1942 local time
Jordan-Saudi border
Marine encampment
"Ma'am! Permission to speak freely, Ma'am."
"Go on, Lieutenant," Captain O'Rourke allowed, muttering, "as if I could stop you anyway…" Training had its benefits but she wished these guys would stop yelling once they got out of basic.
"Ma'am, there's some discussion going around about the validity of the Arabian woman's claim. I mean, it's been how many years since Colonel Caldwell was declared dead…"
The Captain never gave him the opportunity to complete his sentence. "If you have not forgotten, Lieutenant, the marine corps doesn't knowingly abandon its men behind enemy lines without a damned good reason, we go in and get them out. Now unless you have a problem with that, I suggest you make damn sure that this discussion concerning whether the colonel is alive or not is ended. Your energies are much better utilized finding her and the two JAG officers who were `man' enough to go after her."
Lieutenant Rodgers snapped to attention at her tone of finality. Diane could be great when she let herself relax but this was not one of those times… "Yes, Ma'am."
Captain Diane O'Rourke watched the younger man make a hasty retreat before she turned her gaze back to the endless plain of colorless sand. Silently she wondered about the colonel. She had only met her once years ago, back when she had only just made officer status and Stormy Caldwell/Gypsy Crow was already a legend. The woman had made such an impression on her that she had never forgotten her, she'd even gone to a bar and drowned her sorrows the night she had heard the reports of Colonel Caldwell's death.
Whispering a hushed prayer for the colonel's safe return as well as her rescuers, Captain O'Rourke strode back to the munitions tent. If Saudi was going to make a fuss over getting their people back, they needed to be ready.
Later that evening
Sandstone formation
"Blood on the moon."
"What?" Mac swiped at the sand and grime that stubbornly clung to her face squinting in the dark to locate Gypsy Crow.
"I said there's blood on the moon." She turned back into the cave, moving stealthily through the deepening shadows of dusk with sure whisper-soft steps. Once she reached Mac's position she dropped into a crouch, settling into the sandy floor next to her friend. "It's an old wives' tale. Blood on the moon foretells a death."
Her voice was low and husky in the cave's confines and held a touch of the humorous, almost self-mocking air of mystery Mac so often associated with her memories of Gypsy Crow. It was the same amused attitude the other woman would assume whenever she elaborated on omens or shape shifters or spirit guides or anything relating to the mysticism that filled the stories of her childhood. You never knew if she held any faith in the old tales and beliefs or if she was just keeping them alive out of a self-appointed sense of cultural preservation.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence. Is that from another of your grandmother's stories?"
Gypsy Crow chuckled softly. "It was my great-grandmother who was the storyteller, but no it isn't. Actually I think it has origins in Europe somewhere. I always thought it went well with the sailor's rhyme: `red skies at night--sailors' delight, red skies at morning--sailors take warning'." Gyps chuckled again before she rose to her feet. "We'd best be going. You wanna rouse your slumbering partner, or shall I?"
"You'd scare him to death," Mac replied eyeing her friend's emaciated face in the silvery moonlight before turning to Harm's sleeping form, adding a quick grin to soften her sudden response. She sighed again over her old friend's condition; she could just imagine the result of Gyps trying to rouse anyone when she so closely resembled the angel of death. Harm's steady breathing resonated through the cave and had served to lull Mac into a half daze while they waited for dusk to fall. Now that darkness had at last descended on the desert it was time to execute their escape.
Gypsy Crow grinned at Mac as she filled Harm in on their current situation. Pulling the map back out of the pack Harm had brought, she double checked the readout of the GPS and recalculated the distance they would need to travel. Her technique was a bit rusty but navigation was like riding a bike, once you learn you never forget. She had consulted with Mac earlier in the day but her knowledge was only slightly more fresh, too many years spent in a courtroom and not enough hands-on practice.
Stifling a yawn, she watched the pair of lawyers exit the black shade of the rock formation. In an attempt to loosen the muscles in her neck she dropped her head forward, catching sight of the silver locket that hung from the chain around her neck. Her initial surprise at seeing her prized necklace in Suleima's hands had been replaced with the knowledge that Mac hadn't forgotten about her and that she would do whatever it took to free her from her stay on Saudi soil. She carefully tucked the locket beneath her gown and, drawing Harm and Mac's attention, pointed to the moon that hung close to the horizon, still tinged a coppery red.
"We should have the moon for most of the night at any rate. Considering the distance we need to travel, the fact that we have all made the same distance in the not too distant past, and our growing list of injuries… we might make it to Jordan before the moon disappears on us." Gypsy Crow raised her eyebrows. "If the Corps is actively searching then our chances are even better. If Riyadh has decided to exact some twisted form of revenge…" her voice faded to silence, leaving the lonely howl of the rapidly cooling wind to fill the void.
They had been traveling for several hours before Harm called a halt, insisting that they all needed to rest a moment. Huddling together in the soft sand, they passed the canteen around until everyone's thirst was quenched.
Harm's concern was split between the pair of marines. The back of Mac's head still sported a lump the size of a golf ball and although she refused to acknowledge it, he knew she was experiencing some amount of pain. Actually, even if he hadn't picked up on the subtle grimaces that flitted across her eyes, Gypsy Crow's preoccupation with watching Mac would have clued him in. Not a minute went by that Gypsy Crow didn't glance over at her friend, her face a thinly veiled mask of worry.
Gypsy Crow wasn't the picture of health herself, even ignoring her obvious frailty, she looked ready for a month or two in the hospital. Harm smothered the chuckle that accompanied his thoughts, how did he ever wind up in the middle of the desert with two `grin and bear it' marine colonels…
"Okay, ladies, we'd better get moving again."
Thankfully the moon was bright enough that reading the compass wasn't difficult; continuing to walk was becoming problematic for Gypsy Crow however. Not for the first time she longed for the endurance she had once possessed. Too many years spent locked up and poorly fed had destroyed any strength she had once had. The only thing that was keeping her in motion was sheer will power. She refused to be a burden and she was still too worried about Mac's head injury to delay finding help.
2342 local time
Saudi desert
1.5 miles from Marine encampment
The recovery crew swarmed across the shifting dunes. They had departed base as soon as darkness had fallen, carefully watching not only for Saudi retaliation efforts, but also for the trio of military personnel who were their sole reason for crossing into enemy territory to begin with.
Waving her men forward, Captain O'Rourke brought up the rear line of her small team. She disliked going into a possibly hostile situation with no more than a handful of men at her disposal. It wasn't that she doubted their capabilities, she didn't, but there was something to be said for the mental assurance of large numbers of muscled limbs and even greater amounts of heavy artillery.
The lieutenant saw them before she did, snagging her sleeve in his fist and silently gesturing to a shadow that seemed to slowly drag itself across the sand. The team froze in position, quietly watching the movement, waiting for it to transform into either friend or foe.
"All this sand is beginning to piss me off," Gypsy Crow grumbled, only half-jokingly, as she sloughed through another shifting mound of glistening sand. She had discovered that if she said something every once in a while, it seemed to alleviate everyone's concern, not to mention lighten the mood a bit. The arid landscape was providing her with few ideas for lighthearted anecdotes however, and she'd long since exhausted her store of old Co-yo-te stories. She was only slightly amazed to discover that the sand was indeed beginning to annoy her with its very existence.
Harm glanced over his shoulder at the determined woman, silently thankful for her constant thread of humor. He had been unable to cover his amusement at Gypsy Crow's earlier explanation of Co-yo-te as a trickster god, having no trouble at all placing his stubborn, jarhead of a partner in that role. Mac had been less than amused by his candid reaction, throwing an icy glare his way that very well might have been lethal under better circumstances.
"We're too close for you to start complaining now, Colonel."
"Oh, you can never be too close to complain, or too far away for that matter. That's the joy of a complaint, it's timeless." Gypsy Crow snaked one hand up across her collarbone and roughly drug it over the skin at the back of her neck in an attempt to ease some of the tension that had settled there. Pressing her fingers against taut muscles, she rolled her head slightly. It was then that she became aware of the nearly motionless shadows that lined a distant sand dune.
Mac and Harm had already noticed their observers and stood quietly still. It made no difference what they did; they were unarmed except for the single handgun Harm had stowed in the knapsack. They would pose a pitifully easy target if their welcoming party turned out to be Saudi rather than American.
Straining to hear above the whistle of the wind, a grin spread across Gypsy Crow's face. She tapped Mac on the shoulder and whispered, "Listen."
Very lightly, as if it were merely a trick of the night breeze, a familiar tune carried across the short expanse of desert. Relief washed over the trio as they breathed a collective sigh and set out toward the crouched shadowy forms.
As they got closer, the words became more recognizable… "Here's health to you and to our Corps which we are proud to serve. In many a strife we've fought for life and never lost our nerve. If the Army and Navy ever look on heaven's scenes…"
Gypsy Crow chuckled and whispered the rest of the verse, "They will find the streets are guarded by United States Marines."
Watchful and wary still of the possibility of attack, Mac, Harm and Gypsy Crow hurried toward the familiar music and the promise of protection it held. They were mere meters from the other marines when Gypsy Crow finally lost her internal battle and collapsed to the ground.
In the time it took Mac and Harm to drop down next to their fallen comrade, the group of marines had joined them, scooping up Gypsy Crow and hurrying the pair of wayward lawyers back across the rapidly cooling, arid landscape. There was no time for discussion or introductions, no possibility to assess injuries, just a rush to return to friendly soil and the relative safety of the marine encampment.
2432 Romeo
JAG headquarters
Office of Admiral Chegwidden
"Well, Admiral, it seems that your people have returned to the fold. In one piece I might add." Webb strode into Admiral Chegwidden's inner sanctum, pressing past Tiner and oblivious to the young man's discomfiture.
"You're not off the hook yet, Webb, not until I see both their shining faces right where you're standing." The admiral drummed his fingers against his desk once before turning back to the paperwork he had been reviewing prior to the CIA agent's arrival, summarily dismissing him from his attentions.
Webb remained where he was for several quiet minutes before he claimed one of the nearby leather chairs, settling himself into the cushioned seat. He was determined to wait as long as proved to be necessary. He had no meetings, no urgent appointments needing his immediate presence. He had all the time in the world to sit in the JAG's private office and wait until he was either needed elsewhere or AJ physically removed him from his current location.
"How long do you plan to sit there and annoy me, Mr. Webb? I do have work to do."
Clayton Webb studied the nameplate that perched on the desk in front of him wondering at both the differences and similarities that existed between the military and the government's other agencies and pondering whether or not he should admit his intentions or remain stubbornly silent. Since silence suited him best, he merely raised his eyebrows, folded his arms over his chest, and stretched his legs out into a more comfortable position.
AJ peered at his guest over the file he was giving the impression of studying, taking note of his situation. Repressing a sigh of resignation, he opted to leave the agent where he was; he wouldn't be getting anything of consequence done until Rabb and MacKenzie were back anyway and with Webb around he would have a ready scapegoat just in case something did go awry.
