Disclaimer: None of the JAG characters are mine, they belong to Donald Bellisario and CBS and whatnot.

Wow, didn't realize that last chapter would end up so controversial. So first I'll address the concerns. (1) Harm - well, he's in this chapter more and I promise he's going to be a lot more central to the chapters after the next one (yes, the rescue is coming up). To be honest, when I started writing I didn't realize the story would end up quite so Mac-centric but that's the way it ended up coming out. I guess all I can really say is sorry the story didn't deal as much with Harm (heck, it didn't really go the way I had planned either). (2) I wasn't trying to make out that Mac isn't emotion driven, it was meant to be AJ's opinion, sorry if it came out wrong. (3) Erm, well I like to think of AJ this way and I'll be honest, I haven't seen all of the episodes (stupid USA skipping eps) so maybe my perception is a bit off. But for the sake of the story we'll pretend this is how he feels/acts.

Okay then. Sorry I didn't update sooner, I couldn't seem to find a good breaking point. So instead I just kept writing until I reached one and split it into two chapters so you guys get two for the price of one today. I apologize in advance for the horrendous break between the chapters, like I said, couldn't find a good stopping point. Thanks so much to snugglebug, mjag, LiseGirardi, zeilfanaat, harmfan, MacHarmever, martini1988, jaka, Disaster Child, TomcatHM, JAGfan, Tina Frank, Beach chickJASSNL, Radiorox, Jagfan44, shiri, and anyone I missed! I hope you all enjoy the chapter! Read and review!

Thursday

Unknown Location

0200 ZULU

I am an American, fighting in the forces which guard my country and our way of life. I am prepared to give my life in their defense. Harm lay on his back, staring up into the darkness. He couldn't see anything but for some reason he felt more comfortable with his eyes open. They'd left him alone for what he could only guess had been a few days. His ribs were bearable and most of the scratches and lacerations from when he was captured were healed. At least he could breathe somewhat properly now, he hoped his ribs were in a semblance of proper alignment. On the other hand, he wasn't really expecting them to stay unbroken for any great length of time once his friendly neighborhood insurgents decided to pay him another visit.

He'd briefly considered counting ceiling tiles when he'd first gotten bored. Then he remembered he couldn't actually see the ceiling. So he'd settled for reciting every song he could remember. Eventually he'd run out of songs. He'd tried quoting movies but found he was unable to remember many quotes. So now he found himself reciting the Code of Conduct for prisoners to himself. I will never surrender of my own free will. If in command, I will never surrender the members of my command while they still have the means to resist.

He hadn't done that. Rather he'd locked away his free will for the most part. He allowed himself to remember innocuous things like songs and movies now, and some of his legal training. But he still refused to let himself remember anything else. His family, friends, naval knowledge, all were still a deliberate blur. Harm sighed softly, all but one that is. He still couldn't bring himself to block out memories of Mac, those were the only thing keeping him going. Between her and his innate sense of duty he'd persisted in staying alive, he had a promise to keep.

If I am captured I will continue to resist by all means available. I will make every effort to escape and to aid others to escape. I will accept neither parole nor special favors from the enemy. A slight smile crossed his lips, Mac had certainly done that. He remembered trying to open his door after she'd left, frantically trying to join her and the lieutenant in escape. But he'd failed, and it had only been a few minutes before men had burst into his cell. The smile turned to a grimace as his hand automatically went to his ribs, touching them lightly through his grimy shirt. Since that first time he'd been in too much pain to move much less try to escape. And now that he could move he couldn't see.

Oh he'd tried, feeling his way along the walls. He'd eventually located the door, discovering that there was no way to open it from the inside. But he'd worked at it until exhaustion won out. Unfortunately he was too weak to make a break for it when they opened the door. Harm knew that was deliberate on their part, they weren't going to risk giving him enough to actually remain strong. Rather they gave him just enough bread and water to stay alive. But still he tried, growing weaker by the hour whenever he did so, but it was better than doing nothing. He tried to raise his right arm, testing his strength. He'd barely moved it six inches into the air when his muscles gave out and his hand smacked back down on his ribs, prompting a sharp intake of breath at the sudden pain.

Nope, not time to try again. Harm had a sinking feeling he wasn't going to be strong enough to try more than once more, provided they didn't kill him first. Sighing again he resumed reciting the code mentally, distracting himself from despair. If I become a prisoner of war, I will keep faith with my fellow prisoners. I will give no information or take part in any action which might be harmful to my comrades. If I am senior, I will take command. If not, I will obey the lawful orders of those appointed over me and will back them up in every way. Well, he had no fellow prisoners that he knew of, not after Mac and Vukovic had escaped. That was definitely a plus; he didn't wish this on anyone.

When questioned, should I become a prisoner of war, I am required to give name, rank, service number, and date of birth. I will evade answering further questions to the… He only made it halfway through the next article when he heard a key turn in the door lock. Instinctively he closed his eyes against the inevitable flood of light. Sitting in pitch blackness all day was definitely not doing anything for his vision. He hoped they were just here to feed him, he had no idea how long it'd been since he'd last eaten. His stomach had long since given up on making its hunger known, but still, he needed his strength, what little there was left of it.

Harm felt two men grab him roughly under the arms and haul him to his feet. No such luck then, beatings were the order of the day. Sardonically he asked himself, the beatings will continue until morale improves? Carefully he cracked one eye, trying to see what was going on then promptly screwed it shut again as he was dragged out of the room. Well, this is new, he thought wryly. Unfortunately new in this place never meant anything good. He could feel the light stabbing at his eyelids as he was hauled down the hallway. Harm tried to keep his feet under him, moving with as much of his own power as he could. But they moved too quickly and he couldn't keep up in his present state. He ended up being literally dragged more often than not.

They didn't go far before hanging a quick right and dropping him to the floor in the corner of another room. Cautiously he rolled to his back, trying to open his eyes as tiny of an amount as possible. This room was well lit, unlike his own. Light poured through both a window as well as being radiated from the lamp hanging on the ceiling. Very slowly his eyes adjusted to the sudden light. He could vaguely make out the outlines of four men, one of whom he was sure was the man he'd dubbed Vader. The others he didn't recognize but one was holding something. Blinking a couple times Harm tried to focus, his eyes still slits against the light. It was something he knew he should recognize, a… camera? Why the hell did he have a camera?

For a brief moment he wondered if he was about to lose his head, literally. No… they use video cameras for that… what the hell is going on? He was getting more confused by the moment but then he heard the big man speak, "You can begin. Remember, we want him still alive." Harm's vision had begun to clear and he could see the cold smile on the other man's face. "But he doesn't need to be conscious." Harm allowed his eyes to close again feeling a wave of despair wash over him. Mentally he began reciting, repeating the words over and over like a mantra, I will never forget that I am an American, fighting for freedom, responsible for my actions, and dedicated to the principles which made my country free. I will trust in my God and in the United States of America.

Harm lay in the crumpled heap where they'd dropped him. Broken bones screamed out in pain but he couldn't muster the energy or strength to try and move. He was back in the complete darkness of his cell. It might have been ten minutes since they'd dragged him out. It might have been ten hours; his sense of time was completely destroyed. He was glad that he was still alive, though at the moment he felt like he'd be better off dead. Dimly he remembered the camera going off periodically but he couldn't quite bring himself to wonder what they were planning to do.

He heard the door open again, internally he cringed but he couldn't force his body to follow suit. He let out a soft sigh of relief when the person didn't touch him. Instead, whoever it was simply set a bowl of water and some bread next to him before vanishing back into the light. The door closed solidly behind them and Harm could feel the thud resound through him. It had such a final sound; he couldn't help but shiver. Slowly he pried his eyes open though it did no good; the room was as dark as ever. Tiredly he closed his eyes again; he had no energy to eat at the moment. He'd barely shut his eyes before he dropped back into unconsciousness, the code of conduct echoing through his mind, I will never forget that I am an American…

JAG Headquarters

Friday

1500 ZULU

General Gordon Cresswell gazed impassively at the photographs scattered on his desk. The small stack of images had arrived a few minutes ago, hand delivered by a Marine corporal. They'd been sealed in a manila envelope, the words "For General Cresswell only" scribbled across the front. He'd questioned the corporal closely but the young man had had no idea what was in the envelope. Finally the JAG had let him leave, settling behind his desk and staring warily at the nondescript item. He had a bad feeling about this. That feeling had turned out to be warranted as he opened the envelope and dumped out at least a dozen photographs of his missing officer.

The message was clear; the problem was he knew the United States would not succumb. Cresswell sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead wearily. This was turning into more of a nightmare by the minute. The only thing he knew for certain was that no one was going to see these pictures except him. Frowning, the General reached for his phone, rapidly dialing the number for the SecNav. After a brief, irritating conversation he had his answer, the United States Navy did not negotiate with terrorists. Commander Rabb knew the risks when he joined.

Slamming the phone down Cresswell glared at the inanimate object, as if he could somehow incinerate the SecNav by way of telephone wire. Petty Officer Coates' voice sounded over the intercom, "Excuse me, sir?"

"What!" he barked back, thoroughly irritated and not in the mood for interruptions.

He immediately regretted his reaction but felt a small surge of pride when Coates didn't hesitate, simply stating calmly, "Colonel MacKenzie is here and would like to see you?"

He blinked, his anger forgotten. What on earth was the Colonel doing here; she wasn't off medical leave for another week. Frowning he replied, his voice quieter now, "Just a moment." Swiftly he gathered up the pictures, stuffing them back into their envelope. Finishing he scanned the desk quickly then pushed the intercom button again, "Send her in, Coates." Almost immediately the door opened and Colonel MacKenzie hobbled in. Cresswell's frown deepened. Mac came to attention in front of his desk despite being in civilian clothing. Absently he waved her to a chair, "Have a seat, Colonel." Cocking his head he smiled slightly, "I must say it's odd seeing you in this office in civvies."

Mac smiled back, commenting wryly, "It's odd being here in civvies, sir."

The General leaned back in his chair, studying Mac thoughtfully, "So, Colonel, what is it that brings you in when you're supposed to be on medical leave?"

The smile fled from Mac's face as she set a file on the desk in front of him. Settling back in her own chair she replied steadily, everything about her conveying just how deadly serious she was, "My report on the Iraq incident, sir."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. Leaning forward he snagged the file and pulled it towards him, commenting, "You didn't need to file this until your return."

Mac gazed back at him calmly, nodding slightly, "I know, sir. I felt it best if I brought it in as soon as possible."

Cresswell eyed her momentarily; there was something in her voice that made him tense. He knew then that he wasn't going to like the report; well this day just gets better and better. Slowly he opened the folder, skimming the top page. Then he reread it slower, letting the words sink in. Meticulously he read through the entire report, momentarily forgetting he wasn't alone in his office. Mac sat and watched him patiently, her expression grim. This was it and truthfully she wasn't sure how the General would react. She could have at least guessed as to the Admiral's reaction but she was still wary of the General. Sure, she knew now he wasn't going to arbitrarily reassign her to Iceland, but that didn't mean he was going to take well to what she had to say, especially about another officer.

Finally he raised his head slowly to meet Mac's gaze. He gazed at her steadily for a long moment, noting with approval that she didn't flinch or drop her own gaze. After a few more moment of silence he heaved a sigh and spoke, careful to keep his voice completely neutral, "You're certain this is how you want the report to stand?"

Mac answered calmly, "Yes, sir."

He glanced down again, flipping idly through the pages. He frowned thoughtfully; this hadn't quite been what he was expecting. Yet, he wasn't about to discount Mac's take on the situation. In fact, from what he'd heard, her report was dead on. Though he didn't move his head he looked up at her, peering over the top of the file, "Your recommendation?"

Mac heaved a mental sigh of relief; he wasn't going to dress her down for anything. She pondered the question a moment then answered confidently, "An Article 32 hearing, sir. Let the judge decide if it's worth a court martial."

Cresswell raised his head, arching an eyebrow slightly with faint amusement. His voice was wry, "Considering the list of charges that will come out of this, I doubt a court martial is avoidable."

She shrugged slightly, "Probably not, sir. But legally it would be better to do the hearing first."

He nodded, closing the file and setting it back on his desk. He hit the intercom button on the phone, "Coates, have Commanders Turner and Roberts report to my office immediately." He leaned back and folded his hands in his lap, "I'll assign someone from outside the office to defend since I doubt anyone here will want the job." Mac's lips quirked in a faint smile as she nodded in agreement.

Coates' voice sounded over the intercom, "Sir, the Commanders are here."

"Send them in." He looked at Mac once more with a grim smile then glanced at the door as it opened. Sturgis and Bud entered and quickly moved to stand at attention in front of the General's desk. Sighing he nodded, "At ease, have a seat gentlemen."

Relaxing both men glanced curiously at Mac but didn't say anything, figuring her presence would be explained soon enough. Cresswell looked over the small group for a moment then began, "Based on reports I've received about the events in Iraq I've made a decision concerning charges." Mac glanced at him sharply; she hadn't realized he'd already had reports. Though, now that she thought about it, she really shouldn't be surprised as both the Colonel at the base and Captain Ingles would have contacted the General.