'Collateral Damage' - Part Four
Authors: AeroGirl and Daenar
Disclaimer: See Part One Chapter Seven Wednesday
2023 Local - 1553 ZULU
Suburbs of Zaranj
Afghanistan The small onyx pearls felt cool and smooth in my hand. As I was silently sitting in my armchair, pretending to be listening to the happy chatter that was filling the room, I was distractedly twirling the string of pearls between my fingers. My friend Itrat, the muezzin's wife, had given it to me earlier, hugging me tightly and telling me how happy she was for me that I was finally pregnant with my first child. With a wink, she had then told me that, although Vajih was hoping for a son, she was sure that I was going to have a girl, that the prayer chain was for her and that I should call my little girl Anusheh.

Anusheh - fortunate.

I couldn't quite fight the smile. 'Anusheh Rabb' sounded entirely too weird...

Whenever my thoughts got to this point, I told myself to get a grip and let it go. Wishful thinking, Mackenzie. Block it out of your mind for another year. Patience. And yet, I couldn't help it. I could be sure that ere long, my thoughts would again wander off in a direction that was still off-limits.

Compared to not even 24 hours ago, my state of mind had done a 180-degrees about-face. Ever since I had gotten off the phone with Webb last night, I had spent the time pacing the small living-room like a lion in a cage, praying, swearing, hoping... When Gunny had returned from the group meeting, I had instantly filled him in and from the look on my face, he had immediately come to the right conclusions about what was going on inside me.

I envied him and Harm. I even envied Coates. They could at least do something whereas all I could do was sit and wait. And it was driving me crazy. It wasn't so much the fact that Harm's life might be in danger. As long as he didn't take fire he would be relatively safe 'up there'. I was more afraid that he might break from his immense feeling of guilt, should he happen to cause death and destruction in such unimaginable quantities. Something would die within him, and there would be nothing I could do to help him.

I had checked my mailbox every hour, and finally, finally... just after 0400 local I had found what I had been so desperately waiting for. The email was short and extremely vague but it made me blink away sudden tears of relief.


>> Dear Mac,

I just wanted to let you know that all is safe over here. I hope all's well with you, too. Things are starting to get crazy but I promise I'll try to stay in touch.

Take care, will ya?
Harm


A next-to-no-info mail for everyone else. For me, a rare moment of insight into my best friend's mind, for once ridded of the firm walls that he normally keeps up around himself.

'Dear Mac.'

Not 'Hey, Ninja Girl' or 'Howdy, Stranger'. Just 'Dear Mac'. So simple and yet so revealing. This line said more about how he was feeling than many words could have. He was opening a door for me to draw near because he somehow needed to connect with me. Consciously or unconsciously - I don't know. But the meaning was unmistakable.

Apparently, he didn't know exactly how much I knew about his mission and about what he had just gone through. The fact that he didn't allude to anything specific told me that even now, he was still trying to protect me, that he didn't want to upset me in case I hadn't heard yet about the near-disaster. This was his understanding of 'need to know'. Obviously, I didn't need to know any details about an operation that might have forever changed his life or even ended it, but hadn't. And it was equally obvious that he had but a vague feeling yet about what he had been spared. The full emotional impact would come later.

I didn't feel like going too much into 'heart talk' either, at least not until the tension had lessened, so I decided to keep my answer just as short. Only one word would hint at my state of mind - if he wanted to pick up on it, fine by me. If not, there would be other occasions. Right now, all I wanted was to reassure him that he didn't need to worry about me, either. Resolutely squaring my shoulders with a slight sniffle and smiling a little, I typed my quick reply:


>> Harm,

Thank you for letting me know. Don't worry - I'm fine.

Stay out of trouble, okay?
See you soon.

Sarah


************************************


After school, I had been invited to my usual weekly wives tea-circle while Gunny met with the respective husbands. We had contemplated whether I should excuse myself and stay home, claiming to feel sick because of my pregnancy, in order to monitor the men's conversation. But we had eventually decided against it. The attempted air-strike hadn't gone unnoticed by the group. The Muslim Brotherhood was furious and had sworn death to whoever had betrayed them.

The terrorists were now trying to somehow speed up their timetable for the missile attack. But since they had to coordinate everything with our friends in Basra, this would most probably turn out to be a fruitless endeavor. And they knew it - a fact that made them angrier still. So what Gunny and I needed now was to keep our cover intact at all costs. We needed to show normalcy.

Desperately.

Subsequently, I had plastered my nicest mother-to-be smile to my face, had patiently endured an entire 15 minutes of hugging, kissing and well-wishing and then had settled down in Itrat's tea-parlor, glad to get rid of my Chador for a while and to have a few moments for emotional chill-out.

Gunny had already warned me that a few members of the group were harboring a yet unproven suspicion against me. Who out of their middle could possibly have let slip something about the convoy's position to the Americans? Only the woman, eternal Eve, the personification of evil.

The consequence was that I was now desperately trying to wipe out any remaining traits of the jarhead within me. Walking in the streets, I hunched even more, drawing my Chador closer. Whenever a man crossed my way, I let him pass more reverently than ever, trying to blend into my surroundings. I gritted my teeth and bit back witty replies when my male pupils thought teasing their teacher was real fun. I continued to pretend that I enjoyed exchanging housekeeping-gossip with my fellow housewives and I seemingly gave in to the physical effects of my pregnancy, walking slowly, needing to sit down, vanishing into the bathroom to heave. Seeing me this weak, the Marine within me had started hoping the ground would just open up and swallow me.

Galindez could be glad that somehow the Latin-American macho genes were still present in his personality. His wife had become as uninteresting as anything to him. If he ever looked at me, he'd frown. But he was all the more jovial towards the other men, finally feeling secure enough linguistically to become a little more talkative and make real friends.


*************************************


When Gunny returned from his male get-together, I was already home, pondering whether or not to send another few lines westward. The Gunny's face made me push away my idle thoughts, though. Deep lines of concern were furrowing his forehead.

"Hey, Gunny, what's the matter?" I immediately put down my mug, removed my feet from the couch and got up to get him some coffee.

"You are, ma'am" he replied with a sigh, "At least for the group. More and more of them believe I made a mistake dragging you with me."

I handed him his cup, which he acknowledged with a small smile and a nod. "But I thought those people trusted you," I stated with a slight frown.

"Oh, they do, ma'am," he replied. "And they keep telling me that it wasn't my fault. That we had to use you because of your English but that you must have leaked something out about what they're planning."

I threw my hands up in exasperation about their prejudices. "But how should I have done that?" I asked no one in particular. "When I was radioing, I was talking to al Qaeda in Basra. There was no one on the line to whom I could have passed on information. Everyone heard me and I couldn't possibly be sure that no one would understand what I was telling them. Just what are they thinking I did?"

Sighing, Gunny took a thoughtful sip of his coffee and I saw his features relax for a moment as the warm, aromatic liquid was running down his gullet. Then he again turned to me. "None of them speaks English, ma'am. They think Kalesky might be working for the government after all. You might be so weak as to have a crush on him and you might have told him when we were scheduled to confer with Basra base. Then you could easily drop a few hints, just inherent in your choice of words. That's the general opinion. Someone even suggested I have a paternity test done once our child is born." Gunny's grin didn't even halfway reach his eyes.

"Me and Kalesky? Great God..." I mumbled, disgusted beyond belief. Then I emptied my mug with a resolute swig. "So the group's sure I'm the culprit?"

Pursing his mouth, Gunny paused a moment before answering. "Yes and no, ma'am. Most of them do, I think, but not the people that matter. The Magharis don't, for example. Kourosh himself considerably smoothed the seas in the discussion. The imam trusts you and so does the muezzin. With Faezi I'm not so sure. And the others... well, without much education it's easy to find some scapegoat to blame."

"Then what exactly is the situation?"

"For the present it would seem that we're safe, ma'am. The imam maintains that we shouldn't have agreed to cooperate with a Sunnite cell at all. He made a valid point stating that anyone who didn't believe in the rightful succession of the Prophets couldn't be trusted to be a true example of Allah's warriors. And he underlined his accusations with quite a few quotes from the Koran. For once, the muezzin didn't disagree and the Magharis seconded them. If the four most important members of a terror cell stand this united, I seriously doubt that any 'enlisted' member would dare to start a mutiny."

I pulled my feet up on the couch, embraced my legs and rested my chin on my knees, thinking. I hated the idea of having the Gunny do all the work without me to at least watch his six. But I realized that we had no choice. I had been exposed to public suspicion. There would be nothing to gain from my active participation anymore. On the contrary: the prejudice against me might reflect on Galindez, too, and we would lose our insight into al Qaeda altogether.

"I guess all I can do from now on is monitor your proceedings, Gunny," I said, the frustration evident in my voice.

"I'm afraid so, ma'am." The Gunny didn't look happy at all at this prospect. "If I may..." he stopped, unsure how to proceed.

I only gave him a weary smile and waved consent.

"Ma'am, you might want to act sick, due to your pregnancy. That would get you out of the line of fire." Gunny looked as if he were already scanning the room for any possible cover, clearly counting on my anger about his protectiveness.

He was quite right. "Galindez, you sound like Commander Rabb now," I stated pointedly, indignation showing in my voice. "I do think I can handle teaching a bunch of kids how to read."

Gunny stood his ground. "Excuse me, ma'am, but I think it might indeed be better if you stayed indoors for a little while. I won't be able to get to you fast enough if any of those lunatics decides to take matters into his own hands and do away with you."

This guy damned sure knew how to push my buttons. 'Harm's bad influence,' I thought grimly, feeling my temper rise. "Gunny - don't. I'm going to school tomorrow morning, acting just as if everything was fine. There's nothing to worry about, so don't make up things, okay?"

Trying hard not to flinch at the icy undertone my voice had taken up, the Gunny made one last attempt to convince me to comply. "Respectfully, ma'am, I think there's reason enough to worry about your safety and you won't have to face Commander Rabb and tell him you were hurt. I will."

"That's enough, Gunny," I stated curtly, trying to stay calm.

"But with all due respect, ma'am..."

"I said 'enough', Gunnery Sergeant!" As I jumped to my feet, Galindez immediately followed suit, coming to attention under my killing stare. I took my time to slowly step close until my nose was within inches of his. With the same deadly calm that had proven so effective back on the Watertown, I now let Gunny know that he had decidedly overstepped certain boundaries. "Gunnery Sergeant Galindez, this is still my mission. You're under my command. It is my prerogative, and only my prerogative, to decide how we'll proceed in this matter, and it is my conviction that the only way to act normal and save our cover is to go on with this mission just as it was planned! Do - I - make - myself - clear?"

My voice had risen considerably by the time I had finished. If possible, Galindez straightened even more, his eyes staring right through me into the great nothing.

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am!"

"Dismissed," I slowly hissed.

Men could be such a nuisance. Thursday
0712 Local - 0242 ZULU
Suburbs of Zaranj
Afghanistan The morning air was chilly and I wrapped myself tightly into the thick wool of my Chador as I walked along the narrow street that led from our house up to the main road where the district school was located. My anger still hadn't completely dissipated and the brisk walk in the cold desert wind was just what I needed to wear me out enough to be believable in my role as a docile woman suffering from excessive morning sickness. Once on the main road, I would slow down and put up my pained face, but until then I really enjoyed the exercise.

The sun had barely risen, leaving my path in the dark still because of the long shadows the close house-walls were creating. There was not a soul to be seen yet, but that, too, would change once I'd reach the main road.

I was so caught up in concentrating on the rhythm of my power walk that I didn't see it coming. Before could react, I felt myself pinned to a wall between two of the houses on the left side of the street. A hand covered my mouth to keep me from screaming.

Trying to make out who my attacker was, I found that he had chosen the spot well. No sunray had yet made its way down here between the massive walls and it was too dark to make out any distinct details. I gasped when I felt something cold and sharp being pointed at my throat.

"Scream and you're a dead woman, Maryam Goshtasbi," a hoarse voice whispered into my ear.

I swallowed and nodded, signaling I had understood. My attacker removed his hand from my mouth.

"What do you want from me?" I managed to get out in a voice that I hoped didn't convey anything of my Marine mode that had, of course, instantly kicked in.

"From you? Nothing," the voice continued, seeming slightly amused. I felt a sharp pain where the knife was touching my skin. The voice continued: "What we'd really want would be to have you out of the way once and for all. Women are of no use in a Holy War like ours. They only mess things up. Or worse, they sabotage them."

"Then why are you doing this?" I whispered, tingeing my voice with a rather realistic quiver while trying to analyze the situation and come up with a plan.

"Because," the owner of the voice seemed to revel in what he thought was me panicking, "Vajih told us you were worthy of our trust. While I wouldn't bet a single Afghani on that, I still take your husband to be a man of honor. So, actually, we're doing you a favor, Maryam. I think my blade has told you that normally, you'd already be dead. But I'll be merciful, for Vajih's sake, and spare you. This time.

"But consider yourself warned. We'll watch your every move, Maryam. We'll be there, whether you're awake or asleep, whether you're at home or elsewhere. We'll observe you in whatever you'll be doing. And should we ever get a hint that you're bonding with the enemy, the cut will go much deeper than this!"

With his last word, the assaulter tore his knife away in a swift movement that had me suck in my breath, trying not to cry out in pain as I felt the blade slice my skin. While I was still trying to regroup and force my pulse back to normal, I became aware that my assaulter had vanished.

I could tell that the cut was only superficial but it hurt and had started to bleed like hell. Pressing my fingers on the wound and feeling like strangling myself, I started to stumble back home as quickly as I could, my vision suddenly blurry.

Luckily, I hadn't yet covered much of a distance from our house, so within mere minutes, I was desperately fumbling with my key in a vain attempt to open the door with my left, terribly trembling hand.

Seconds later, Gunny opened and his eyes went wide with horror at seeing me. He quickly pulled me in and closed the door, locking it firmly. Then he swept me up in his arms and carried me into my bedroom, lowering me on my mattress.

"Good God, ma'am!" he gulped out tonelessly, reaching for the first-aid kit that I kept right under my bed.

"No big deal, Gunny," I croaked out while he applied a sterile pressure bandage to my throat.

"Whatever you say, ma'am," he muttered dryly, avoiding my glance.

I felt my cheeks starting to burn with fresh anger - at his insolent remark, but a lot more about my own foolishness not to have trusted his judgment. I owed him an apology. Thanking God that it wasn't Harm whom I was talking to, I swallowed my pride. "Look, Gunny, about last night..."

Galindez gently cut me off, still not looking at me. "No offense taken, ma'am." He produced a few strips of leucoplast from the med kit and firmly fixed my bandage.

"No, let me finish," I objected. "You had more insight into the situation. I should have relied on your judgment instead of insisting on my plan."

Only now did Galindez meet my eyes, the barest hint of a smirk showing on his face. "Permission to speak freely, ma'am?"

"Granted," I complied, dreading what was coming.

"You tell Commander Rabb what you told me, ma'am. I don't have a death wish."

I had to grin despite the pain. "I will, Gunny. Thanks."

"You're welcome, ma'am. What about school?"

I sighed in defeat. "All right. Tell them your pregnant wife is unwell."

Man, would Harm be in his element right about now. Chapter Eight 1342 Local - 0942 Zulu
USS Seahawk - Approximately 65 nautical miles SE of the Strait of Hormus She signed it 'Sarah.'

Damn. Clearly, she'd understood everything I'd attempted so clumsily to convey in my brief message, but now I wasn't sure how to interpret the reply. Either something was happening on her end that had her feeling frustrated or vulnerable or both, and she was reaching out for whatever contact she could get ... or for some reason, she simply wanted to be Sarah to me right now. Actually, both could have been true, for all I knew. Or maybe neither. God, this method of communication was getting on my nerves.

I heard a rapping on the steel hatch, and then a voice in the corridor outside. "Commander, you're wanted in CIC."

"On my way," I called, shutting the laptop down. The last thing I needed was for someone to see just how many emails had been bouncing back and forth between this ship and an undercover asset in theater. Secure email is pretty damn secure, but if someone were to somehow gain access to her computer itself, a message marked 'navy.mil' waiting in her inbox would be tough to hide. It surprised me to think that I hadn't considered that risk before this. Obviously Mac had been willing to take it, and I knew she'd take every precaution to erase the messages, but I still should have known better. I should have prioritized her security over my need to connect with her. Damn.

The CAG was waiting in the Combat Information Center, studying a printout of target coordinates. I didn't have to ask what the target was. We didn't dare launch against the terrorist camp before the convoy was secure, for fear that they might arm some or all of their weapons upon hearing that their comrades had been attacked. Now that the SEALs had had a chance to thoroughly plan their insertion and identify the most effective opportunity - just before midday prayers - they were set to act, and consequently, so were we. "We're go, CAG?"

"We are," he confirmed. "2040 tonight. I assume that you're comfortable with the same strike package as the convoy strike? Buck, Red, and Bounce, with an eye in the sky to cover your sixes?"

"Fine by me, sir." That spike of adrenaline that usually accompanied the assignment of a new mission was noticeably absent this time. Instead, there was this knot in the pit of my stomach, serving as a constant reminder of the possible consequences of this particular strike. "Any word yet on the SEALs?"

"They launched from the Reuben James about an hour ago. We should be getting something soon." The CAG's lip curled ruefully. "Of course, if we get word to go to battle stations, that'll answer the question for us."

Great. That's a thought I really want to hold on to. "Aye, sir."

"Pre-flight briefing will be at 1900. I suggest using some of your remaining time to familiarize yourself with the terrain. This is an area that coalition forces haven't had much experience in." Handing me a file, he turned back to the display in front of him. "Dismissed."

On my way out of CIC, I passed Webb in the corridor. "You heard?" he asked without elaboration.

"I heard." I held out a hand to him, palm up.

Comprehending, Webb handed me a slip of paper with a series of numbers on it. "The first set is hers. If you get through - "

"Don't say 'if,' Webb."

He didn't argue. "When you get through to her, give her the second set. As soon as she and Galindez are clear, they can check in with us using that number."

"Thank you." I turned in the direction of the communications room.

"Hey, Rabb."

I turned back impatiently, not wanting to delay this warning. "Yeah?"

"She's gonna be fine, you know."

Coming from Webb, that was almost a Hallmark moment. Forcing a smile, I replied, "Sure."

The comm room was operating with its typical calm efficiency when I arrived. The officer in charge had apparently been told to expect me, because he immediately led me to a station in the corner. I had to wonder whether Webb had requested that small concession to privacy.

I'd told him not to say 'if,' but the truth was, I was very worried that I might not be able to reach Mac or Gunny. It was the middle of the day, and they could easily both be out - in fact, it was likely. I might have to keep trying for some time, since satellite phones didn't exactly utilize voicemail. But there was no real choice. She'd simply have to answer. The alternative was more than I could bear to consider.

Blessedly, not long after I donned the headset and entered the numbers, I heard a series of clicks, the faint echo of a satellite connection, and the weary yet unmistakable voice of my partner.

"Maryam."

In spite of the situation, I had to smile. "Is that what you're calling yourself these days, Marine?"

"Harm!" Her voice brightened considerably, and I thought I heard a note of relief in it. "God, it's good to hear your voice, sailor."

"Trust me, the feeling is very much mutual. You have no idea how glad I am that I caught you, but why aren't you at school?"

There was a split-second of hesitation, beyond the normal time lag, before she replied. "I didn't go today. Force protection issue."

That didn't sound promising. "You okay?" I immediately asked.

"Sure. We're just being careful. What about you? The strike was called off in time?"

"Thanks to you, yeah. Two SEAL teams are securing the convoy as we speak. No word on casualties yet, but nothing's been detonated, so we're pretty optimistic."

There was another pause before Mac's voice returned, and I could almost feel her tension through the connection. "Harm, they're moving up their plans as fast as possible. The attack could be carried out in less than a day. There's no way the boarding parties will be able to secure the cargo and remove the chemical agents in that amount of time."

"I know. That's why I called. I need you and Gunny to get the hell out of Dodge. Don't worry about how your cover will hold up. Just do whatever you have to in order to get yourselves at least twenty klicks out of town by 2030 local time tonight."

Her response was tinged with quiet understanding. "You're coming in, aren't you?"

"Mac, we have to prevent that attack. Your intel's been great - the civilian risk will be extremely low."

"I wasn't asking about the strike in general. I understand how necessary that is. I was asking about you."

I shut my eyes for a moment, knowing how my original line of work tended to affect her. An apology hovered on the tip of my tongue, but this wasn't the time. Instead, I tried to keep my response upbeat. "They're short some pilots out here, and I do have a somewhat unique perspective on the ROEs."

"I'll bet." I heard her soft sigh, and then the jarhead shield went up. "I can't say I'll be crushed to leave this little paradise behind, but this probably means I won't get the pleasure of nailing Kalesky's ass personally."

I knew she was only trying to keep the conversation light, as I had, but suddenly I couldn't muster up the courage to play along anymore. Too much about this plan still scared the hell out of me. "If possible, head for the coalition camp near Kadesh. Here's the contact number. If you can't raise the Seahawk on the satphone, the Canadian regiment will be able to put you on the 21MC."

She took the numbers down, still sounding uncertain. "Keep your altitude up, okay? These guys have got enough Stingers to really wreck up everyone's day."

"I'm not worried about Stingers. I'm worried about you two getting out of there." I recognized the edge in my own voice, but felt fairly powerless to restrain it. "I've got pre-flight in about five hours, wheels up in less than seven. I really don't want to be wondering where you are at that point."

"I understand."

No, you don't, I wanted to shout, tightening my hand around the console's edge until my knuckles whitened. How could anyone understand this? Searching for a way to get my message across without putting too much on her shoulders, I finally said, "I'm not kidding, Sarah. Be careful. We've got a lot left to do in this world."

She was silent for a moment, and I knew the use of her name had registered with her. "That we do," she replied at last. "I'll go alert Gunny. We'll be on line with an all-clear for you ASAP."

"All right. I'll see you soon, okay? Somehow."

"I'll be looking forward to it. Take care."

The line disconnected. I sat back in the chair and just stared at the console for a while. A small digital readout displayed the current time in glaring, unblinking lights. I fought the urge to slam my hand against it. Violence against chronometers wasn't likely to affect the passage of time one way or the other.

Come on, Mac. Get out of there and call before I lose my mind.


1534 Local - 1134 Zulu


Never before had I had such difficulty finding ways to waste time aboard a carrier. I'd been over the strike preparations more times than I could count. An hour in the gym was my limit: if I truly put all my fears and frustrations into a workout, I'd be too tired to fly. The movie on the ship's TV channel was some inane buddy comedy that only reminded me of how young the majority of this crew was. Christ, how did I end up here? I didn't come out here to take a combat mission. Shouldn't it be someone younger, someone better trained - someone who wouldn't have the obstacle of knowing the personnel on the ground so well ...

Over the roar of the waves, I could barely make out a metallic thumping from behind me. When I turned from the rail, Coates was standing there, her hand resting against the bulkhead.

"You don't need to knock out here, Petty Officer," I called to her, attempting a wan smile. "It's not a private area."

"No, sir, but those looked like some pretty private thoughts." She stepped out to join me on the fantail, zipping up her jacket. "I've been looking all over for you, sir. Thought you'd be hanging out somewhere closer to the jets."

Almost without thinking about it, I uttered a sentiment that hadn't been true for over ten years. "I don't particularly want to look at the jets right now."

The young woman blinked. "This mission's going to be that bad?"

"That's going to depend on a lot of things." I leaned my forearms on the rail. "This camp we're hitting - it's where Colonel Mackenzie and the Gunny have been operating."

Coates's eyes widened, and she searched awkwardly for a response. "She's bugging out, isn't she, sir?"

"She said she would. But so far nobody's heard from them, and it just keeps getting closer and closer to go time."

"Shit," she breathed, moments, before a look of panic flashed across her face. "I mean - I'm sorry - "

"No, that's pretty much how I'd summarize the situation, too." I shot a rueful grin in her direction.

Coates shook her head. "If you get to the target and they haven't gotten clear ... will you - "

"Blow my brains out?" This time I couldn't even fake a smile.

Somehow, that didn't shake her as badly as I would have expected. "I was going to say, will you be able to drop your weapons. Without knowing for sure if they're safe."

It was a question I shouldn't have tried to answer aloud, especially to a junior enlisted, but I needed to. I needed someone to bear this crushing burden with me, if only for an instant. "I swear to God, Coates, I don't know," I whispered.

To her credit, she didn't unravel when confronted by the complete paralysis of a senior officer. Instead, she spoke in a measured tone. "Commander, with all due respect and then some, maybe you shouldn't fly this one."

"Nobody should have to fly this one. Nobody should have to take an action that he knows could kill friendlies or civilians. But it happens, because it has to, and the least I can do is keep up my part of it all."

"Sir, this isn't like providing close air support for the infantry. Knowing Americans could be in the strike zone is one thing. Knowing that someone you have a - " She fumbled for the right word. " - connection with ..."

"That connection is the reason I have to go." I knew that this was going to sound bizarre, but I wasn't in the mood to care. "I told Mac once that I always know where she is, and to a certain extent, I believe it. When I went down in the Atlantic, she was the one who directed the SAR bird to my location. I guess I'm hoping that whatever that little trick is, it might help me get a feel for where she is when we launch. Maybe just a general sense of direction would make the difference."

Coates gave a soft sigh, and I shook my head. "I know. Go ahead and report me for that psych eval."

"No, I was just thing about how romantic that would sound if it wasn't really happening."

I probably should have tried to contest that assessment, just on general principle, but she was right. The person who meant the most to me in the world might be sitting in the middle of a target that I'd been ordered to destroy. There's a concept Shakespeare never dreamed up.

"She's a Marine," I said firmly, hoping to convince us both. "So is the Gunny. They'll find a way to get clear."

The petty officer nodded bravely. "They're probably already clear, sir. Just having communications issues."

"Good answer. Keep repeating that to me for the next few hours, whenever I look like I'm getting close to freaking out." After a few moments of silence, I turned to face her fully. "Listen, I keep forgetting to say this, but you've been doing a really great job out here."

Coates was caught off-guard by that, and it took her a moment to decide how to respond. "Thank you, sir. But I've just been doing what was directed."

"You weren't directed to spend your off-hours helping the fleet JAGs, but you did."

She looked embarrassed. I got the sense that she wasn't accustomed to receiving praise. "It's not like I had anything better to do."

"That's not the point, though, is it?" I returned my gaze to the horizon. "I just wanted you to know that I wrote you up for a commendation medal. The nomination package is on my computer, so if something should happen on this mission, you are hereby ordered to make sure it gets submitted, all right?"

Coates paled. "Don't say things like that, sir," she begged, giving a shaky laugh. "You pilots are supposed to act like you're bulletproof. It makes the rest of us feel better."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry." I tossed her a crooked smile. "Seriously, Jen. Thanks for everything. Including this."

"Least I could do, sir." She followed my gaze out across the breaking waves. "Do you mind if I stick around for a while?"

The instant she said it, I suddenly realized that I'd much rather have company than be alone with thoughts such as these. I wondered if she'd realized it, too. "Be my guest."

Sometimes I wish I had a little sister. I think I know just what I'd want her to be like. To be continued...