Secrets and Sacrifices
Part 36
Silver is finishing up the bandaging of Harm's injuries when his intended ride lands on deck; he's just finishing making sure Harm is secure and ready for transport when a petty officer nervously pokes his head into sickbay to get an estimate on how much longer he needs for McKnight and the pilots. To say he's surprised Harm is ready to be transported would be an understatement; he was one of the few who actually saw him when he first arrived.
Jerry grabs the front end of the stretcher, silently daring anyone who disagrees with his actions to challenge his right to be there—no one does. Silver commandeers Standes to go over the instructions he's already imparted to the young corpsman. The rest of the team—Duncan, Sharpe and Paine—grab the bags they've each taken a few minutes out of waiting to pack or pick up.
Within a few minutes they're topside, staring at the out of place aircraft sitting on the carrier's deck. "The pilot requested the assignment," McKnight reveals, approaching the stunned team from behind. "Rabb will be transported on the Osprey along with your corpsman and the medic from the Ranger team. The rest of you will follow on the Sea Knight that's currently being refueled."
"Why not send us all on the Osprey, sir?" Duncan questions.
"Because someone wants Rabb in Washington as quickly and directly as possible. The best way to ensure that is to have the least amount of cargo—or in this case personnel—on board. And before you ask, Major Asher asked for the assignment because Rabb defended him and his aircraft when there was an incident involving some members of Congress."
"Given what we've seen and heard over the past several days, it's surprising to me that this appears to be the first time we've run into anyone that knew him previously," Duncan comments, watching Jerry rejoin them from getting Harm settled in the Osprey.
"Sir, they're just about ready to leave, Major Asher just wants to speak to Captain McKnight before they leave," Jerry reports, clearly unhappy they're not accompanying Harm on the Osprey.
McKnight excuses himself and heads over to see what Asher wants. Duncan watches as an intense conversation follows between McKnight, Asher and Silver. Standes and Mitchell, the Ranger medic, are inside the Osprey, presumably making sure Harm's secure for the flight. Whatever the conversation is about, it's clear Silver is pleased with the results; he motions to a figure waiting a short distance away who stops only briefly at the trio before he boards the Osprey. Asher salutes McKnight and boards directly behind him. Even before McKnight returns to where Duncan and the rest of the team are waiting, the Osprey's engines are started in preparation for their departure.
"Who was that, sir?" Duncan asks as they watch the departing Osprey.
"As you know, Dr. Silver had Gary Hochausen's account of the events transcribed into a written document which he's sending with Captain Rabb. In addition, he's currently waiting on a ship to shore call with Bethesda, to fill them in on what he can. Despite these actions, he thought it would be best if the person who knows the most about Rabb's condition accompanies him on the trip to Washington. Major Asher agreed that the additional weight would be within acceptable limits for the distance they're intending to travel and I agreed to send him along."
"Understandable," Duncan replies, to the surprise of the rest of the team before they, too, recognize the wisdom of sending Gary rather than one of them. It's much better to have Gary where he can answer any questions that might come up—and the team is convinced the CIA pilot will do his best to look out for his former student.
Less than 10 minutes after the departure of the Osprey, Duncan, Sharpe, Paine and Jerry stow their team's gear aboard the Sea Knight and climb aboard with the remainder of the Ranger team. Duncan spent those 10 minutes asking Todd what his plans for their arrival in Washington would be. Todd admitted he hadn't really thought that far ahead—it was just hitting the team what doing the right thing might cost them. Duncan assured Todd and the rest of the team that he would make mention of the incident to the SecNav and possibly—since he's pretty sure someone from JAG will show up at the hospital at some point—someone from the Navy's Judge Advocate General Headquarters. It's with that thought in their minds that they watch as the casket bearing the body of Gunnery Sergeant Walter Kivers is respectfully loaded onto the helo. A moment later, they're airborne, the carrier fading quickly from view.
xxxx
An older couple enters the bullpen, marveling at the barely controlled chaos in the large room. Several officers and enlisted personnel pass by with nothing more than a brief glance at the visitor's badges hanging haphazardly in contrast to their immaculate appearance, before they spot someone vaguely familiar approaching.
Harriet, her mind on a multitude of tasks needing her attention, glances briefly at the pair of civilians standing uncertainly just inside the doors to the bullpen. Much like her fellow coworkers, her eyes scan and lock onto the badges that announce their authorized presence as visitors—were these badges missing, decisive actions would be taken against the intruders. For some unknown reason, Harriet pauses in her duties a moment to look at the faces more closely, stopping in her tracks as recognition sets in. A nervous smile replaces the look of utmost concentration on her face as she greets the pair. "Mr. and Mrs. Burnett, welcome back to JAG. It's good to see you again."
"Thank you, Lieutenant…" Trish replies softly, trying unsuccessfully to recall the name of the young officer in front of her.
"Harriet Sims, ma'am," Harriet supplies. "Admiral Chegwidden is at the Pentagon—the SecNav called him in for a meeting first thing this morning. The admiral asked me to let you know you were welcome to wait here or leave a number where you can be reached for when he returns."
"If you don't think we'll be in the way, we'll just wait here," Trish decides anxiously. Aside from a few cryptic 'I'm fine' calls from Harm, she's had less contact with him over that last three years than she did when he was deployed for a carrier for six months at a time; she wants to hear that her son is indeed fine, but fears this time is the time things won't go as hoped.
"Ma'am, sir, I need to get these files to one of the attorneys, but I'll be right back. Then we'll get you something to drink and find you a place to wait." True to her word, Harriet is back in less than a minute. She leads them to the break room, gets both of them a cup of coffee, but hesitates when she tries to come up with someplace for them to wait. This is in a way much more awkward than the last time this couple was here—then everyone was relieved to know Harm was okay. This time they have yet to receive word from anyone whether or not he's even been found—AJ and Mac were the last to leave the night before and apparently were here and gone to their meeting before anyone else arrived—it has to be something like finding your husband is MIA, Harriet muses, only this time it's Trish's son and if it weren't for the man standing stoically by her side, Harriet's not certain the woman would be this calm. She knows she wasn't at all calm when her own husband was injured several years before, she can't imagine having lost him and then losing her son.
Trish allows her gaze to roam around the bullpen, unable to keep from hoping that her son's tall form will come striding around the corner, teasing her for her worry. Instead, she notices the differences in the darkened large corner office he always occupied, also spying the name above the door. "Where's Commander Turner?" she asks impulsively.
Startled out of her own musings, Harriet answers absently, "On a carrier conducting investigations." Then it hits her; Sturgis wasn't stationed at HQ the last time she can remember seeing Harm's mother. "How do you know Commander Turner, ma'am?" she asks politely.
"He went to the academy with Harm. We saw him several times when visiting; with such a distinctive name, I thought it must be the same man." This time it's Trish's thoughts that are causing her mind to wander from the conversation. She spies the next nameplate. "What about Colonel MacKenzie?"
"She went with the admiral, ma'am."
"Lt. Roberts? He's your husband, isn't he?"
"Yes ma'am. Bud's around here somewhere, probably in the library. Do you want me to find him?" Harriet's unsure where Trish is going with her questions, but is currently content to answer them.
"No, that's not necessary. I was just wondering where everyone is; it's pretty deserted in here." Her eyes catch on the next nameplate, causing a small frown to cross her face as she attempts to place the name. "J. Tiner? That name sounds familiar."
"He was the admiral's yeoman the last time you were here. He passed the bar a few years ago and went through OCS before returning here as a lawyer. We actually have 3 junior attorneys right now. Tiner is investigating with Commander Turner, the other two are in offices down the hall; they're not ready to be sent on investigations yet," Harriet confides.
"And there was another Marine here, a young man."
"Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez. He left about five years ago, wanted to rejoin a fighting unit."
"Who's that over there?" Trish asks, pointing at Jen who is immersed at a task at her desk.
"That's Petty Officer Coates. She replaced Tiner as Admiral Chegwidden's yeoman when he went to OCS. C'mon, I'll introduce you." Harriet hurries over, leaving Trish and Frank no choice but to follow.
"Jen," Harriet ventures, approaching the studious young woman's desk.
Jen is on her feet a second later, "Ma'am." She's not sure who the people are with Harriet, but she always believes showing respect can't get her in trouble.
"Jen, this is Trish and Frank Burnett, Captain Rabb's parents. Mr. and Mrs. Burnett, Petty Officer Jennifer Coates."
"Pleased to meet you, ma'am, sir," Jen offers quickly. "I have nothing but respect for your son."
"Thank you. How do you know Harm?"
"He defended me several years ago at Christmas. I posed as a Santa Claus taking donations with the intent of keeping the money for myself. Because the brig was closed for the holiday he took me to Colonel MacKenzie's for the night—to discourage any appearance of impropriety—but would pick me up again in the morning. He didn't let me fool him but he showed me kindness when others just wanted to put me away for my crimes. He also changed my mind about wanting to leave the Navy. I owe him my life."
Trish smiles a watery smile; she's lost count of the number of people who have told her how Harm's bettered their lives. Some days though, she wishes he weren't so dedicated to the service that not only took away his father and grandfather but also frequently threatens his own life. To be fair, she knows it's her son's sense of honor and right and wrong that has caused some of his close calls in the past, but she's not of a mind to be fair right now. She's tired of pretending—to herself, Frank and others—that the risks Harm takes don't bother her. She's tired of constantly wondering if today is the day she'll receive notification her only child has been killed in the service of his country. And then the thought hits her that maybe she's already gotten that call and she'll never see her son again.
Observing quietly beside his wife, Frank knows what thoughts are running through her mind as her features melt into anguish. Every time she worries he's there to assure her that her son will come home safely. His confidence didn't waver when they received the call that Harm was missing at sea, but this time he's having a hard time convincing himself everything is going to be ok. Despite the fact that he never had the kind of relationship he tried for with Harm, for a couple of years before he basically disappeared Harm had been making more of an attempt at having a father-son relationship than he ever had before. In the past three years though, neither he nor Trish have had much time to talk to him, the calls few and far between—and painfully short. Frank allows his thoughts to drift back to the previous morning when a lieutenant from the JAG office in San Diego appeared on their doorstep.
xxxx
Since the notification of Harm's disappearance both Trish and Frank were on edge; the arrival of a government vehicle in their driveway at 0800 had them believing the worst. They were more confused than anything when the single occupant of the car turned out to be a JAG lieutenant who didn't have any idea the level of panic he was causing. Only when Trish actually accepted the letter from him and tore it open did her frantic questions get answered; inside the manila envelope was the letter from Harm and a note from Mac. Trish quickly thanked the confused young man and practically shut the door in his face.
Mr. and Mrs. Burnett
The enclosed letter was included with a package of letters Harm wrote with instructions that they were to be distributed should he be missing for more than 24 hours. As Harm has not worked at this office for the past three years, I don't know what kind of contact you may have had with him, but I urge you to read it. Another letter, addressed to his grandmother in Pennsylvania has also been sent. I've not had the pleasure of meeting her, and am uncertain how she may take the news—again I don't know if Harm has kept in contact with her. Her letter is set to be delivered the day after yours is; should you believe it is not in her best interest to have it at this time, please let me know and we'll hold on to it. If you are unhappy with your son, believe me when I say you should still read the letter. I have been unhappy because there was no word from Harm in three years—now I know the reason and all I have left are regrets that for the short time I saw him before he disappeared I was not a good friend. I can only hope I'll have the opportunity to tell him how sorry I am.
Sarah MacKenzie
And scrawled in another hand at the bottom of the piece of paper:
Harm is nominally under my command for an unspecified amount of time. Feel free to call if you need anything.
AJ Chegwidden
Trish sat for over an hour with Harm's letter crumpled in her hand, hurt and anger vying for most favored status. She looked so alone and sad, Frank finally convinced himself it would be better if he interfered. He persuaded his wife they'd both be better off reading the letter than destroying it, as she was subconsciously beginning to do. Relieved the decision as made for her, Trish smoothed out the crumpled envelope and carefully slit it open.
May 12, 2004
Mom, Frank:
First of all, I want to say I'm sorry. I was hoping you'd never find out about my being arrested and charged with Singer's murder, but since this entire fiasco seemed to have started there, I have no choice but to mention it. It's hard to fathom I was that close to being sent to prison for a crime I would never commit, based on circumstantial evidence. For more than eight years I believed in the system I worked to uphold, now my beliefs are a little shaky and I can honestly say I'm almost relieved not to have to place my trust and my client's future in that system anytime soon.
I know we've only had a few, short conversations in the past year and I've been deliberately vague about where I've been and what I've been doing; it's because I'm basically working undercover. To understand why, I have to go back to the day after I was released from the brig…
…That first day back was awkward. All of my open cases had been handled by my coworkers, only a bit of paperwork was left for me from before my incarceration—and that I had to dig out of the boxes of personal and work related items NCIS had finally returned. I should have taken a day or two for myself, but I thought I would be better off getting right back into the midst of things. Finding my office completely packed up as evidence was more than a bit disconcerting, and that seemed to set off the tone for the rest of the day.
I didn't bother unpacking my personal items; I simply dug through the boxes until I had enough to occupy myself for the day. What I wanted more than anything was to engage in conversation with one of my friends, but suddenly none of my friends knew how to act around me—several had been called as witnesses against me, none of them were permitted to contact me while I was in the brig. I was never so happy to leave the office and head home as I was that night, making only a quick stop at the grocery store to replace the science experiments growing in my refrigerator. Following a light dinner, I finally sat down to relax…what followed set off a chain of events that led me to where I am now.
I hadn't seen Mac all day; she was out of the office, it turns out prepping for a dangerous CIA mission. I was already off balance and her short visit—ostensibly to let me know she was leaving in a few hours and ask how I was doing—knocked me even further for a loop. There were so many things I wanted to say to her; the only thing that would come out is 'don't go.' I don't know if she found it an affront to her Marine persona or what, but she didn't even hesitate. She left for Paraguay that evening; that night I began to have nightmares.
With Mac gone, I didn't have the time to worry about unpacking my personal belongings—I was worried about her and I had her cases to attempt to keep my mind off of the nightmares. I tried everything I could think of to get information out of the CIA; finally I was able to get in touch with someone who would only agree to keeping the admiral in the loop. It was something, at least, but the nightmares only grew more intense. Then the admiral informed me that Mac and Clay missed their last couple of check-ins.
I know how the CIA works, you screw up, you're on your own—they were just going to leave them there. I asked the admiral to give me an assignment in the area, he refused; I asked him for leave, he refused that too. I couldn't let Mac die down there; I did the only thing I could think of—I resigned.
As most of what happened is classified, I will only say I found them with the help of a Gunnery Sergeant who used to work at JAG. Clay was in bad shape; Gunny took him to get help while Mac and I went after the terrorist. We accomplished our objective, but it took us two days to return to where we were to meet Gunny and Clay. We returned to the States, underwent extensive debriefing at the CIA and were finally released. It was midnight when I finally returned home, but a message from the admiral stated he wanted to hear from me as soon as I returned. It turns out he hadn't processed my resignation, only held it in case I got into trouble and the Navy had to disavow any knowledge of what I was doing down there. He told me that if I was interested in remaining in the Navy and at JAG, I should report to his office at 0800 Monday. Relieved, I barely had time to hang up the phone before I passed out from exhaustion.
Now, I know you're wondering that if he offered me my job back, why did I call you the next day and tell you I was no longer at JAG, right? Well, what happened a few hours later changed all my plans. I really hadn't been asleep long, and apart from a few hours rest when we finally rejoined Gunny and Clay, I'd had almost no sleep for days. It took me a while to realize the pounding noise I was hearing wasn't part of my dream, it was the Secretary of the Navy at my door. Somehow he'd found out about my resignation and for some reason he wanted me to work for him—he threatened to process the resignation unless I left JAG to work on a special project he had in the works. (Let me just mention that I went to Paraguay because I couldn't stand the thought of being without Mac in my life; it was too late though, she was much closer to Clay than she and I had ever been.) With nothing to keep me where I was—and possibly due in no small part to my overwhelming exhaustion—I agreed. A few hours later, my apartment was devoid of personal belongings and I was on my way to my new position—or rather training for it.
It's been almost a year since that day and my team and I have just finished our training. It has been a very full year. Training was originally supposed to take nearly two years, but circumstances—and a bit of pushing on my part—brought our training to a close a year ahead of schedule. Tomorrow we begin our first mission; I have been looking forward to this day with both anticipation and trepidation. I want to do a good job, and believe my training has covered everything, but I also know how things can go wrong without warning and I'm afraid of making a mistake that could get someone hurt. I also can't help but wonder; I've had two fairly successful careers in the Navy already, can I do it again?
These are the fears your son wrestles with on the night before the start of his third career. In a Tomcat, I was responsible for the lives and actions of those flying with me; at JAG I generally was more responsible for protecting—or taking away—the careers of others; now, out in the field at least, I am completely responsible for myself and the seven men under my command. Every decision to be made must ultimately come from me—the night before the first mission isn't the best time to be second-guessing myself, but will I actually do as well in real life situations as they've told me I've done in training? Why am I so nervous? I've done things like this before with less beforehand knowledge than I expect to have on the majority of these missions, so why am I so worried? Because when all is said and done, I will have to answer for the results of the mission and should I screw up, someone will pick apart my actions much like I've done many times in my time at JAG. Maybe what frightens me the most is the possibility of my former co-workers finding and pointing out my shortcomings.
The one thing I have neglected to mention is that no one at JAG knows where I am—should anyone attempt to locate me, entering the name Harmon Rabb, Jr. into the database will not bring them any results. It all goes back to the terrorist Gunny and I rescued Mac and Clay from. It…irritated him that I thwarted his plans—he began searching for me almost immediately. Fortunately he and I never met and he did not know my name, nonetheless, the SecNav thought it would be prudent for me to assume a different name for the time being. Obviously I can't divulge that name in case this letter would fall into the wrong hands, however, since you're reading this, it's pretty safe to assume that asking Mac to check on the status of the Gunnery Sergeant she worked with when Captain Koonan retired is unnecessary.
Regardless of the circumstances under which I accepted this position, I have no regrets about the work I am doing, just regrets about the lack of contact with friends and family. I always enjoyed the investigations I did at JAG—more so than the courtroom at times—especially when my client would neglect to disclose something that would blow the case wide open, more often than not, incriminating evidence that would earn him or her a harsher sentence than I could have gotten with a plea bargain had I known about the information in the beginning. Don't get me wrong, I do miss litigating, it's just been nice to do something different for a while. There may come a time where I find I really want to get back in the courtroom—hopefully I'll be in a position to do so when that time comes, but that would mean you will probably never read this letter—which I can only say would be a good thing.
But you are reading this so someone has recently informed you that I am either missing or dead. While I must hold out hope it will be the former, I can only believe it will be the latter. This position is dangerous, I'll admit that, but then again so was flying and even some of the investigations I conducted while at JAG.
Don't mourn for what might have been; somewhere along the line I lost the chance to have a family of my own even before whatever this current fiasco is—I'm not entirely sure how it happened, but I can only hope Mac is happy with Webb. My only consolation is that this time I won't have to watch her slip away from me. Perhaps one day, after I hear of her marriage, I will be able to be happy for her. Until then, a part of me is grateful I didn't get to say goodbye; the silence of our trek through the jungle left us both time with our thoughts. I know my thoughts were focused on what I would do if I really were through with the Navy, I can only wonder if Mac's thoughts were with Clayton Webb, or simply getting back to civilization so she could clean the grime of the past week off. All I know is I wanted very badly to say something to her; I couldn't find the words or bring myself to break the silence between us—and that is how I know I lost my chance. Yes Mom, you were right all those years ago, Mac really is quite the girl, and the only one I ever saw myself having a family with. If she's happy, I can only hope that someday I can be happy for her.
There are a few things I want the two of you to know. First, I love you both. I'm not good at expressing how I feel, probably because I spent years suppressing my emotions; the feeling is there, I'm simply not sure how to show it.
Second, I'm sorry I wasn't a good son. I was awful to Frank from day one, also making Mom's life miserable with my willfulness. I silently protested your wedding, refusing to take part by locking myself in my room. Although I deliberately 'forgot' your anniversary for years, going to Vietnam to look for dad around that time wasn't planned to be a slap in the face; I suppose I could say it was coincidence because you got married during the summer break from school. It finally dawned on me during my first trip to Russia how rotten I'd been to both of you, I didn't know how I'd ever be able to get myself out of the rut I'd willingly walked into. I tried to do some of the little things I thought would be appreciated, unfortunately overcoming years of apathy and stubbornness was much harder than I anticipated, especially when you add in the strange hours and assignments I seemed to draw. I'd even gone so far as to purchase the anniversary card I'd more recently intended to send; I believe it's packed away with all my personal belongings somewhere. Look for it if you would, if I don't come back, it says all the things I wish I'd said over the years.
Third, I want to thank you both for your support over the years. No matter how much I pushed, pulled, bent or chaffed at the restrictions you placed on me, you ultimately let me make my own decisions and backed me up even when I made the wrong ones. You were also there when I was in the hospital after my ramp strike and after the massive mechanical failures forced my RIO and I to eject into the Atlantic. I know you would have preferred if I'd left the Navy after that first crash, but the Navy was too ingrained into my person to allow me to take that step, no matter how tempting it got. Even before I left for the academy, the two of you helped instill in me a sense of honor; there were several times you pointed out to me that those weaker than me were to be helped and taken care of, not taken advantage of. Perhaps that's where I got the idea to go to law school when I could no longer fly—it was a way to keep protecting those who needed protection, without having to worry about my night-blindness.
Looking back over this letter, I find myself hoping you never have to read it. My fondest wish is to be able to return to my life—not necessarily JAG and where I was before Paraguay, but at least to having my own name back. I do think I will enjoy the work I am to be doing, and my team seems great—although I can't let them get too close lest they find out the truth. I don't want parts of my life to be a lie, which is how a great deal of it seems now. So much of my time at JAG was spent searching for the truth; I find I'm having a hard time living something that's a lie. I won't start to worry unless I find myself getting complacent about it; although my new self has many of the qualities I've tried to uphold, the simple act of calling myself something other than who I am grates at my conscience and my soul. Should one day I find it no longer bothers me, I will become alarmed because losing my honor is a fate worse than death.
I do hope I will make it back, but if I don't, I'm sorry for the pain I've caused, both now and in the past. I am truly privileged to have such understanding and supportive parents.
Your son,
Harmon Rabb, Jr.
xxxx
Somehow just thinking back on Harm's letter calms Trish enough for her to notice her behavior and consciously make an effort to get her emotions in check. She knows none of the people in this office had anything to do with Harm's current predicament and taking her frustrations out of them is completely unfair. "You definitely look like you've turned your life around, Petty Officer. I'm certain that whatever my son might have done for you, you did the hard part by putting your trust in him and making the effort to change," Trish comments, recalling the conversation she was participating in before getting lost in memories. "Now, I believe someone mentioned there was somewhere out of the way where we could wait for Admiral Chegwidden to return?"
"Right this way, ma'am, sir," Harriet invites, startled out of her own reverie. She leads them to the conference room, making sure they're comfortable and don't need anything before returning to her duties.