Author's Note: I like making things complicated for the canon characters. And I don't apologize for taking Meg Austin and turning her into Animal's wife. Hey, TPTB discarded her (Thank you, Donald P. Bellisario), I picked her up for my original character. Deal with it.~evil smirk~ She's been an integral part of my stories ever since 1998. In regards to this story (Rising Flames); I may put Harm and Mac together for this one (Yay...it's a Harm/Mac fic)...since the indications appear that NCIS-LA is leaving the thing wide-ass open. But the way they went after each other with hammer and tongs, most definitely means that they didn't walk out of there without emotional hang-ups about the other and that's going to require counselling. The way that NCIS-LA's TPTB left the matter of their relationship up in the air essentially leaves it open to anything happening.
But the fact that Harm is a Captain and Mac is still a Lieutenant Colonel means that there's only one way that this can end up in terms of logical military progression in the ranks. They were BOTH hit by up or out. In my story Mac didn't have a guru, Harm did (in Animal), otherwise he'd be a "terminal captain"...and if he rejected the assignment in London he would have been an O-5 again as Cresswell stated clearly in Fair Winds and Following Seas, "Conditional to your accepting the assignment..." You turn it down you lose your eagles. I don't write fic without researching my military detail (it has become much easier with information being readily available on Google with the right search terms and former military officers are on Quora to ask questions of...)...so I'm well aware of the fact that this is the only way that it will play out in real life if you turn down an assignment hence the reason I'm writing it the way I am.
JAG is primarily a military legal show, but it has elements of aviation (as Harm is a former naval aviator) and a lot of the first four seasons of JAG was Harm's attempt to get back to the cockpit. My love has always been aviation and as such a lot of my stories will involve aviation with the OC in my stories being an actve naval aviator who is still a line officer. With Harm's and Animal's paths first having crossed at PROTRAMID ((Professional Training – Midshipman) a cruise (line officers) or course (for staff-officers) that all Naval Academy midshipmen take when they first try to decide what their focus or specialty is going to be in the Navy) In my story-line Harm's PROTRAMID was on-board the USS Nimitz seeing VF-41 Black Aces and what they do as he wanted to be in the Navy as a naval aviator like his late father. In 1984 when Harm was a second-classman midshipman while Animal was a Lieutenant JG at the age of 26 (which puts his birth year as 1958), a few months from being promoted to Lieutenant (Harm was commissioned in 1986 as an Ensign). Their paths cross again in RAG (Reserve Air Group) where Harm, after his stint with Lieutenant Hochhausen learning to fly on the T-2C Buckeye, learns to fly the F-14 drawing Animal, now serving with the Fleet Reserve Air Group as his instructor, so I've built up a history of Animal's dealings with Harm as a basis for my series of stories. There is no way in my stories that I will chalk things up to literary license as the TV show TPTB will do. Everything has to follow proper protocol; believable military structure and correct time-in-rank/grade with the exception of certain things (performance, deep-selection, awards conveying promotion points towards their eligibility to be promoted, COs taking notice and promoting those who are capable of greater duties). Proper usage of terminology, both aviation and military will also be a part of my stories, so while it may seem that I "spout out acronym"s you can be damned sure I know what they mean and when and how (in whatever context) they are used. It's all a matter of making the characters sound the way they're supposed to (in the military).
Unlike a certain reviewer (who shall remain nameless) whose "hit and run" review I promptly deep-sixed. I don't have a problem with constructive negative reviews, what I have a problem with is misinformed and insulting reviews which have no place in any form; literary or otherwise. Such reviews are not worth giving any of my time to nor allowing to see the light of day.
I have spent years enjoying JAG which has grown to be one of my favorite shows (if not the ONLY show that I find worth watching), when I first started watching it in the mid 90s (1995 when it first started airing). In fact my life has revolved completely around JAG. In actual fact, my marriage is solely as a result of my fandom with JAG. My wife was one of the first JAGfans that contacted me about my fanfic (when I was a Harm/Mac fanatic). My wife of 21 years moved up here to be with me as a result of that particular show and our paths wouldn't have crossed without the JAG fandom on YahooGroups that facilitated our contact with one another (we now have three sons and a daughter together) so if it weren't for JAG, I would never have met her.
If there is one thing I pride myself on with my JAG stories, it is making sure that my stories meet authenticity, along with the background research to boot...and as such, I have interwoven the original characters in my stories in a way that is believable now as I returned to the fandom in 2012.
The Pentagon, Washington DC, 0600 Local;
A tall dark-haired Navy Captain wearing four rings on his Navy dress blues, strode with purpose gazing neither left nor right as he headed towards his destination. His dress blues were crisp and clean, freshly dry-cleaned and his ribbons were displayed under his shiny naval aviator wings. The junior officers, lucky or unlucky as the case may be to be assigned to the Pentagon at this early stage in their careers, knew that the senior officer was headed somewhere beyond their knowledge and pay-grade and moved quickly out of his way so as to not delay him.
Senior officers had a tendency to snarl if kept from their tasks And having two sets of teeth-mark imprints on one's ass was probably not the funnest way to spend one's workday. And that was if they were lucky. If he wasn't in a good mood, the senior officer might very well gnaw their heads off.
Captain Harmon Rabb Jr. Knew exactly where he was headed insofar as his destination was concerned. The office of the Chief of Naval Operations beckoned and he quickened his footsteps towards his goal. Eventually, his feet brought him to an oak door that was already open which led into an antechamber; a waiting room where those who had need of seeing the CNO would wait in turn. As a matter of fact, no-one was in the room at the time and Harm stepped into the office.
"Hello, Captain Rabb, sir!" a familiar voice startled Harm momentarily. When he'd taken a closer look at the enlisted who had addressed him, he realized just who it was. She had the same perky expression, the same cheery eyes and impish grin. But she was wearing the dress blues and anchors of the highest enlisted grade in the United States Navy; the Master Chief Petty Officer of the Navy (MCPON) in accordance with her role as the Command Chief Petty Officer of the CNO's enlisted staff. Liaison between the Navy's Enlisted and the Chief of Naval Operations, in otherwords she may have been junior in rank to him but senior in terms of responsibility. She helped out the entire US Navy while he was only senior second-in-command of a single aircraft carrier. And instead of the red chevrons and hashmarks he was used to seeing on her, she was wearing gold which meant very clearly that she'd done her twelve years to earn back her good-conduct rating. As Harm looked at her left sleeve, he realized her service hashmarks were also now gold and numbered six meaning that she had twenty four years in service.
"Jen?" Harm was speechless and managed only to free up his tongue just enough to utter that one word; her name.
"Welcome back to Washington, sir." Jen looked the officer up and down. Yup, he was as tall as she remembered.
"Jen, CNO yanked me off the Allegiance. You have any idea what it's all about." Jen smirked at him. CNO's orders trumped insubordination charges. As the highest enlisted in the US Navy, she pretty much answered only to the Chief of Naval Operations.
"Sir, you'll have to talk to the CNO about it. I'm not at liberty to say what it's about." She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm really sorry, sir." and picked up the phone, "Sir? Captain Rabb is in to see you." Only she could hear the reply through her receiver and from what Harm could deduce it was a positive as she smiled when she heard her boss say
"Very good, Master Chief Coates; send him in."
Jen looked up at Harm and said, "Sir? You can go in directly."
"Thank you, Master Chief..." Harm replied. "Jen?"
"Yes, sir?"
"It's good to see you again."
"Good to see you again too, sir." she grinned at him. How he missed that impertinent grin of hers.
Harm stepped to the pine and pounded it. He grinned as he heard Animal's irritated bark of "Enter!"
As the large oak door swung open, Harm's entrance was greeted by a rather feminine "Harm?" by someone else who was also in the CNO's office.
"Yes, Mac. Harm is going to be my senior staff officer in the office. He will provide me with some needed legal as well as logistical assistance for the department of the Navy as well as the fact that he has recent line experience in the fleet; something that has been sorely lacking and needed for quite some time."
By this time Harm had parked himself, squaring off in front of Animal's oak desk coming to the position of attention, eyes glued to the back wall behind Animal's desk. "Captain Harmon Rabb reporting for duty, sir."
"Very well, as I have indicated to Lieutenant Colonel Mackenzie, you are taking over command of my staff as my staff CO." Animal reached into his desk as Harm's eyes remained fixated on the wall. Pulling out a nice little awards box, the Fleet Admiral grinned evilly. "Of course, this means that you are out of uniform, Mister." Animal gave him a sharp glance. "Attention to orders!"
The Pentagon, Washington DC, 0640 Local
Harm, looking at his new dress blues with the one thick gold stripe and the new officers cap with the larger helping of scrambled eggs on the larger brim - an admiral's cap, could barely believe his luck. "I can't believe this, sir, the detailer told me I'd never make admiral."
Animal grinned at him, as Mac and Harm looked back at Animal in slack-jawed amazement. "The promotion boards owed me a favor, Rabb and I wasn't going to take no for an answer...". The fleet Admiral stated with an air of laissez-faire. The unwritten rule was that like a superior officer, the request of a Medal recipient was tantamount to an order. The weight of the stars behind this recipient was pretty much akin to a one hundred thousand ton boulder rolling down a twenty-four percent grade; pretty much unstoppable and not something to get in front of unless someone wanted to get flattened.
Harm and Mac looked at each other as Animal handed over a map of the current site of the air fuel bomb detonation. "We got work to do." the CNO intoned. "You know seven years ago when the SEALs took out Bin Laden at his compound, we figured it was all over, but now we have Isis hanging around, still infesting that area, scuttling like cockroaches on a lasagna. When the SEAL team tried to egress, the helos were targeted by Pakistani F-16s. We're gutting out that infection. I want our airstrikes hitting legitimate targets. Our drones in the area have been monitoring the movements and I want a strike while the irons are hot."
"Have we got Intel photos of suspected targets, sir?"
"We're waiting for updates from the KH-12s overhead. We're going to see where they go, triangulate the targets' movement patterns and hit the Islamic Brotherhood when they change locations".
"Are there populated sites they go into, sir.".
"No, Lieutenant Colonel, they seem to like isolated areas which makes things more advantageous for us when it comes to an air-strike.". That was true, it meant that the likelihood of collateral damage was much lower.
"We hit Libya because Isis and the Islamic Brotherhood were trying to make a nuclear weapon." Mac informed Harm ."now we need to find the new head of the snake and cut it off."
"Like a hydra, it just keeps popping up new heads. Cut one off, three more pop up.". Harm muttered. "What's the likelihood of the head being in Pakistan?".
"Pretty damned likely." Animal responded. "Our KH-12s have been noting suspicious movements in the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa region in the Western Himalayas. Our next overhead is in twenty minutes." He checked his watch on his wrist. "I've told our techs to give me five hundred percent magnification on the region as it passes over for the next six passes. If there's any movement, I want it captured and triangulated."
"PM Khan won't like it." Mac thought to point out.
"I don't particularly give a flying fuck what he likes. His predecessor Ashraf gave Bin Laden a hiding spot so I really don't give a rat's ass what his opinion is." Animal's voice was cold and unmoved. "Giving safe harbor to those who would commit acts of terrorism doesn't put Pakistan in America's good books. I'd happily reduce it to a radioactive waste pile if it wouldn't start a nuclear war with Russia.".he said getting up out of his seat and pacing the room.
Harm grinned, "At least you don't have the keys to the nuclear toys, sir."
"That's a good thing, isn't it, Rabb?" Animal stated. "I have no desire for a run at the White House and while our current incumbent is in the Oval Office I follow orders while in uniform.". He looked back at Mac, "And the orders of the next President in 2021, whoever he or she may be." He looked out the window, "This is a whole new ballgame, Colonel, hit and run tactics, IEDs, suicide attacks, insurgency. One that we've seen and ignored during the early 80s and 90s until it got too big to ignore." His silent inference to the World Trade Center attacks in 2001 was immediately understood by Harm and Mac. "Now we're paying the price for our ignorance."
Harm took a longer look at his former RAG instructor; the large stripe and four smaller stripes on Animal's blues sleeves on contrasting sharply with his own single large stripe as Animal stood gazing out the window. It had been long nights and days for his friend. The clenched fists, the tightness of his jaws, the stiffness of his stance and the overall tenseness of his demeanor all added up to the heavy burden his friend was carrying as the Chief of Naval Operations.
"Sir?" Mac asked looking over at Harm before directing her question at Animal.
"Yes, Lieutenant Colonel?"
"Are we cleared for ops, sir?"
"Our Commander-in-Chief has given me discretion on what measures to utilize pending his authority if necessary to use specials." Animals stated as he walked over to the desk, still standing, leaning over and planting both hands palm-downwards on the face of the table. "I don't think it will come to that, however the potential is not off the table."
"In otherwords." Harm grinned, "Business as usual."
"Yup." Animal said shortly.
JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA. 0845Hrs EST
"Ma'am?" Captain Bud Roberts looked at the Vice Admiral with a confused expression on his face, "Are you saying that the charges against al-Atif won't stick?"
"Circumstantial evidence from a villager alleging his connection to a weapons cache in a remote village is not a good enough reason to take al-Atif into Joint Forces custody, Bud, you know that already. Unless we have concrete evidence tying al-Atif to the group with the weapons cache it falls under kidnapping and illegal detainment under UN IHL (International Humanitarian Laws) Rule 96, Article 34 of the 1949 Geneva Convention IV." Meg stated, "Captain, unless you want to see our entire SEAL team that went in to grab this guy hauled into a UN tribunal, we cannot detain al-Atif. Hostage taking is forbidden under the Geneva Convention."
"What if he's released and ends up planting his IEDs somewhere?" Bud patted his leg; the artificial one that replaced his missing one. "We'd end up with more dead US servicemen. Some of them won't be so lucky, ma'am, as I was."
Meg squared her jaw, "Captain, I'm well aware of that, but if we bend rules and start breaking the Geneva Convention, then we're no better than they are; just that we're not taking knives out and cutting heads off." she gave him a hard look, "Understood, Captain?"
"Yes, Ma'am." Bud didn't like that but she knew that VADM Austin-Nakamura was right. They had to play by the rules.
"Dammit, Bud, you know I don't like those rules any more than you do." Meg snapped, "But until we have concrete evidence..." Meg was interrupted by a gray haired man with steely gray eyes who stepped into the JAG's office like he owned it. He had a weathered face and an aquiline nose. Meg raised an eyebrow at the interruption.
"Here's your proof, Vice-Admiral Nakamura." Leroy Jethro Gibbs stated as he palmed a large legal manila folder into her out-stretched hand. "Photographs of known associates in the Islamic Brotherhood, al-Atif's truck in the vicinity of the weapons cache and a shot five months ago of al-Atif, captured by our KH-12 cameras, looking straight up at our cameras like he knew exactly where the satellites were. Those were shot right as he was right next to the weapons cache. So...Admiral, there's your proof."
Meg slammed her fist on the desk, "We got him." She said decisively, turning to Bud, "Pursue your case, Captain." then looked over at Gibbs, "Gibbs, you could be called to testify."
Gibbs nodded, "I'll keep that in mind." He stated as he sat down beside Bud. "It was a tough op. We nearly lost Torres. Luckily for him, they weren't able to hold him for long. The SEAL team that did the snatch, managed to rescue him at the same time as we captured al-Atif. We got you your proof but it took me time to pry it from the Director; CIA was throwing up road-blocks."
"Oh, hubby is just going to love this." Meg muttered under her breath.
"I'd highly recommend you don't mention it to your husband." Gibbs stated. "I don't think the CIA is going to pay for Mac's boss's reconstructive surgery on his nose."
"Webb is the Secretary of State?" Meg asked, dumbfounded.
Gibbs nodded.
Meg let out an epithet that nearly curled the oak siding on the office interior walls. Needless to say, she was not a fan of Clayton Webb who would occasionally meddle in her business in terms of intel and weapons back when she was with Naval Weapons and Research. She did not like Webb and her husband outright loathed the "Certifiably Insane Asshole" or "Assholes" depending on whether there were more than one of them annoying the shit out of him.
Webb had been appointed to the position of the Secretary of State by the incumbent President and as such was detailed Secret Service protection since he was one of the in-line-of-succession to the highest office in the land. This was a procedure set out in a document that was highly classified known as Pinnacle. Pinnacle was meant to establish continuity of government (in short COG) in case of national emergency in the situation that the President of the United States was incapacitated in any shape or form.
"Maybe I should tell my husband." Meg stated viciously. "Webb deserves to get his nose relocated."
Gibbs nodded, "Well, Admiral, Let me know if your husband does. He could sell tickets." The NCIS Senior Special Agent didn't even crack a smile; or maybe the left corner of his mouth tugged up a bit. Meg couldn't be sure. Gibbs continued, "Lots of things to do today, Vice-Admiral. I have to be on my way."
"Good seeing you, Leroy." Meg stated.
"Good seeing you too, Meg." Gibbs stated as he headed out the door.
Captain Bud Roberts looked over at Vice Admiral Meg Austin-Nakamura, his CO, as he thumbed through the photos in the envelope and smiled. "Well, ma'am, it appears that the evidence, Gibbs brought to our attention ought to be enough to seal the win for the prosecution."
She nodded at Bud, "Good thing it came in so quickly. If Webb had stalled longer it would have thrown a monkey wrench in the case." Understandably, the case had all but hinged on whether they would have the evidence released in time. Shit would have hit the fan if the evidence had been delayed; the defendant would have been released to commit terrorist acts yet again.
"Not to mention Admiral Nakamura would have turned Webb into a pretzel, Ma'am." Bud grinned
"Fleet Admiral."
"Ma'am?" Bud looked surprised.
"Yes, my husband got promoted, Bud." Meg stated.
"Well, congratulations to Fleet Admiral Nakamura, ma'am. Amazing, that rank hasn't been in use since the Second World War."
"I know, Bud." Meg replied. "Our current President thinks the situation may get more heated than it currently is. So he is putting those with field and fleet experience in the driver's seat."
"Five stars, Wow." Bud enthused. "That's terrific, Ma'am. But I hope the situation doesn't get bad. Otherwise..." He trailed off. .and Meg knew exactly what he was referring to. Meg certainly didn't want it to go that way either.
"...and that most definitely isn't what we want; though it's better to be prepared than not."
Bud took his leave of his CO and headed down to his office. "Lieutenant Basrani, to my office." Lieutenant Naftali Basrani, United States Navy, JAG Corps fell into lockstep beside him. "al-Atif, we got the evidence."
The dark-haired olive-skinned Navy Lieutenant favored him with a smile, "...so that means we have him nailed to the wall, right, sir?"
"If we play our cards right we will, Lieutenant. I don't think Commander Wells and Commander Del Zito will be able to counter what we have."
"Conclusive evidence that al-Atif was in the area, I presume, sir." As Bud and Lieutenant Basrani walked into Bud's office he shut the door, "Take a seat."
"Yes, sir."
When Lieutenant Basrani took a seat, Bud gave her an inquiring look, "Lieutenant, has Lieutenant Commander Kennedy been giving you a hard time?" Bud being empathic was quick to notice the moods of his subordinates. It was what made him an excellent Chief of Staff as it helped him to get to the root of problems before they got out of hand.
And Commander Kennedy was an asshole. Keying in on the fact that Lieutenant Basrani was of Middle Eastern-East Indian descent, he made her life a living hell. Lieutenant Basrani put up with the subtle taunts against her ethnic background. LCDR Kennedy was a high-ranking officer and that made complaining directly to him difficult.
That was until Captain Bud Roberts took notice of LT Basrani's mood. A few quiet inquiries of her fellow staff and he'd rooted out the cause. And he swore to himself he was going to get to the root of the problem and excise it.
"It's Kennedy again, isnt it?" Basrani's silence was answer enough. She didn't want to stir the pot. They were hated enough by the ignorant. "Lieutenant, go take a break. I'll see you back here at 1400hrs. We'll talk about the al-Atif case then."
When Lieutenant Basrani had left, he lifted up the phone. "Yeoman Kowalski, get Lieutenant Commander Kennedy in my office now! I don't care what he's doing." He lifted a file folder from his desk and put the receiver on its cradle. Inside the file folder were several complaints from other parties than Basrani. He picked up one. It was from a Legalman Two Mohammed al Noor. According to LN2 al Noor, he'd been told by Kennedy to go clean the office head; that he didn't deserve to be a Legalman and that cleaning the head was all that lowly scum from shithole countries were capable of doing or deserved to do in a Western Navy. It didn't matter that al Noor was born and raised on the mean streets in the Bronx. He was still thought of as a foreigner no matter how long he'd lived here.
Another complaint from a Legalman Tamara bin Sadiki alleged that Kennedy was going to report her to ICE and get her deported back to the shithole country she came from all because he found out she was a US citizen from Saudi Arabia who naturalized at the age of fourteen and thus Kennedy wasn't sure of her allegiance to the US of A so he was going to make damned sure that he would find her vulnerability and exploit it to insure the US Navy didn't employ undesirables such as her any longer.
A card-carrying bigot, Bud thought as he waited on Lieutenant Commander Bertrand (Bert) Kennedy to show his miserable face in the doorway of his office. When LCDR Kennedy leaned his head in the door, Bud said, "Commander! Get in here and shut the door!"
"Yes, sir." LCDR Kennedy replied as he stepped in, shut the door and squared off in front of Bud's desk.
"You have a habit of pissing off people." Bud cut to the chase. He wasn't about to give Kennedy the chance to wallow his way through an excuse. "Any ideas as to why?" He asked rhetorically; he wasn't expecting an answer. He already knew why and that was because he'd already seen the numerous complaints levelled against LCDR Kennedy.
"No clue, sir." Bud swore the lieutenant commander looked more smug than a cat that ate the canary.
"Cut the bullshit! Lieutenant Commander!" Bud slammed down the file folder on his desk making the lieutenant commander nearly jump. "Over the past sixteen months since you in-processed to HQ, you have racked up fifteen complaints about your attitude and your propensity to bully. I've given you three warnings. Not only that you've taken to harassing our East Indian and Middle Eastern American sailors. Don't worry, you can prevaricate all you want but it's not going to do you any good! I've already read the complaints. Six in the last quarter."
"They shouldn't be in uniform, sir!" Kennedy knew his goose was cooked so he might as well go down fighting. "We don't need their kind in the Navy."
Bud restrained himself admirably. "You, Lieutenant Commander, don't get to make that decision." Pointing a finger at the lieutenant commander, Bud glared, "...and you...have just sunk your own career." Bud picked up the phone. "Yeoman Maples, Notify the Master-at-Arms that I need his presence in my office immediately." It took less than ten minutes for the Master-at-Arms to get to the office and two more for them to cuff LCDR Kennedy and march him off to the brig. Under Article 93 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, Kennedy was about to get the book thrown directly at his head.
The Pentagon, Washington DC, 0937hrs EST
Animal strode down the corridor of the Pentagon; Mac and Harm in lockstep one step behind him. There was a meeting of the Joint Chiefs and as Chairman, Animal had to be present to preside over the meeting.
When they stepped into the room, the generals and admirals were already there. Harm already knew that his role as Animal's Chief of Staff was to take detailed notes on the meeting. Considering the number of sleeve rings and shoulder stars assembled at this table it was intimidating to say the least considering the fact that in comparison to the number of four-stars in that room, he only had one star and Mac, she was still a silver oak leaf as she had been for fourteen years as she'd been concussed by up or out and that was clearly evident by the fact that her indiscretions had caught up to her. She had elected to serve till retirement at grade.
What else could she do? Go practice law in civilian life? Become a law professor at Georgetown University? Sure she would make a ton of money and possibly become a DA by becoming a civilian trial lawyer, but was the challenge there? In JAG, one dealt with international and human rights laws as well as other more esoteric laws that governed the rules of war. It was not a challenge that could be duplicated in civilian practice. So Mac had elected to serve out her time in the Marine Corps knowin that she could never be promoted ever again.
Animal was making a projection of how the Naval Forces were to be relegated in regards to combatting the terrorist threats. "Two carrier task forces in the Med will transit to the Gulf of Oman through the Suez Canal to commence operations in conjuction with the USS Ronald Reagan from 7th Fleet. Once in place, the three will plan air strikes against the insurgent threats in place in Pakistan.
The Marine General asked, "What about the Pakistani Air Force. They're not going to like our incursions into their sovereign air space."
"State will inform the Pakistani government that we will be conducting anti-insurgency strikes over their territory and they are to stand down and let us have overhead rights or they will have bigger problems than they bargained for."
General Wright raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that a bit heavy-handed, sir?"
"My job is to eliminate threats to the United States and its allies. If they want to stand in the way
and get steam-rollered, they can be my guest. They can either stand-down or not have a functional air force left." Animal stated decisively.
"What about territory denial, sir?" Third Army Commander General Kruschynsky observed. "We can't drop an armored division in there and expect the Pakistanis to agree to it."
"An armored division will be nothing but a target for RPGs in that terrain, General." Another General stated. Of course it was Special Operations Command General Dwight Sanders, an abrasive six foot four salt and peppered flag officer with a brush cut, "Our special teams can get in, hit the target and get out again."
"And I guess the Air Force is left out of the ball-game." General Irwin Fletcher, USAF Fifth Air Force muttered and head of the strategic arm of the USAF; he was always about his heavy bombers and obtaining funding for more B-2s and R&D for the next generation heavy bombers.
"Unless your B-52s like being targeted by PAF F-16s without anything but Navy Air Cover." muttered an Air Combat Command General. That degenerated into an us vs them argument which lasted roughly twenty seconds before Animal slammed both his hands on the oak table, palms down, loud enough to bring the argument to a screeching halt.
"ENOUGH!" His stentorian bellow made the rest of the Joint Chiefs jump; astounding, as they were nearly all combat veterans; not usually prone to being startled. "Heavy infighting is not getting anything done." He glared at each and every general and admiral in the room – stopping their grumbling cold. "We're here to solve problems not create more. Understood?!" he snapped.
So this was why the Commander-in-Chief had wanted a five-star. Harm thought; to cut through the political squabbles and verbal jousting. Animal's physical outburst and verbal lambasting of the squabbling group of flag-officers had driven the point home in clear detail. It made it absolutely indelible that they were to come to a consensus on what needed to be done in central South Asia and the Middle East. It was clear that they were not going to be able to fight over it as Animal outranked them all with the five stars on his gold-gilted shoulder-boards. It was his ball-game and the rest had to fall in-line.
"We have enough to do to insure we get the insurgents targeted and removed. There will be plenty of work for every command to deal with. Determining the logistics and capabilities of each command structure is what's going to get the job done." Over the next five hours, the Joint Chiefs hashed out a plan of action for reconnaissance, assessment, filtering the non-essential/essential information, compilation of data and intel and dissemination of information to the required units who would close with the enemy and eliminate the threat.
Harm, by this time, had his head spinning with all the data that he had to parse and formulate into meeting minutes so that Animal could later refer back to them to figure out the next moves for the Armed Forces of the United States of America.
As the meeting ended, Animal stated succinctly. "We need to stop fighting each other and focus on the main goal; eradicating ISIS. If anyone here has a problem with that goal, then step down. I have no time nor the patience to deal with those who would stymie each other while these enemies of our nation are out there creating weapons of mass destruction. Am I clear? Gentlemen? Then let's put our heads together and let's get this goddamned show on the road. Dismissed!"
On the walk back to the offices of the Chief of Naval Operations, Harm asked, "Do you think they'll be more likely now to reach an agreement of how to deal with ISIS rather than it being a grab the lion's portion of the accolades kind of jockeying for position, sir?"
"Hope to hell not or we won't be able to get the job done." Animal stated. "In the ancient Roman galleys, if you couldn't get up to speed with your rowing in the same direction and speed as your compatriots, your head got lopped off cleanly by a Roman legionnaire, So they'd better get the message quickly or they're going to be retired faster than they can say boo."
Mac noted that they were not very accepting of the fact that they all had to work together than trying to achieve glory for their respective services.
"I noticed that too, hence what I told them at the end of the meeting. Our men deserve the right decision-making, not to be tossed into battle as cannon fodder or chess pieces to move around a board. He gazed impassively down the corridor. "Too many of our generals and admirals forget that it's not a strategic war-game and that they're dealing in individual lives and not accountants figures of acceptable losses."
They walked in silence to their offices. "Harm, I need you to set up a tour of the US Third Fleet and the US Seventh Fleet, I want to see what we're dealing with face-to-face; in other words, I want to know if we have all the resources in place to undertake anti-insurgency strikes." He paused for a long moment and then continued, "I'm also taking the JAG with me so she can advise me on the International Human Rights Laws involving such warfare and the rules of engagement."
Mac grinned, "Guess it looks like we're going on a trip."
"Don't forget your sunblock." Animal quipped as he headed into his office leaving Harm and Mac to wonder how they were going to get all that done on short notice.
That night, Nakamura Residence, Washington DC
"You're planning on a tour of the Third and Seventh Fleets?" Meg asked incredulously.
"Yes, and I need you with me." Animal explained.
"Oh, my DJAG is going to love me taking off on him." Meg rolled her eyes in frustration.
"Well, it also helps you assess his command abilities. Y'know, see if he's the right one to groom for the command chair when you hand over the reins." Animal turned serious. "Problem is, I've been hearing noises about inefficiency in both fleets and I need to get to the bottom of it, hon. I really need your help."
"So...it's not really a vacation." Meg teased. "We're both going to be working."
"That's the sum of it." Animal sighed as he took his wife into his arms.
"When can we ever get a real vacation together?" Meg asked plaintively.
"Probably when we retire." Animal sighed, as Meg stuck her tongue out at him. "Every time I ask for a vacation, something happens that they need me. If it didn't contravene the rules about consorting with a terrorist organization I'd ask those bastards to take a break on their jihadi activities so we can take an honest-to-goodness vacation for once."
Meg laughed out loud at that. "C'mon, honey, let's get some sleep while we can. I doubt we'll have much of it during the next month that we're travelling."
Harm's Hotel Room, Crowne Plaza Crystal City, Washington DC
Harm was ensconced at the Crowne Plaza Crystal City until such time as he could find an apartment of his own after pretty much disposing of most of his properties and Grandma Sarah's home was too far away for him to commute to the Pentagon every morning. At least all he had to do was throw on his uniform and head for the subway station which would take him directly to the Pentagon and to work.
Mac had found herself at the hotel room as well...after a long discussion after work about priorities and how they had seemed to have lost touch with each other. Mac's face was drawn and tired with the things that Clay kept throwing at her in terms of her work and then on top of that Animal wasn't letting up either since he had a job to do. So juggling both demands was tough on Mac.
Harm sighed as he reached into his briefcase to pull out his cell-phone; he'd finally caved in and bought a smart-phone as they were getting more and more ubiquitous and irritating. Everyone seemed to carry one now. "Want room service?" he asked. His stomach was giving him an impatient reminder that he hadn't eaten a damned thing since the eggs and hash browns that he'd had that morning. He resolved that he'd better start eating a well-balanced breakfast (less the meat) or he'd probably end up keeling over from stress alone.
"Yeah, I am kind of hungry again." Mac stated. "It's been a while since I've eaten." After all, the pace of work at the Pentagon was quite frenetic, there was barely enough time to take a breath, let alone get something to eat. It was typically said that staff officers had to survive on air from the time they clocked in to the time they left work. "Since the brou-haha from the Allegiance, we haven't had time to talk further, have we?" Mac continued. "Have you had a chance to think on what I said?"
"...about us?" Harm asked. "Mac, A week ago I was in the Med flying patrols and keeping our guys from dropping in the drink...or banging their mounts into the fantail...of the boat."
"I guess that means no." Mac walked over to the window. "Why is it always that we seem to push away from each other? We nearly had it all..." she said referring to the almost-engagement. "At one point, you were all set and determined to marry me."
Harm sighed, "I don't think we can chalk it up to bad timing any more. We already committed once but we couldn't go through with it. So what does that say about us?"
Mac shook her head. "Special Supervisory Agent Lange told me that the story isn't over until the writer puts down their pencil. So have we put down the pencil, yet or are we just thinking things over before we write another sentence?"
Harm looked over at her; what could he say. There had been so many times that they could have gotten together during the past seventeen years. How much water had flown under the bridge? Was there too much history between them that they couldn't make a go of it; was there now too much history to let go completely. Neither of them wanted to make the first move.
"You have nothing to say?" There was no emotion left, no anger, no sadness, just a statement. "We have to work together. And we can't keep the things that we said to each other during that time that we were trying to sort ourselves out conveniently tucked under the rug anymore. We need to deal with them."
"Well, you won the coin toss." Harm said, his shoulders stiff. They'd gone over this over and over again back in San Diego.
"...and you willingly went along with it. In fact you said..."
"I know what I said, Mac." Harm replied. "Let fate decide." He snorted bitterly.
"...and as it turns out, you didn't particularly enjoy not being in uniform playing the role of Mr. Mackenzie. Just like I wouldn't have if we had both gone to London. One of us would have had to sacrifice that meant something to them no matter which way the coin-toss fell and we were both reeling under the pressure of a deadline. Do you understand now, Harm?"
"But...Mac, we're now both back in the same position that we were at HQ. We're both under the same chain of command." Harm looked at Mac with a resigned expression, "How do you hope to resolve that, provided you're interested in continuing our..." He paused for a long moment, and then continued, "...whatever it is that we have..."
"If what you're talking about is our relationship and the fact that we were never able to get on the same page." Mac replied. "The simple fact is that I'm not seconded to FADM Nakamura's staff. He's not my commanding officer in the sense of chain of command, other than in a general sense as I'm still a Marine, ultimately I answer to the Commandant of the Marine Corps and I'm still under the jurisdiction of the Secretary of State."
"Clayton Webb." Harm almost spat the name out. "It's only the threat of an Article 88 that keeps me from saying what I truly think about him."
"Harm." Mac cautioned. "Look, I just work for the guy."
"...and at one point you dated him." Harm shot back.
"...and you know exactly how that went. He lied to me, Harm."
"He's an intelligence agent, his entire existence is built off a web of lies."
"If we're going to get anywhere, we're going to have to work through this too." Mac ran her hand through her hair trying to organize her thoughts. "I know I was harsh to you in Paraguay but you didn't leave me much choice, considering how you reacted to the whole thing."
"How I reacted?! Mac?" Harm growled, "And you were tossing barbs in Catherine's direction."
"The woman you married?" Mac replied with a particularly cutting emphasis on the word married.
"We don't do too well with discussing things, do we, Mac?" Harm sighed. "It always degenerates into a fight."
"I wasn't fighting." Mac replied. "We've both said hurtful things to each other and it's too hard to work through it without help and we're never going to get through it if we don't work through it together." she paused for a long moment, "You went back to flying after we separated."
"I couldn't go back to JAG, the command didn't want me after I turned down London for you/ In fact, they were supremely pissed off. I tanked my career." He let out a deep breath, "So my only choice was to get back to sea. At least the fleet wanted me to come back..and I worked my way back from O-5 again to O-6."
"But I thought they promoted you?" Mac asked not knowing the hurdles that Harm had gone through in order to retain his commission.
"You remember that my promotion was conditional upon my accepting the FLTFORCEJAG position in London?" Harm explained. "When I turned it down...I ended up having reject the O-6 appointment too, thus I was back at O-5 Commander and my detailer had to work doubly hard to get me in a position that allowed me to get back my O-6, but I had to wait my turn. And my jacket went to the bottom of the pile because the promotion boards saw me as a pariah." He said, looking up at the ceiling of his hotel room, "You don't reject a position in the Navy and expect it to give you good things. They didn't like me when I said no." He trailed off then turned to Mac, "So how come you're still an O-5?"
"Too many demerits against my service." Mac stated tugging the corner of her mouth up in a slight smirk. "They really didn't like the Ragle incident nor did they like my dalliance with Colonel Farrow. The only reason I was promoted was because of the admiral putting in a glowing review of my conduct since my trial and the only reason why I was retained in service after i was passed over three times for promotion to full-bull was because General Cresswell asked them to give me the option to serve until retirement at grade. Otherwise I'd be a civvie-puke doing DA work shuffling papers at the federal courthouse." she said with a self-deprecating gesture.
"Aren't we a pair..." Harm snorted. "We nearly had it. Instead, now Meg's the JAG and..." he trailed off not wanting to say that they'd lost the ball. And for what?
"Yeah, that was a bit of a surprise, wasn't it?" Mac said. "I didn't expect to see her as a vice-admiral."
"Well, she worked her way up there."
Mac snickered, eyeing Harm with a side-glance, "So which surprised you more, the fact that she was a vice-admiral or that she was Animal's wife?"
Harm just elected to say, "You know, we could have had that..." he leaned back on the bed as Mac came over to sit by the side of it, on his side. "...what Animal and Meg have..."
"Yeah..." Mac looked at him. "You think that we can put aside our differences...and try to make it work this time around?"
"You willing to try?"
"You?"
"We're going to need help, y'know."
"Glad you agree."