A/N: The DSD, to the best of my memory, is the Defense Security Division; Palmer worked for them on the show. That may or may not be important later on. SOV is a special operations vehicle; these ones are huge, hence the reference to the 'railway'. Next chapter, we'll finally get some Angsty!Harm.
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Desert, Middle East (Coordinates Classified)
Mac
"There's a reason the two of us are the ones on roof patrol," Andie says, still scanning the terrain with her binoculars.
"Because we don't scare easy?" I ask impudently, and she shakes her head.
"Because you and I were members of a named team, so we have clearance to know things the rest of the team doesn't."
"Like what?"
She's quiet for a minute. "Our orders are Priority One Retrieval of the hostages and those missiles. All other objectives are secondary."
Now I know where she's going with this. "Like bringing everyone back alive?"
"Or at all." She glances over at me. "I know that rubs your Marine Corps sensibilities the wrong way, but as the roof patrol we're the easiest targets, and if something happens to one of us the rest need to leave them behind and keep going."
"Are you expecting something to happen?"
She hesitates, then shakes her head. "No more than usual. But that's why the two of us are up here. If one of us gets taken down, we've got to play dead. If the others think we're alive and come back for us, we could jeopardize the whole thing."
"Play dead," I agree. "We did the same thing in Bosnia, you know."
"That was different," she says. I look over at her, but her expression is inscrutable.
"You can trust this group to follow orders," I say finally, but I have the niggling feeling that that isn't what she means.
"Their orders are to leave black arrows behind," she replies carefully. "So they need to believe we're dead or they might come back for us."
"Worst comes to worst, Meph, we can make them believe it."
We fall silent again, but the silence is uncomfortable, and I find myself wishing Donovan would drive a little faster so we could get this over with.
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Judge Advocate General Headquarters
Harm
"Harris court-martial. Insley court-martial. Keller Article 32." I sigh as I throw the files onto my desk. "No wonder you took off, Mac," I mutter, gazing with distaste at the files. "These cases suck."
"Sir?" a tentative voice calls from the door, and I turn to see Lieutenant Roberts standing just inside my office.
"Yeah, Bud?" I ask wearily. "Does the admiral have another truly godawful case he'd like to hand off to me? Another crossdresser that was caught parading around enlisted berthing in his CO's undergarments? Maybe another ensign who was written up for stealing thirty boxes of ballpoint pens out of General Stores?"
"Uh, no sir. That is, I don't think so, sir."
I gesture for him to come in. "Have a seat. Sorry I snapped at you; it's been a long day."
"No problem, sir." He looks down for a moment, then back up at me. "We were – I mean, I was just wondering if you'd heard from Major Mackenzie since she left."
I try to give him a reassuring smile, but it won't come. "Not a word, but you know how the DSD can be. I'm sure whatever she's doing is ultra top secret." A thought strikes me. "I bet even Webb doesn't know."
Bud perks up at this. "Have you asked him?" I give him a look and he sinks down into the chair again. "Right. Sorry, sir. We're just worried about the major."
I turn my chair around to gaze out the window, trying to resist the urge to look around the lot for the little red Corvette I know isn't parked there.
"So am I, Bud. So am I."
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Later that day…
Desert, Middle East (Coordinates Classified)
Mac
I can't believe the mission is already complete. It's one thing to hear Andie say our mission time will be fifteen minutes, and another thing entirely to look around fifteen minutes later and know we've accomplished our objective. Both the missiles and the hostages were right where they were supposed to be, and we were in and out in the prescribed time with no casualties. We're back on roof patrol again, but we haven't seen any sign of trouble and we can't be more than two hours from the pickup point.
A gesture from Andie brings me out of my musings, and I curse myself for even thinking that the danger was over. She signs quickly to me, and I follow her meaning with the ease born of long association. There are snipers – probably enough to endanger the mission – and something needs to draw their fire to center everyone else on their positions. I can see one of them, 60 degrees to starboard, but the others are hidden by the rocky outcroppings. I know full well what the only thing that has a shot at drawing their fire is, but I wish we didn't have to do it. I'm going to have bruises six ways from Sunday.
I have time to hope the rest of the team is up to the challenge of getting the cargo home, and then Andie gestures again and I sight on the sniper I can see, preparing to get shot as I pull the trigger. She's hit before I am, and I grab for her hand as she plays dead, knowing we're going to have to fall off the SOV but wanting to go down at the same time she does. I get my wish when I feel the impact of at least two bullets against my kevlar vest, and as I hear the rest of the team open fire on the shooters I slide backwards in a controlled fall, feeling Andie do the same and trying to ignore the burning ache in my chest.