture of the left radius and ulna. I was able to tell Doctor Brennan that my mother had told me of slipping on some ice and breaking her wrist while she was a student, before she had even met my father."
"So…" Loren exchanged a look with Carolyn, "You discovered that there was enough CO in your mother's system to cause death, and that the only injury suffered by your mother during her marriage was a fracture to the occipital bone, that had already started to heal?"
Terri didn't bat an eyelid, "Yes."
"Terri, if you had been presented with…if you had heard this evidence at your father's original trial, would you have believed in his innocence?" Carolyn asked gently.
Terri's eyes glistened with unshed tears, "Yes. I would have believed he was innocent of killing her, but still he was guilty of sustained verbal abuse and at least one instance of physical abuse – the day he pushed her so that she fell and struck her head."
Carolyn smiled sympathetically again and nodded her head in acknowledgement of Terri's words, as she opened her desk drawer and retrieved a box of Kleenex, which she slid across the desk towards Terri.
Terri mopped her eyes, and fighting back a sniffle, said, "I'm sorry… I don't know what got into to me… I don't normally…"
"We'll need to get this Doctor Brennan on the stand," Loren commented, hoping to divert the topic of conversation away from Terri's distress.
"Umm… that could be a problem," Terri stated.
"Why?" Two pairs of eyebrows rose.
"Temperance Brennan is outstanding in her field, she's often called as a consultant by various government agencies, and what she doesn't know about the human skeleton you could write on the back of a postage stamp… but… she's… not very good with people, and she's not a good a witness."
Monday 12 March 2001, 1422hrs EST, Commander Harmon Rabb's Office, JAG HQ, Falls Church, VA, (121922zMar01)
"Hi, Buddy, howya doin?"
"Sturgis, my man. Only been here a week and I hear you're already playing hooky; running off to Norfolk to play with your tin cans!"
"Yeah," the tall African American grinned, and with a raised eyebrow indicated the visitors' chairs. Harm nodded, and waited until his long-time friend had made himself comfortable. Sturgis leaned back and looking at Harm from under half-closed lids said dreamily, "You know, I figured JAG HQ, Falls Church… nice area… near Dad, steady job, nine to five office hours, with maybe a little day trip thrown in just to alleviate the boredom. I shoulda known any organisation that includes you was going to be anything but peaceful. So… there I was Friday evening, contemplating the staggering array of ready-meals-for-one in my freezer, when all of a sudden I'm relieved of the pressure of having to decide what to eat, when the 'phone rings and our fearless leader tells me to get my butt down to Norfolk to carry out a JAGMan investigation."
Harm grinned, enjoying Sturgis' laid back style of telling a story, "Must have been fairly urgent to drag you out on a Friday…?" he suggested.
"No… not really," Sturgis answered dismissively, "only a broken arrow."
Harm bolted upright, "A…? Are you kidding?"
"No, I'm not…" Sturgis leaned forward supporting his elbows on his knees, his manner no longer casual or relaxed, but grim and saddened "I've got to write up my report, and it means it's the end of the skipper's career." He paused, "He's a good man, Harm, I know him, and I've got to be the one the pulls the rug out from under him."
Harm nodded wearily, he knew only too well what Sturgis was experiencing. He sighed, "Sturgis, it happens from time to time, and all we can do is suck it up. People are fond of saying that ranks has its privileges – well, sure it does, but those who have the rank have worked to earn those privileges, but along with the privileges comes the duty and the responsibility. When things go wrong, the privileged have the duty and the responsibility to step up and take the hit. This time it's your friend, so it seems doubly hard that you're the one writing him up. I've had to do it – more than once – and I wish I could say it gets easier. It doesn't."
Sturgis nodded grimly, "And putting it off doesn't make it any easier, either, I suppose?"
Harm nodded in rueful agreement, and then in an attempt to give his old friend's mind a happier turn, he asked, "So how come they lost a… whatever it was?"
"SLCM, with a Two Hundred KT tip," Sturgis said, "And that is all I can tell you, other than it was an error of drill, and they accidentally jettisoned it while they were alongside. Unfortunately, the discrepancy wasn't noticed until they'd been at sea for nearly thirty hours."
Harm shook his head, "Yeah, that's a definite career killer. Are you recommending charges?"
Sturgis shook his head, "Not against the skipper. He's got more than his twenty, so I recommend that he just quietly walks away. That way he keeps his benefits and pension. I am recommending DOD charges against the weapons officer – he did miss one tally, and there might be charges against a couple of the torpedomen."
"So… what happens now…?"
Sturgis gave a bitter laugh, "Well the patrol schedule is now FUBAR, the boat is headed back into port, the next up is frantically replenning while her Alpha Crew are recalled from leave. In the meantime, the boat out there on station will be running short of supplies. What a screw-up!" He shook his head in despair again, and then bracing his hands on his knees he stood, stretching his back, and with another wry grin he said, "Thanks for letting me vent, buddy,"
"Anytime," Harm assured him, gazing with sympathy at his departing friend.
Monday 12 March 2001, 1700hrs EST, H&S Company Office, MCCDC, MCB Quantico, VA, (122200zMar01)
Meg had spent the afternoon orienting herself into her new position at MCCDC HQ Records, where she was under the command of a Lieutenant Harrison, an ROTC graduate who had greeted her with calm indifference before explaining her duties to her. She and a Corporal – Billy Walker – were responsible for ensuring that the computer network stayed on line, with the secondary duties of data input when their networking skills were not required. It was a mundane soul killing duty in Meg's opinion, but she recognised that it was a necessary one, and she comforted herself with the knowledge that it was to be of only limited duration, but now with the hands of the clock rapidly approaching seventeen hundred hours, she turned to her Corporal and said, "I have to be at Company Office at seventeen hundred. If the Lieutenant asks where I am, let him now, please?"
"Yes, Sergeant!" Walker watched her go with a smirk on his face, and once he was certain she was out of earshot began whistling the 'Dead March' from Chopin.
Corporal Tim McGarry, looked across, an expression of irritation on his face, "Why don't you give it a rest, Walker?"
"Aw, c 'mon McGarry, she's screwed, and we all know it. Santiago's going to ride her ass so hard 'til she won't know the difference between reveille and taps! Depending on how long she's got left, she'll stick it out until her contract's up, or she'll put in for transfer. Best thing for her too. This is the Corps; there ain't no room for women in the Corps!"
"Jesus, Walker, what fucking century are you living in? You're sounding like some thirty year leatherneck, and let's face it, how is what we're doing any different from what the women are doing? Hell, the women in the motor transport platoon are nearer to 'real' marines than we are!"
"McGarry," Walker sneered, "If you're too dumb to figure that by yourself, than I sure as hell ain't about to enlighten you!"
Meg made it to the Company Office with a minute to spare and slammed to attention in front of a leather skinned Gunnery Sergeant, hastily checking his name tape to make sure she hadn't mistaken his identity. "Sergeant Pierce, reporting as ordered, Gunnery Sergeant!"
Gunnery Sergeant Van Horst looked Meg up and down, an expression of disdain writ openly on his face, "First Sergeant Santiago said you were a sorry excuse for a Marine, and I thought that perhaps he was exaggerating!" He screamed into her face, so close that she could feel his spittle landing on her skin, "But I was wrong! He wasn't exaggerating, he was fucking understating! You are an embarrassment to the United States Marine Corps! I can only hope Sergeant that appearances are deceptive, and that you perform better than you look! Now, follow me!"
With that he turned on his heel and started off at a fast jog. Meg nodded and said silently, if this is what you've got Gunny, bring it on! Her early morning runs with Victor Galindez had been at least one and a half times this pace, and Meg was confident that she could keep this pace up for just as long as the Gunnery Sergeant.
She began to feel misgivings, however as he led her on past the confidence course to the rifle range, where three Corporals – one male and two female were waiting. An M16 lay on the firing point together with a stack of five magazines
"Halt!" Van Horst yelled, and Meg did so, her hands automatically going to her hips as she started deep breathing exercise. However, she wasn't allowed that luxury, "You are at attention, Sergeant!" Van Horst bellowed, again from close quarters. Then turning, he glared at the two female Corporals and jerking his thumb down-range, he snarled, "Get going!"
The two women, pausing only to pick up a paste pot and a bundle of target papers headed down range to the covered butts at a fast lick.
"Now, we'll see if those pretty blue eyes are any good other than for decoration," Van Horst sneered. "
Meg felt a surge of rage, that type of comment was way out of line, even for a DI at Parris Island, and for a second she nearly screamed a traffic signal at him, but recalled just in time that she was here to investigate alleged mistreatment of female personnel at MCCDC, and that the best way to do that was to give these Neanderthals enough rope to hang themselves. Forcing her anger down, she concentrated on the instruction she was being given, or rather were being screamed at her,
"You will pick up that rifle and four of those magazines. You will walk down range, depositing one magazine at each of the four hundred, three hundred and two hundred yards firing points, which will leave you with one magazine for the one hundred yard firing point. Each magazine holds ten rounds of live ammunition. At each firing point, the target will appear for ten seconds. You will commence firing as soon as the target appears. You will fire only single, aimed, shots. At the one hundred yard mark you will fire from the standing position. From the two hundred from the kneeling position, from the three hundred from the sitting position and from the four and five hundred yard firing points you adopt the prone position. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Gunnery Sergeant!"
"Good, get going!"
Meg doubled forward to the firing point, and picking up the weapon made sure that it was unloaded, stuffing the magazines into her shirt pockets she started down range only to hear a yell from behind her "Double time, Sergeant!"
Dropping off a magazine at each firing point on her way, Meg reached the one hundred yard point and stood waiting for orders, "Lock and load!"
Meg fitted the loaded magazine to the weapon and drew back the cocking handle, let it go, and then firmly struck the bolt assist with the heel of her right hand. Van Horst blew a blast on his whistle, and the square target rose from behind the butts.
From then on Meg's world shrank to her sight picture, the sound and feel of the riddle in her hands, and the blast of Van Horst's whistle.
Eventually she lay prone at the five hundred yard firing point; the last of her fifty rounds sped downrange. Already she felt drained from the reaction to the adrenalin rush, but her evening's activities were not yet over.
Following another burst of abuse and instructions from Van Horst she handed her weapon over to the Corporal at the firing point and followed Van as double timed back to the confidence course area, where he pointed her at the overhead bar, "Jump, chin and hold!" he ordered her.
Meg raised herself on the bar so that her chin was just above it, and arm muscles burning, she held until she was forced to let herself drop, to the now anticipated outburst of scornful abuse from the Gunnery Sergeant.
Again she was allowed no respite and went immediately into the press-up position with instructions to "Crank 'em out, Sergeant!", her already abused arm muscles were unable to give of their best and although her torment seemed to last an age, it wasn't too long before they gave out and she was left face down in the dirt, incapable for the moment of any further push-ups.
The next exercise, abdominal crunches were easier, it was one of Meg's customary exercises that she relied upon to help her keep her figure, and she was able to strike and keep a rhythm until she was given the order to cease the exercise.
In response to a curt order to get on her feet, Meg rose and took the position of attention, while Van Horst pointed out various landmarks which were to act as course markers.
"How old are you, Sergeant?" he demanded
"Thirty-two, Gunnery Sergeant," Meg screamed back, well aware that her age had a direct bearing on the time she was allowed to complete the three mile run.
Van Horst nodded and made a further entry in the note book in which he jotted down Meg's scores. "Strip your blouse" he told her, and then taking his stop watch from his pocket, he blew a blast on his whistle, and Meg took off.
Out of his sight Meg could no longer hold back the tears of frustration and rage, she had very little doubt that the figures that Van Horst had jotted down in his notebook would be found to be unsatisfactory, and that the whole point of this evening's exercise had been her humiliation and an excuse for placing on her EMD until she had reached a satisfactory standard. A standard, which she suspected would never be reached by any female soldier in H&S Company. But by God, once she had gathered evidence, and she'd blown the lid off the victimisation there were going to be some very sad Marines facing a long time behind bars!
Comforted by those thoughts she concentrated on achieving her best possible time for the run, and returned to the starting point, where Van Horst delayed halting his stop watch until the last possible second.
Meg halted hands on knees while she regained her breath, and after only a couple of minutes, she straightened up to the attention position and waited further instructions.
Van Horst looked her p and down. Her face was red, streaming with sweat and her hair clung damply to her scalp her BDUs were filthy and her boots badly scuffed. He allowed himself a tight little grin. This one was good, better than he'd given her credit for, but she had to be brought to realise, just like all the rest of them that the Corps was a man's Corps, no matter what those liberal SOBs on Capitol Hill might think!
"Alright Sergeant, put your blouse back on, and dismiss!" Van Horst said curtly, and turned away, heading for his own quarters and then a meeting with First Sergeant Santiago in the Staff NCOs' Club, where he would turn-in the results of Meg's impromptu PFT.
Meg watched Van Horst go, with a feeling of deep loathing, and then glancing at her watch, reluctantly started to jog back to twelve Platoon's barrack. Her cell phone was in her foot locker, and she needed to check in with Victor Galindez, and she needed a shower – God she really needed a shower - and something to eat. She'd already guessed that the timing of her PFT was no accident, and that the mess hall would be long closed.
Meg turned the key in the lock to the room she shared with a yet unknown room-mate, and not much to her surprise, found the door was unlocked and the strains of country music barely audible drifting out of the doorway.
Standing in from of the other bed was a short, rounded-figured blonde, her hair a shade or two darker than Meg's, gazing into a mirror propped on her bed as she drew a brush through her hair.
Hearing the door open the other woman turned and smiled, "Hi, you must be Meg Pierce, they told me you were a-coming today. I'm Sally Kirkland, Omaha, Nebraska!"
Meg forced a smile onto her tired face, "Hi, yeah, I'm Meg Pierce, San Antone, Texas,"
Sally eyed her up and down, "You look a mess, girl. I'm guessing they had you on PFT, straight off the bus?"
"Yeah, something like that." Meg admitted, although she hadn't spent more than a couple of minutes in the other woman's company, she already felt the beginnings of liking. Careful, Meg, she cautioned herself, this could be just because she's the first friendly face you've seen all day!
"Well, we're pretty lucky here, there aren't many of us in Twelve Platoon. There are four Corporals sharing the bunks at the far end of the squad bay, and only two girls in the squad bay itself. The showers are just opposite."
Meg made a point of raising he arm and sniffing loudly, "Yeah, I guess I am kind of ripe," she acknowledged with a grin, "I can take a hint! See you in a few…"
"Uh-uh! I'm on my way out… I got a hot date with one of the guys from the Provost marshal's Office!"
Meg grinned, "OK, see you when you get back, I'm going to try and find something to eat, and then I'm hitting the rack!"
"Oh… I'll probably be late… very late," Sally grinned knowingly, "Don't wait up!"
True to her word by the time Meg had finished her shower, Sally was gone. Meg took the chance to retrieve her cell phone, and hit the third number on Speed Dial.
"Victor, hi, it's Meg. There's a bar cum diner just outside the main gate on Russell road. Can you meet me there? I'm starving!"
Monday 121 March 2001, 1930hrs Local, Loren Singer's Apartment, 1054 Canal Street NW, Georgetown, Washington, DC (120030zFeb01)
Harm cleared the table and rinsed the dished under the faucet while Loren, who had been slightly abstracted throughout dinner – in fact since they had gotten in from work, plugged her lap top in to a wall outlet and booted it.
"SO… I'm still in the doghouse, am I?" Harm asked from the kitchenette.
"H'mm? Oh, no – why? Should you be?"
"Well…" Harm drawled, "There's the little matter of you getting snitty with me over the conference room announcement, and then the lunchtime red light… I just wondered when you thought I might be rehabilitated."
Loren sighed, "I give up!" She closed down her laptop and twisting around on the couch she held up one hand in invitation, "You are not in the doghouse! I was a little put out by the announcement, and as for your outrageous comment at lunchtime…" she blushed at the memory, "actually, once I thought about it, it wasn't just pretty damn' clever, it was also quite a turn on!"
Harm carefully carried two mugs of fresh-brewed coffee over to the couch, and setting them down on the coffee table, eased his way sideways onto the couch, gently pulling Loren back into his arms until they were wrapped around her, his chin resting on the top of her head and her back resting against his chest. "So… what's the pre-occupied air for?"
"It's this scientist woman from the Jeffersonian", Loren started to explain, "Apparently she's a brilliant pathologist, but a lousy witness, according to Terri Coulter. She doesn't interact well with people, and seems incapable of talking in plain language without it seeming that she's patronising her listeners. She's got crucial evidence, but if she alienates the panel that could outweigh any benefits her testimony might have."
Harm dropped a soft kiss on the crown of her head, "Loren, you're still second chair, right?"
"Yeah,"
"So Carolyn's still first chair, right?"
"Yeah, right."
"So… Carolyn's the one who gets paid the big bucks to make the decisions about who to put on the stand, the strategy for defend the case, and all the rest of it, right?"
"Yeah, I s'pose." Loren admitted grudgingly.
"So leave those worries to Carolyn, OK?"
Loren twisted so that she could look up into his eyes, "It's just… Harm, I've put a lot into this, from the initial review of the case, to writing the report – and have I ever said thank you for your support during that time?"
"I think you may have shown your appreciation, yes," he replied with a smirk.
Loren fixed him with what he was coming to call her angry kitten glare, "Watch it buster, or you will be in the doghouse! It's just; I've invested so much in this, that I don't want a minor screw-up to tilt the scales in the wrong direction!"
"You want the win, huh?" he asked sympathetically,
"No! Uh.. yes, of course I want the win! But if Terri's father has spent the last ten years in prison for a crime he didn't commit, then I want to see him walk out of court a free man with all his pay, service, benefits, rank, time in grade. All restored to him. Although," she finished on a quieter note, "I don't know if he and Terri can ever put right whatever went wrong between them."
Harm felt his heart swell with pride, but he contented himself with, "Sometimes, Loren we can't fix everything. Yeah, the law is about getting justice for people, but people are people, and sometimes people are unjust because they've been hurt so bad in the past… aren't they?" he added, desperately hoping that he wasn't probing too near old wounds.
Loren was silent for a few moments, and then sighed again, "I guess."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, each, while enjoying and taking comfort from the other's nearness trying not to slide into a sombre mood. Finally Loren roused herself, "Anyway enough about work, we've got a marriage to plan!"
"Oh, I was going to leave that to you and your maid of honour," Harm objected.
"Not the wedding, the marriage," she corrected him.
"Oh… I suppose I ought to be involved in that," Harm acknowledged.
"You'd better be!" Loren warned him, snuggling back down into his embrace.
"So… what do we tackle first?" Harm asked.
"Well, where are we going to live?" Loren nudged him.
Harm thought for a moment, "It had better be here… at least at first, until we find something we like and can afford."
Loren was honestly surprised, "Here? I didn't think you'd want to give up the loft, not after you did so much work on it,"
"Yeah I did do a lot of work on it, but there are a couple of reasons for not wanting us to live there. Firstly, it is not a safe neighbourhood, and every time I was out of town on an investigation, at least half my mind would be occupied worrying about you!"
Loren having familiarised herself with the reputation of the area just to the north of Union Station could only nod her head in agreement as Harm continued.
"And then there's that." He nodded at her floor to ceiling bookshelf that occupied the whole of the end wall of the living room. "It would be a hell of a job, as well as a crying shame, to rip that out, and besides, I'm not sure whether the floor in the loft would take the weight of all those books. You do realise, that you've got a pretty formidable criminal law library there?"
Loren nodded again, "OK that makes sense."
"But there is one caveat, Harm told her.
"And that would be?
"We'd have to bring my bed here, yours is just too short to be really comfortable."
"Harm it's a standard bed!"
"I know, but I'm not standard size, and I had that bed made to special order."
"Oh, OK then… on one condition."
"What's that?"
"We make good use of my bed until we get yours here!"
"I think we can manage that!"
"Oh, good," Loren smirked as she wriggled free of his arms and stood; extending a hand to him, "But if we've only got a limited time, let's not waste any of it!"
Harm grinned, "Aye, aye, ma'am!"