"For Love And Country"
Disclaimer: he he he *insane laughs* I am CRAZY!!! (And that is my excuse…)
Spoilers: If you don't know who Harm, Mac, Webb and AJ are, stop reading now. Yeah, like, you'd have to have watched JAG to get it… *sniggers* Post Season 8, into Season 9, and yes, *sighs* the Paraguay disaster did happen. (Alter ego 1: "Shut up, we're in denial here!" *pauses* "Wait a minute, I am NOT in denial.")
Genre: Action/Adventure/Romance/Angst maybe… *shrugs* will morph genres.
Summary: My scheming to get H&M to sort things out, for better or worse (as they say). Probably H/M eventually, but right now I'm playing with the Mac/Webb thing. Would make a kick ass season finale if you ask me… tonnes of suspense, action, post-war zones, maybe torture… all the good stuff. *grins* And maybe even some shippery action (rather than procrastination, as the JAG writers practise…) at the end.
While working as a pilot for the CIA, a high-profile mole inside the agency and close to Harm betrays him to the enemy. The whispery gossip of the intelligence world manages to reach Mac's desk at JAG. When she learns of his capture, she petitions for a rescue op. When Webb is assigned to lead the op, she presses him to let her join in. Soon she's in over her head, searching for her best friend in the midst of an age old battle in a war torn country, with its own unique sense of wild, untame beauty and national identity.
* * * * * *
"PROLOGUE: Situation"
US AIR FORCE BASE
SAUDI ARABIA
2000 HOURS ZULU
"Are you ready Sir?" ex-USAF Flight Lieutenant, William Graham a.k.a "Shakespeare" grinned at the former USN Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb.
"Hell yeah," Rabb returned the grin knowingly.
They were sitting side by side in the cockpit of a recon aircraft specially fitted to fly CIA and intelligence ops. The tech crew in the back made themselves busy at their workstations, while the two pilots up front finished their pre-flight checks.
"You do the honours," Harm suggested, gesturing to the radio.
Graham nodded in reply over the noise of the engines.
"ATC, this is Dark Rider 144, requesting clearance for take off."
The frequency crackled with static for a moment before the Air Traffic Controller's voice was transmitted clearly, "No can do Dark Rider, you'll just have to wait. I've got a C-130 on final and two F-15's in the cue."
"Roger that ATC."
"You might want to hang around for the Eagles, rumour has it they'll be putting on a fireworks show for us."
"Some occasion ATC?"
"The bone domes like to think we've won the war."
"Roger that. Out."
Bill Graham exchanged another brief smile with his friend before staring out of the multi-section cockpit windows in anticipation of the dump and burn. Moments later, a brilliant blaze lit the night sky and two F-15's were lost in a dizzying dance above their heads.
* * * * * *
'JIHAD BISMILLAH' HQ
SOMEWHERE IN AFGHANISTAN
2230 HOURS ZULU
A figure stood enveloped in shadows, barking orders in Dari at a small team of men.
"Have you got the weapon for intercept?"
"Yes Sir," one of the men answered, shouldering a surface-to-air missile launcher.
"The weapons for ground defence?"
The men chorused in confirmation.
"The point and time of intercept?"
"Yes Sir," Attah Mohammed answered. He was the designated leader of the group and clearly had authority over the other members.
"May I remind you that you only have one chance to prevent those photos making it back to the intelligence world," the shadowy man yelled, "As our American friends put it: failure is not an option."
They all shared a laugh at the expense of American axioms, then melted into the darkness of the Afghan night.
* * * * * *
UNKNOWN GEOGRAPHICAL LOCATION
AFGHANISTAN
2330 HOURS ZULU
The radio call was scrambled and precise.
"Are you in position?" a voice asked in Afghan Persian.
"Yes, Praise to God," came the reply.
* * * * * *
UNKNOWN GEOGRAPHICAL LOCATION
AFGHANISTAN
2300 HOURS ZULU
The recon aircraft flew slowly over the north-west mountainous region of the sleeping country.
"You ready to take some photos?" Rabb grinned at Graham.
"Sure… a scenic reminder," he laughed.
* * * * * *
UNKNOWN GEOGRAPHICAL LOCATION
AFGHANISTAN
2329 HOURS ZULU
The radical soldier poised the surface-to-air missile, aiming it somewhere into the heavens. The stars shone clearly in Afghanistan's dark night.
The low hum of an aircraft could be heard overhead. Its lights were off, but the entire contingent knew exactly when it would be almost directly above them.
The guerrilla with the missile searched the sky with his eyes. Catching sight of what he was looking for, he paused before firing the weaponry at the dark silhouette of an aircraft.
* * * * * *
UNKNOWN GEOGRAPHICAL LOCATION
AFGHANISTAN
2330 HOURS ZULU
"What in the name of Christ was that?" Rabb asked his co-pilot.
He was met with no response. He turned to Graham, finding him unconscious.
"Nightfriend?" he said over the radio, "Fuck pleasantries, the monkey's your uncle. I repeat, the monkey is your uncle. We've been hit with something explosive."
"Dark Rider, I need to confirm, the monkey is my uncle?"
"Yeah, its urgent, we've been shot down."
"What is your position?"
Harm relayed their current position and speed to the CIA's "man on the ground" a.k.a Nightfriend, "We're just south of Santa's helpers at the North Pole. Slightly west of the toy factory. There's a hot 89 petalled rose at 74am and a cold 171.5 legged chair asleep at 154pm. Speed, average of my birthday and yours."
"Roger that, I'll try and get some help out there Dark Rider."
"Thanks Nightfriend…"
The communications system failed.
"Dark rider, do you copy me dark rider?"
Static greeted both men, then, "Loud and clear, Nightfriend."
"KEEP IN RADIO CONTACT, DO NOT…"
The transmission failed once again. For a moment there was silence.
'Another addition to the collection of the planes I've crashed,' Harm thought to himself, trying his damnedest to regain control of the crippled aircraft, 'Oh shit, this one's going to be the last…' The thought came suddenly; he had little time to suppress it.
The rear end of the fuselage had been maimed by the hit, and since both of the aircrafts dual engines had failed. All the ridiculous stories about the aerodynamics of aircraft allowing them to glide safely to a landing were becoming more and more ludicrous in his mind. The metal bird had the gliding ability of a large brick.
With those thoughts in mind, he tried the radio one last time. He spoke calmly, still attempting to pull out of the aircraft's dangerous dive-bomb efforts, "Nightfriend," he began, "Do me a favour would you? Tell Sarah I love her."
The radio cut out again and he heard nothing but static for several moments. In the darkness, he'd become disorientated. It was hard to tell the sky from the ground, the only difference being the sky was glistening with billions of tiny, glowing stars.
Nightfriend's voice interrupted the aircraft's suicide attempts, "Roger that Dark Rider."
Then there was silence.
* * * * * *
MAC'S APARTMENT
GEORGETOWN
2330 HOURS ZULU
While the sunset gently filtered through her window casting a romantic rose light across the room, Sarah Mackenzie sat up suddenly and gasped. She slid out of bed, hurried into the kitchen, grabbing the phone and calling his cell.
There was no answer.
She called his apartment.
There was no answer.
She grasped the kitchen counter with both hands as the phone fell to the floor. The noise was enough to extract Clayton Webb from her bedroom. The spook stopped at the end of the hallway, watching her leaning her head against the bench and tremble.
"What's wrong Mac?" he asked her nervously, not wanting to hear the answer.
"He's…" her voice cracked as she choked back a sob, "He's going."
"You mean he's gone?" Clay corrected her with a question.
"No, he's fading, but he's not gone," she shivered, "Not yet."
For one of the first times in his life, Clayton Webb didn't know what to say.
* * * * * *
A/N: Oooh, *gasps*… how very interesting.