The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;

The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep

Moans round with many voices.

Come, my friends.

'T is not too late to seek a newer world.

Push off, and sitting well in order smite

The sounding furrows;

For my purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset, and the baths

Of all the western stars, until I die.

It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;

It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,

And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.

Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'

We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,--

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.-Tennyson 'Ulysses'

Chapter 8

Not To Yield

5 Days Later

The next thing I remembered was waking to the smell of freshly impending rain and the sound of the wind brushing its fingers through the trees. I opened my eyes to see the soft darkness of the wooly clouds swirling above me. The denim jacket that I'd been wearing laid across the upper portion of my body.

Gingerly, I lifted my head enough so I could catch a glimpse of my leg. The pants leg had been cut off up to the wound, which was wrapped in bandages and gauze. Glancing around still further, I saw that Mac was nowhere to be found. The bandages and the ashen remnants of an old fire next to me were the only proof that she'd been there.

I opened my mouth to attempt to call out for Mac, but before I could she materialized before me through the trees. A couple of silvery fish were clutched in her right hand. Upon noting that I was awake, she knelt down silently beside me and caressed a soft hand over my face, checking for fever.

"I'm glad you're finally awake, Harm. I was starting to worry about you," she murmured gently.

I pointed to the fish in her hand.

"Fish?" I raised my eyebrows at her inquiringly. And, for the first time in a very long time, I was treated to one of her smiles.

"If I would've known that we were going to crash, I'd have packed a lunch. Since I didn't, I was forced to search for food. I found a small stream not far from here. It took me three days to find it. I had to use one of my shoelaces and a safety pin from the plane's first-aid kit to catch these."

I returned her smile, proudly. Dust covered her face and hair. A few leaves were stuck in her dark tresses.

"Y-your…fa-ace…" My voice was rough. My throat was achingly raw, as if I was swallowing shards of glass, every time I spoke.

"Is my face that bad?" She began wiping self-consciously at it. "I should go to the stream and wash up before I cook the fish."

And then we heard a deep, overpowering rumble above us.

"It's going to rain soon. I found a small cave near the stream. Do you think you can make it there if I help you?"

I nodded firmly. She stood up and walked over to stoop to the ground and grab the stick that I had initially used as a cane to find her.

"Here, this will help."

She bent down, quickly scrutinized my leg, and then came 'round to help me stand.

"Do you remember how you got that?" she inquired, referring to the wound in my leg.

"Pl-lane…s-stuck…," I said, my words stumbling decrepitly.

"You lost a lot of blood. There was a piece of the metal left in the wound. I had to use a pair of tweezers to dig it out. Good thing you were out cold, since the Mennonite didn't happen to have any morphine in his kit."

As we slowly made our way to the cave, I tried to lean as much as I could on the stick, and strained every muscle in my faltering body. I didn't know how Mac had the strength to support my enormous frame. I felt so impotent. I'd become a encumbering burden to her.

When at last we made it to the cave, which was nothing more than a depression in a small hill, I found that she had cleaned the brush and rocks from its bottom, leaving only velvety earth below our feet. A fire danced inside. My backpack along with the first-aid kit, and a canteen, all sat in one corner. She helped me ease wearily to the ground.

"You need to eat something," she asserted, as she blanketed my denim jacket over me, gazing at me with those dark, mysterious eyes. I nodded. My yawning stomach felt cavernously empty. Even if I didn't have a predilection for fish, which I did, I would've eaten anyway. At that point, I would gladly have eaten roots.

"I'm going to go wash up. Do you need anything before I go?"

"Th-thirsty," I informed her, and she came over with the canteen. My mouth felt as parched as a sandy, sun-scorched desert. I started to drink greedily from the canteen as she touched it to my cracked lips.

After fully slaking my thirst, she assured me she'd be right back. She withdrew through the mouth of the cave, and her form became obscured by the night. As I stared at the burning embers of the fire, meditations weaved through my mind of my feelings for her. Did she feel the same way? Had she become tenaciously bonded to Webb during their imprisonment? The familiar fear of old flew swiftly back to me. What if, after all this, it still somehow didn't work?

However, I knew I had to tell her. We needed to talk about the Webb thing and "us". Once we made it back to the States, I'd have to tell her how I left the Navy. It was all going to have to be addressed, eventually. This time it couldn't be escaped. That is--if we did make it back. But, at that point, I barely had the energy to talk, let alone have such an important conversation.

Mac returned to the cave. Drops of water clung to the bottom of her smooth, dark hair. Her skin was no longer painted with dirt.

"I'll start cooking in a minute. First, we need to look at your wound. I need to clean it out and re-bandage it," she said, as she walked over to the first-aid kit. She drew out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, antibiotic ointment, and bandages, along with stark white gauze. As she unwrapped the bandages, I didn't even want to look at the wound, but I still did.

Part of the wound was jagged. I must have torn through some of the flesh in my attempt to draw out the embedded piece of metal. A large, ugly bruise outlined the open skin. As she began her ministrations upon my leg, the pain rushed back. My forehead puckered, and I visibly paled.

"M-mac…" She flinched when she heard me, and looked me straight in the eyes.

"Harm, are you okay," she questioned, as she started to rise from my leg. "I can get some aspirin…" Her voice was inflicted with worry.

"S-stay." The water had served as a balm for my ragged throat, and my words began to flow a bit easier.

"I won't leave you."

"You…ok-kay?"

She nodded and lowered her voice somberly.

"I'm just worried about everything. I don't know, Harm. This trip is different from our other missions. It seems so much more uncertain. I feel as if, just as we get home into our sights, that it might be snatched away from us. Time just seems--so short. I just want to get us home. I mean, look at you. I know you're in pain. That leg must hurt a great deal. On top of that we're in the middle of nowhere, and no one knows where we are. And what about Gunny and Webb? I wonder if they made it to a hospital in time?"

After she finished cleaning and binding my wound, I extended my hand, and clasped it over hers. We gazed at each other for a long, meaningful moment, and then she got up.

"I really need to cook the fish. You were delirious for two days. Your fever just broke last night. And as far as I know, you haven't eaten for at least that long."

Walking over to the fire she began preparing the fish to be cooked. She used a sharp piece of metal from the plane to clean them. I supposed that her survival training was kicking in. Mine was back home at that point in time.

Later

I could only muster a few bites of the delicious fish, as I hadn't eaten for five days, and my stomach wouldn't allow me to have any more. When we'd finished eating the meal, we decided that to get some much needed sleep. Mac laid next to me and wrapped her comforting arms around me. We pulled the jacket that I had over us and fell asleep to the sound of the drizzling rain.

End of chapter 8