Author's Note: A couple of comments have been made about Mac falling off the wagon, so before you go off on the subject why not wait for the next chapter?

1645 Hrs Local, Holiday Inn Express, Waterloo, IA

It took a Herculean effort, but Mac pulled herself off the shower floor while shoving the images back into a mental box. It didn't make any difference. No matter how hard she scrubbed or how much soap she used she could still see the blood on her hands, feel the stuttering vibration of an M16A1, and smell the hot, acrid ammonia scene of high explosives in her hair and on her clothes.

When she looked at her feet all she saw were scarred desert tan combat boots spattered with more blood and the thin grey gruel that had to be brain tissue.

Climbing out of the shower the steam fogged mirror revealed a haggard, dirt-covered face.

Complete concentration was demanded to complete the basic task of drying off with the plush white towel. Rationally Mac knew her self-vision was an illusion. She was in a Holiday Inn Express in asshole Iowa somewhere. Iraq was thousands of miles away, but it was still very real in her mind's eye.

Violence and death were not strangers to Sarah MacKenzie. She had seen both in her personal life as well as in the service of her country. It was the strange, convoluted logic of her experience in the Iraqi desert that would not let her mind rest.

'We were ambushed fair and square in the middle of nowhere riding down the damn road in an LAV with our heads collectively up our ass. A mine went off and all hell broke loose. We took a bunch of fire before turning things into a standoff. The Iraqis had a covered way to just slip off. We were a mission kill stuck in the middle of the desert. They should have logged us as a success and slid off to fight another day. Why didn't they? Why were they determined to finish us off?

'Well, if that was their objective they really messed up didn't they,' Mac mused. 'What if they really wanted to be martyrs? If that was the case they damn sure succeeded.' Her mind was not quieted at all by the fact that none of their attackers were available for after action interviews concerning their intentions.

'Okay MacKenzie now let's get moving,' she ordered herself. 'If we don't get started right now Harm's going to be in here with all kinds of questions that I don't want to answer right now.' With a final exhortation to focus Mac pulled herself together and completed her preparations for dinner.

1900 Hrs Local, Lone Star Steakhouse, Waterloo, IA

Despite a surprisingly good dinner it had been a somewhat strained affair, and Harm was more than a little concerned about his partner's mental state. The fallout from the ambush was tangible, and he didn't have even the first idea about how to prod her out of the deep funk.

"Okay Mac, I give up. The 'I'm okay, you're okay act' is starting to wear a little thin. What can I do to help?"

An automatic protest was waved away. "No Mac, we're either going to have a knock down, drag out fight about this or you're going to tell me what's going on behind that plastic mask you've pasted on your beautiful face."

Complete, total, profound silence descended in the corner booth, and it must have lasted for three or four minutes.

Silently Mac chewed her lower lip as she stared at her hands. Finally she looked up. "Okay, pay the tab and let's walk into the bar. I'm not telling this story without a drink." Wisdom, compassion, and a substantial amount of surprise kept the famous Rabb mouth shut, and that was a really good thing.

1920 Hrs, Lone Star Steakhouse & Saloon, Waterloo, IA

They slid onto a pair of stools at the end of the bar. When the whiskey tender asked about drinks Mac was first to speak. "He needs a Fosters and let me have a Cutty Sark neat with a water back." She slid an American Express Platinum Card across the bar. "Keep the tab open. We're going to be here for awhile."

Harm's quizzical look prompted an answer to the unasked question. "I really hate scotch, so the Cutty helps keep the things more or less under control."

Drinks appeared and Mac picked up the tumbler touching rims with Harm's glass.

Mac: "Missing friends."

Harm: "Semper Fi."

She turned to face the back bar mirror and watched herself knock the whiskey back before motioning for another before turning back to her right.

"So you want to know what's going on in my head?" There was a moment of trepidation before Harm nodded. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing is going on in my head, and that freaks me totally out. My last clear memory is wondering what the hell Newman was doing when he dove at me. The next thing I clearly remember was the relief column medic shaking me asking if I was okay.

"I remember looking back at the burned out building when I climbed into the back of the HUMVEE. I remember watching Stephen Newman being zipped into a body bag. I remember the ride on to Baghdad, and I remember telling the intelligence-debriefing officer some vague story. But at the end of the day, I don't have the slightest idea what went on out there.

"I do know one thing: I don't want to know."

The second Cutty was dispatched neatly down the hatch with a signal for another.

"God, this tastes like diesel fuel." Her hands absently swirled the recently replaced whiskey in the glass while watching the liquid slosh around.

Harm took in a big breath then slowly exhaled before speaking. "That's not all of it Mac. We've been through way too much for me not to be able to tell when you're keeping something close to the vest. Please let me in here. I'm not sure how much more pain you can hide."

She put her left hand on the bar and spun herself slowly through one revolution coming to rest again facing Harm.

"I'm not sure I can tell you more. Sometimes when I look at my hands they have shooting gloves on them and the gloves are splattered with blood. No matter how hard I try I can't get the gloves or the blood stains off. Just a little while ago in the shower when I reached down for the shampoo I didn't see bare, wet feet. I had on a pair of desert boots that were all scared up and they were covered with stuff. In the mirror the person who looked back at me was covered with dirt with sweat streaks in the crud.

"God Harm, sometimes at night I can hear fighting. Last night the nightmare was all shooting, yelling, and I finally woke up when I dropped a magazine and couldn't find another.

"What I don't understand is why now? What's different? I didn't have nightmares when I came back from Bosnia. I've had a few sleepless nights over some of the things you and I have been involved with, but nothing like this. I really think I am loosing my grip."

Harm took Mac's smaller hands into his and held them tightly for a moment before proceeding. "You're not cracking up Mac. That whole deal was a bad scene. I can't imagine how it could have been much worse. I'd like to make a lot of it go away in my mind, but I can't make it disappear."

Her laughter was forced and brittle. "I hope no one's listening. We'd both be up for a psych evaluation about now. I can't remember. You want to forget. Shit. That must have been some party."

2055 Hrs, Lone Star Steakhouse & Saloon, Waterloo, IA

Lost in their respective memories the two sat in silence for a long time close together soaking up the support each offered the other.

"Harm, dance with me. I don't want to sit here anymore right now."

He squeezed her hand as them took the few steps to the dance floor. They melted into each other's embrace.

0815 Local, JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA

RADM A. J. Chegwidden was puzzled by the courier package on his desk.

"Coates, what's this package from CENTCOM (Central Command)?"

"Sir, I don't know. It came via officer courier this morning about 0730. I didn't think the major that delivered it was going to let me sign for it since it was marked for your hands only."

"Thank you Jennifer. Please close the hatch on your way out."

He inspected the security tape and seal on the package and all was in order. Jennifer Coates' signature was on the cover sheet that had been time stamped at 0719 when it came through the main gate. The package had a bundle of after action reports covered by a standard DF (distribution form) transmitting the documents container herein to RADM A. J. Chegwidden for disposition.

'What the hell is this? I've got better things to do than read some screwball after action report.'

The subject line on page one of the transmittal document, however, riveted the admiral to his seat.

"Subject: Referral of Potential War Crimes Activities for Possible Article 32 Disposition"

If there was a hot button issue in the American military is was an allegation of war crimes. In today's environment that was potentially even more inflammatory than sexual discrimination.

"Due to the assignment of the officers involved the Central Command commander herein refers the attached after action reports and interviews to the Judge Advocate General of the U. S. Navy for consideration and disposition."

'Chair warming son of a bitch,' the admiral thought. 'Somebody not permanently assigned to his command has come under suspicion and he doesn't want his name associated with the deal. Well, nothing's pressing this morning, so I just as well read this pile of crap before passing it along for review. In fact, Rabb and MacKenzie are coming back from Iowa today, so I'll get one of them to do the due diligence.' He spread the documents out on the deck.

The first interview transcript was captioned intelligence debriefing of Sgt. Thomas J. Wheeler, USMC. The second transcript was captioned intelligence debriefing of Cpl. Wilson R. McKay, USMC and the third Marine was one Pvt. Jasmine W. Waller. When he shoved the Waller interview aside the name on interviews four and five riveted him to the chair.

Interview of CMD Harmon Rabb and interview of LTC Sarah MacKenzie just as well have been in bright red 72-point type.

TBC?