Title: Back at the Beginning – Part 4
Author: Nan
Rating: R
Classification: vignette, Harm/Mac, AJ
Spoilers: All episodes up to but not including Fortunate Son from Season 8
Summary: AJ and Mac worry about Harm and his latest TAD
Mac looked at the flight surgeon with alarm. She had listened and watched as Harm and his fellow pilots had successfully distracted the MIGs from harassing the surveillance plane, Cobra Ball. She also had watched as he climbed from the F-14 after a routine landing and promptly collapsed on the deck of the carrier. Harm was one of the strongest individuals she had ever known. To see him carried from the deck on a stretcher had been a frightening experience. The surgeon had been with him for over an hour. He was now reporting his findings to Mac and the CAG, Captain Brooks.
"We are running some tests to confirm but I believe he has the flu," said Commander Lockhart. "I've ruled out most other possible problems."
"The flu?"
"Yes, the flu. When he arrived in sick bay, he had a temperature of 101 F."
"Can the flu make a healthy man collapse?" asked Mac.
"Sure it can, especially a man who has been under intense stress, high G forces and an arrested landing. It would be like fanning a flame."
"He was fine in preflight," said the CAG.
"That was over 8 hours ago. And I bet he had a few symptoms than he cared to admit, even then."
Mac nodded her head. "He has been on a treadmill lately. After 9/11, there have been more opportunity for flying plus he carries a full case load at JAG."
"Flying fighters is strain to those who do it full time. I've often wondered how some of these part timers keep up with it all."
"Is he awake?"
"Yup, woke up 15 minutes ago and promptly threw up the contents of his stomach. I think he is sleeping now but you can go in and check on him. We are treating his fever with medication; possible dehydration with IV fluids and the rest will have to play itself out. I'm keeping him isolated from the rest of the crew. A virus like this can spread quickly through the confined quarters of a carrier."
"When can he fly again?" asked Brooks
"A flu virus usually takes a couple of days to run its course. And then he needs a couple of days to get back to normal. It might be as long as a week," the doctor said.
"Well, I can still use him when he is better. I not counting on those MIGs being so amiable next time."
Mac decided she needed to set a few things straight. "With all due respect, Captain, isn't it about time you figured out how to control those MIGs without the Commander? His duty station is JAG, Falls Church, not your air wing."
"With all due respect to you, Colonel, and Admiral Chegwidden, I think his duty station should be changed. And maybe it should be changed to an air wing. Pilots expect to follow difficult orders. But ROE's read more like a legal document than a battle plan. My pilots are in the center of unrelenting media scrutiny in a political situation that changes daily," said Captain Brooks.
"Harm spent a lot of effort ensuring that those orders were clear and reasonable. He told the Pentagon that he believes your pilots are capable of reacting reasonably. Those weren't just words, he believes that." Mac shot back at the CAG.
Brooks looked at Mac. "Look Colonel, I realize that you look at me as someone who is just taking advantage of the Commander's desire to fly. But it is more than that. He does more than fill a seat. He teaches my guys when not to shoot. That is as important as knowing how to shoot. There are many part time Tomcat pilots who qualify for this duty, all the way up to and including admirals. I didn't invite any of them to this party. I wanted him."
Brooks continued. "It was wrong-headed Navy Regs that sent the commander back to JAG from the Patrick Henry three years ago when he changed his designator. I can't change those rules, but I can put the Commander's experience to better use than flying chase at Pax River."
Mac was silent.
Brooks started to walk toward the hatch. "Goodnight, Colonel, when he wakes up let him know he did a good job up there, will you?"
Mac watched his retreating back. She had underestimated Captain Brooks.
#
Mac walked into the narrow cubicle. Harm looked pale and his short hair was matted with sweat. She went over and touched him on the shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked at her.
"Hey."
"Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?"
"Every muscle in my body aches. I've got a headache and I feel like I'm going to throw up again. And I feel stupid," said Harm.
"That good, huh?"
"That was a slick trick, passing out on the tarmac. Did I tell you I feel stupid?" Harm shut his eyes at the thought.
Mac smiled. "Don't be too hard on yourself. It's just the flu. Could happen to anyone."
"Drop the second shoe, will ya? Sooner or later you are going to say 'I told you so'. Might as well get it over with," said Harm.
"I was thinking of it but you just look too pathetic. But you did have this coming," she said.
"Thanks."
"At least now maybe you will get some sleep."
Harm looked at her and grabbed a stainless steel basin from the side table. "Mac, I am sorry about the last couple of days. You didn't deserve that." The rest of his words were lost as he heaved into the basin in his hands.
Mac helped him lie back as the convulsion finished. She grabbed the basin and emptied the contents into the small adjoining head. Wetting down a small washcloth, she returned and laid it on his forehead.
He opened one eye and found her smiling at him. "Are you enjoying this?" he groaned.
"Not really. I was just thinking that I've never had an apology quite like that one."
"You know how I like to be first at everything," he quipped. That motion sent pain through his head.
"I think you'd better try to rest," she said.
"Yeah." He closed his eyes then opened them and looked at her. "Mac? That conversation we had over the Pacific? It keeps running around in my head. Can I talk to you?"
"I want to have that conversation too, Harm," said Mac. "But you need to sleep."
Before Harm drifted off, he asked. "Are we okay?"
Mac smiled and smoothed the hair over his forehead. "I think so."
#
Admiral Chegwidden was staring at the phone on his desk. Rather, he was staring through the phone on his desk, contemplating the conversation that had just finished. It was the CAG from the Carl Vinson. Normally, a call from the commanding officer where two of his senior personnel were TDY was an appreciated civility.
Brooks updated the admiral on the confrontation with the MIG fighters and commented on the valuable skills the commander brought to the table. As a courtesy, Brooks informed the admiral that the CNO's office had approved an extension. Harm would be on the Carl Vinson for the next two months.
Almost as an afterthought, he mentioned that the commander had collapsed after the flight. He was in sickbay with the flu but was expected to ready to resume duty in less than a week. Brooks believed that Harm would continue to contribute despite a short absence.
There was a quality to Brooks that AJ didn't like. Perhaps what contributed to that idea was the fact that no one from either the Carl Vinson or the CNO's office had bothered to ask his opinion about this extended duty. Rabb's duty station was JAG, Falls Church, dammit. Or had everyone forgotten that?
AJ's eye's narrowed as he thought about Harm's collapse. All he could think was thank god – he wasn't in the air. It could have been worse. He punched the intercom button. "Tiner, get me Colonel Mackenzie on the Carl Vinson, please?"
He'd better pull Mac out of there. If Rabb was going TAD for two months, he needed her back at JAG ASAP.
#
Mac jammed the toiletries case into her sea bag. The COD for the mainland was leaving in 20 minutes. There was little use for her to hang around here, especially since Harm was staying for two months. If she hurried, she could drop by sickbay and see Harm. If he was awake, that is.
She wondered if Brooks had asked Harm about the extension. Although the admiral had not come out and said it, she knew he had been bypassed when this decision was made. Unfortunately, to fight it would be a losing battle, since both expected Harm would welcome the opportunity to fly in combat again. She walked the corridor towards sickbay.
The small cubicle was dark except for a dim wall light in the corner. Harm looked peaceful with one arm flung over his eyes as he lay on his side snoring softly. Mac knew it would be selfish on her part to wake him. She hated the thought of leaving without saying goodbye. Spying a small pad on the bedside table, she tore off a sheet of blank paper and wrote a quick note.
Harm,
The admiral has pulled me back to DC ASAP. So this means I'm taking the first COD available. I still owe you dinner and a conversation. First Tuesday, after you return, okay?
Get better, Navy. And keep safe.
Mac
She tucked the note into the pocket on his T-shirt. God, hear me and keep him out of trouble, prayed Mac as she looked back from the doorway.
#
The situation in North Korea, no matter how grave, took second chair to the military action about to start in Iraq. As Mac deplaned at Dulles, all around her were signs of war. Increased action on any military front meant additional work for all of the people at Falls Church. As JAG's Chief of Staff, Mac was responsible for staffing, and she was immediately immersed in the business of juggling work load as the office adjusted to war. Although Harm was one of the first casualties to a talent hungry Pentagon, he wouldn't be the last. Admiral Chegwidden received requests weekly to move multi-faceted staff to other departments. Most were denied or turned down but occasionally AJ was over-ruled. Mac's days were full and long.
Harm, on the other hand, felt like he was left holding the proverbial bag. When he awoke in sickbay and found that Mac had departed, he had a moment of intense disappointment. Sickbay on a carrier was pretty limited and he spent the next couple days sleeping or bored. He had only planned on a short trip to the Carl Vinson. He was now stuck without many of the items that helped him pass his free time. No music CDs, no guitar, and very little to read. This had been his first time on the Carl Vinson and he had no real friends in the crew. Although he hated to admit it, he was starting to feel lonely. Harm had mixed feelings about the two-month duration of his TAD.
Receiving the okay to fly from the flight surgeon was a welcome distraction. There weren't many things in this world that flying a F-14 couldn't fix for Harm. And for the first time in a while, he didn't have any legal work to sidetrack him. He threw himself into flying with relish.
The American and the North Korean fighters were working on a funny kind of standoff. The RC-135S reconnaissance flights were flown at a two-day interval. Each time, as the plane started it's run down the coastline, the MIGs would appear next to the modified Boeing 707. Then, like a well-orchestrated dance, the Tomcats and Hornets from the Carl Vinson would respond. Eventually the confrontation would end in stalemate, leaving all parties waiting to gather for the next round. So far, not one shot had been fired.
Harm believed that this détente wouldn't last. The North Koreans seemed determined to escalate the entire situation, whether it was locking on a recon flight or test firing a missile. It was a matter of time till someone took the first shot.
Tonight, though, Harm was passing time in the flight lounge with his laptop downloading emails. Traffic from JAG had been heavy lately, indicating an increasing activity level because of the offensive in Iraq. I'm sure my absence is not appreciated, mused Harm to himself.
He had been away for over six weeks, so many references in the messages he was not privy to. But it was a way to stay in touch.
Harm sent a private email to Mac to keep her up to date on what he was doing. He smiled ruefully. Past history had proven that both he and Mac were not good at keeping a correspondence going through email. Some of that was his fault. He found this type of contact impersonal and lacking.
Putting Mac aside, he scanned the list for the other name that bothered him. Throughout his entire absence, he had not one call or email from the admiral. This was not normal practice, since Admiral Chegwidden liked to be updated on the whereabouts of TAD staff.
It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that Chegwidden was mad. Captain Brooks had neatly bypassed the JAG going to the CNO to get him assigned here. Hell, thought Harm, Brooks also bypassed me. He assumed that I would jump at the chance to fly combat again. Looking at Harm's past record, that wasn't a hard assumption to make.
Loyalty was important to Admiral Chegwidden. Whenever Harm went flying, he always knew he rode that sharp edge between loyalty and disloyalty. It all went back to the time he changed his designator and left JAG for a six-month tour with the flight wing on the Patrick Henry.
It was ironic that Admiral Chegwidden could encourage without resentment Gunnery Sergeant Galindez to make a similar switch to a combat unit. The Gunny wasn't disloyal, he was fulfilling an ambition. But in Harm's case, he wasn't so magnanimous.
He mentally shrugged. Ouch, that sounded pretty pitiful. And unnecessary. He knew that his relationship with the admiral was hard to define but over the years, he had supported Harm through some pretty tough experiences. The only thing that would improve Chegwidden's attitude was Harm back in Falls Church. And he was due to return in less than two weeks.
Almost guiltily, he slid his thoughts towards another topic. Brooks had made it his habit of late to drop by Harm's table after dinner. Mostly just to chat, but Harm suspected another motive. He wanted Harm to move to his Air Wing permanently. This caught Harm somewhat by surprise. After struggling for the last 10 years just to keep his flight status, Harm found it flattering that the CAG wanted a retread like himself.
So far, nothing specific had been mentioned. But Harm was starting to contemplate the decision anyway. Returning to JAG after the stint on the Patrick Henry, Harm had never looked back. JAG was home to Harm. But flying was his passion. He knew that if he were asked to return to an active squadron, it would be hard to turn down.
Harm was so engrossed in his thoughts, that he almost missed the disturbance behind him. He turned his head and watched as two pilots and a RIO started to rough it up. Nothing wrong here, just a couple of young men roughhousing. Harm turned back to his laptop, legs straddled on the bench. Harm was just starting to get absorbed again into the JAG world, when one of the pilots was pushed roughly into him. The laptop that had been perched precariously across his knees went flying across the floor.
"Sorry, Harm." The pilot reached out his hand to steady him.
Harm shot him a disgusted look as he got up and went over to his laptop. There was a long crack in the grey plastic of the lower half. Harm tried to boot it up and got a groan of protest. The computer was toast. Now what? Requisitioning a new laptop while TAD would be a nightmare. It was capital equipment from JAG not the Carl Vinson. Getting it fixed before returning to Falls Church would mean a mountain of paperwork. Harm picked up the broken equipment, stuffed it in its case and walked out of the lounge.
#
City Desk, City Desk, we now have four bogeys. Suggest time for the cavalry?" Harm was listening to the conversation between the squadrons in the air and control on the Carl Vinson.
He was sitting in his Tomcat with his wingman waiting to be catapulted from the deck. They were on standby as backup support to the four F-14's in the air. Scratch that, only two F-14s. Two of the Tomcats had turned back earlier due to mechanical issues. Now, it seemed the MIGs were going to take advantage of their sudden superiority.
ETA for Harm was 12 minutes. He continued to listen to the conversation between Tomcats as they continued to evade the four bogeys. He was given the signal to go. Seconds later he felt the jolt of the catapult.
"Incoming, Incoming. He has fired a missile. Firing countermeasures." the pilot voice betrayed the tension he felt. Shit, Harm thought, it was like they were waiting for this opportunity. The North Koreans had finally gone to guns.
Harm approached the scene, his pilot's mind interpreting the moves of the choreographed ballet of the six aircraft. He could see that the four MIGs had boxed in the Tomcats and waiting for the opportunity to make a clean shot. This was going to be all over in minutes if they didn't do something. He needed distract and divide boogies. Lead them away from the coast. Make low fuel an issue. Time to insert into the action. He stopped thinking and worked from instinct only.
One of the MIGs, sensing the approaching Tomcats, fired a missile without a good lock. The missile went wide but managed to clip the left wing of the fleeing F-14. It started to flat spin downward, the pilot unable to control the dive.
Harm concentrated on this MIG, leaving the remaining three to his wingman and the last of original Tomcats. He drew up behind and heard the tone of a good lock. He fired. He watched as his adversary exploded. Suddenly, in unison, the remaining three turned and fled towards the shoreline.
"Bogeys bugging out, Hammer. Request permission to chase," queried the voice of his wingman in his ear.
"Negative. Let them go. We are not here to start something tonight. Time to head for home," Harm replied. He glanced down at his chronometer. Exactly 27 minutes had passed since he had been catapulted from the deck. It had been that fast. He rolled his shoulders, trying to release the tension.
