Chapter 25
The Expert
Mac pulled the bed sheet over Harm and herself and then rested her head on his chest "That was wonderful," she said purring like a kitten.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it." said Harm.
Mac was feeling guilty that she was placing her own desires- more like her own urgent needs, ahead of what she felt that Harm would want.
"Tonight, I promise that it is going to be all about you." Harm suddenly kicked aside the bed sheet. "Why did you do that?" Mac asked.
"I wanted to look at you."
Comparing me with Diane? For god sake, MacKenzie. Stop it!
"You're pretty easy on the eyes yourself, Commander." Mac felt a breeze moving across the bed. "Harm, we didn't shut the window!"
Harm was unconcerned. "That window faces away from the other rooms."
"Well, someone on the hotel staff may have heard us."
"In that case, if the gardener runs up to me and gives me a high five, we'll know why."
Mac sat up straight in the bed. "You are quite self confident, Commander."
Harmon Rabb Junior was not lacking in self confidence.
Harm had achieved what was arguably the most difficult skill in aviation: landing a jet fighter onto an aircraft carrier at sea. In the years that followed, Harm had not only mastered the skill, he had excelled at it. Following his corrective eye surgery and his return to active flight status, Harm planned to pick up his aviation career where he'd left off.
Harm was nervous about the expected confrontation with Admiral Chegwidden, who would argue that Harm was putting his naval career at risk by chasing a dream.
Of course he was, but it was the dream that Harm had been chasing from day that his father had taken him aboard the Hornet and allowed him to sit in the cockpit of a jet fighter.
Was Harm as good a pilot as his father? That question that had dogged Harm from the day he'd earned his wings.
Tom Boone, who had been his father's wingman, would know. Harm had wanted to pose that question to Boone a dozen times, but he already knew what the the CAG's answer would be: "Your dad was the absolute best."
Instead of dwelling on that, Harm thought back to what his mother had told him: "You've never failed at anything you've attempted."
I'm not about to start now.
"I said, you are quite self confident, Commander," Mac insisted.
"Major, being with you inspires a man's confidence."
"It's getting pretty deep in here, Harm. By the way, what time is dinner?"
"2000. I still need to pick up my suit at the hotel dry cleaner. What time is it now?
"1652. I'll need two hours to prep."
Harm took Mac in his arms and whispered in her ear. "In that case, we have time."
"Harm! The window."
Before Mac could get out of bed to shut the window, Harm grabbed her, rolled her over onto her back and then looked into her huge brown eyes. "To hell with the window."
Thursday, 15 October, 1998
1715 PDT
The San Diego Cardiac Center. Room 305
San Diego, CA
As they sat together in Frank's hospital room, Trish perused an Art News magazine while Frank read the Wall Street Journal.
"Any idea of what time the kid's will be coming to the hospital tomorrow?" Trish asked.
It did not escape Frank's notice that Trish now included Mac as being one of her own children.
"Check out time at the resort is at noon. Mac said they'd come directly here, so I'd expect them after lunch."
"It will be good to see them." Trish returned to her magazine.
Frank spoke up. "One of us should be doing something productive. I can't get out of here until Saturday, but you could go into the gallery tomorrow," he suggested.
Trish set down her magazine. "The reason that I took a room at the Hilton was to be closer to hospital, and to you. If I go into the gallery I might was well go back home. Is that you want me to do?"
The look on his wife's face told Frank that there could only be one possible answer.
"Of course not, sweetheart. You can't imagine how much it means to have you here with me. I was only worried that you might be getting bored by just sitting around."
Trish flashed her beautiful blue eyes at Frank. "Now that you mention it, it would be a good idea for me to go into the gallery for a few hours in the morning. Marianne has been been left unsupervised for too long."
Frank frowned at the mention of Marianne, who acted as Trish's assistant at the gallery. "Get rid of Marianne and bring in someone that you can depend on...and don't suggest Mac."
"I admit that Marianne has her faults, but she was working at the gallery when I arrived," Trish explained.
"So what? You own the place now. Sack her and bring in someone qualified."
"Is that the way that things are done in the auto industry?"
"Back at Chrysler, I handed out pink slips on the night before Thanksgiving. Would you like me to go into the gallery on Tuesday and fire Marianne? Now that I can't play golf it would give me something to do."
Trish was shocked. "You can't be serious?"
"Trish, you're paying Marianne good money and have nothing to show for it."
This was the side of Frank Burnett that Trish had never seen. She knew her husband only as a kind, generous and giving man who had accepted her and her son into his life. That Frank could be a ruthless executive seemed far fetched, but Trish supposed that he had once been exactly that.
More to the point, Trish knew that everything Frank had said about Marianne was true.
"I will consider what you said, but I can't let Marianne go without first finding a replacement."
"I have a few thoughts on that," said Frank.
Trish looked at her watch, a Hermes Cape Cod in 18K Yellow Gold with an Alligator Strap that Frank had given to her on their tenth wedding anniversary. "We'll talk about it later. Right now I'm going to the cafeteria for an early dinner."
"That's fine. My dinner is at six."
"I know. I'll be here with you to ensure that you eat everything on your tray, and with no substitutions."
Thursday, 15 October, 1998
1940 PDT
Hotel Del Coronado
San Diego, CA
Harm had changed into his freshly cleaned and pressed suit when Mac emerged from the dressing area.
Harm's eyes lit up. "You look amazing in that dress." It was the same navy blue dress that Mac had worn to the gallery with Trish, but now Mac was wearing it for him.
"Thank you. You look very nice yourself. I'd like you to help me with your mom's pearls."
Harm removed the strand from the same blue case that Harm Senior had given his mother on Christmas Eve, 1968, deftly placed the pearls around Mac's neck and then he set the clasp.
"You look beautiful, Baby," Harm told Mac.
"Baby? You've never called me that before."
"That was what my dad said to my mom when he saw her wearing those pearls for the first time. My dad always called my mother, Baby."
"What did your father call you? I'm guessing that it wasn't Junior."
Harm smiled. "My dad called me Champ. What did your dad call you?"
Tramp, Whore, Loser.
"He called me Sarah."
Harm became serious. "Mac, what's the real reason you've been avoiding wearing the pearls?"
"I had thought that they were under the tree on Christmas Eve when..." Mac's voice dropped to a whisper..."when the doorbell rang."
Harm took Mac in his arms and held her tightly. "Don't be sad, Mac. I hate to see sad Marines. My dad gave the pearls to my mom the year before he was shot down. I was there to see it."
"I suppose that when it comes to your mother and father being married, it seems more story than reality."
"My parent's marriage may have been short, but I'm living proof that it was reality."
"Smart ass." Mac playfully punched Harm on the upper arm and then went into the dinning room to admire the pearls in the mirror. "It's a magnificent strand. Your father must have spent a lot of time picking them out."
"My mother has never allowed anyone to wear them. Her wanting to give them to you not only shows how she feels about you, but how she believes that my father would feel about you."
Mac was confused. "Before making this trip, I had only meet Trish once, and that was at a party hosted by Porter Webb. You were with Annie, and I hardly spoke with Trish at all."
I was too busy fighting off advances by a drunken Clayton Webb.
"You made an impression on my mom. Just like you made an impression on me when we first met."
"Because I looked like Diane."
"No, Mac. It's because you are unlike any woman I have ever met."
Mac thought about that for a moment. Obviously a handsome man like Harmon Rabb could take his pick of women, but he was selective.
If Diane had been Harm's first love he may have been overwhelmed by her. Even so, Harm had described their relationship as being hit and miss.
And Annie? Never mind her being the widow of Harm's best friend, how could any man sustain a relationship with a woman who was such an emotional mess?
Those were the relationships that Mac knew about, but surely there had been other women.
Kate Pike? Mac was certain that something had happened between the two while they were in Naples. Had Kate visited Trish and Frank's home in La Jolla and slept in the same bed that Mac was sleeping in- and possibly slept with Harm? Mac didn't want to ask.
On the other hand, the pushover; the easy lay, didn't seem to interest Harm at all.
Commander Coulter was coming on to Harm during the entire time that they were in Arizona; swinging her big ass in front of him, but Harm brushed her off.
Although Harm's previous relationships hadn't progressed, Mac resolved to succeed where the other women had failed: she would wear Harmon Rabb Jr's ring on her own finger.
And if came down to a competition? Bring it on, because Sarah MacKenzie played to win...
During their 28 weeks of all-around combat training at The Basic School, newly commissioned Marine officers qualified on weapons, acted in each role of a four man fireteam, rode in tanks and assault amphibious vehicles, called for fire from mortars and field artillery, simulated airborne assaults by landing in helicopters, and performed any other duties or assignments that the instructors felt was relevant.
Phase I of instruction at the Marine Corps Basic School consisted of individual skills which included leadership, Rifle and Pistol Qualification, land navigation, communications, combat lifesaving, and Martial Arts.
The females in Mac's company were a diverse group. One woman was an Academy graduate and was such an elitist snob that she was unapproachable. Another woman, who was destined for flight school at Pensacola, didn't talk about anything but flying.
Ground combat roles were not open to women at that time, which meant that many women, including Mac's roommate Jonesy, planned to take staff assignments, most of which had a high percentage of female enlisted personnel. During the first course of instruction: the principles of leadership, Mac noticed that those same female officers were the ones who reluctant to give orders to men.
Sarah MacKenzie had inherited Staff Sergeant Joe MacKenzie's booming voice. Although Mac's voice was pitched several octaves higher than her father's baritone, when called upon to give orders to men or women, Mac didn't hesitate to make herself heard and understood.
"Do you read me?" was Mac's favorite refrain.
"Aye aye, ma'am" was the only acceptable answer.
Although The Basic School emphasizes officers working and training together as one team, in head to head or individual competition it often came down to the males verses the females.
Mac, who was working out twice each day, was in the finest physical condition in her life and was ready to butt heads with anyone-male of female.
The rifle range was one course of instruction where the men held no advantage over the women. Size and weight didn't matter on the firing line, where individual skill carried the day.
Mac had never touched a firearm in her youth. Her father had no guns in the house, and given his temper, Mac thought it was just as well.
To pass time during her stay in Red Rock Mesa, Col. Matt O'Hara instructed his niece in the operation of the Colt AR-15 and the Beretta 92FS; the civilian equivalents to the M16 rifle and M9 pistol used by US Armed Forces.
On her first trip to her uncle's improvised shooting range, Mac had proven to be a natural marksman.
"Your father may be a drunken train wreck now, but he was once a 4.0 Marine, and a damned fine shot," Matt O'Hara told told his niece.
"I'd glad to hear that I inherited at least one of his few positive traits," said Mac.
Every Marine is a rifleman. Individual marksmanship is held in high esteem in the Corps and Marine marksmanship instructors and coaches- male and female, were professionals who maintained the highest possible standards.
Early in "Grass Week," (the first phase of marksmanship instruction), Mac was recognized as having the potential to be one of the better shots in the company.
During the live fire training phase, Mac's coach, Sergeant Maria Cortes, set out to build upon and then improve Mac's existing shooting skills, and Mac, ever the attentive student, carefully logged every shot she fired in her DOPE Book.
The best shot in Mac's company, as well as the battalion, was 2ndLT Travis Moore; a nationally ranked collegiate shooter who was an alternate on the US Shooting Team. Travis Moore had been to Camp Perry, and his trophies in high power Leg Matches proved his skill.
Despite the supposed blind eye to chromosomes, Sergeant Cortes told Mac, "LT MacKenzie, don't pay any attention to LT Moore. You can out score any man on the range."
Although Mac was shouldering considerable pressure, the pressure on Moore was far greater. For a male Marine to be beaten by a "girl" on the rifle range was unfathomable, but 2nd Lt. Sarah MacKenzie was no girl.
A rumor was circulating that Mac had crippled a man in a bar room brawl in Fredericksburg.
Mac's roommate, Amanda Jones, would only verify that Mac had beaten the man unconscious, and that she witnessed his body being dragged away by the security guards. Jones had nothing more to say on the matter, but it was taken for granted that during any of the training phases, Sarah MacKenzie would pull no punches.
On the morning of rifle qualification, the weather was cold and clear: Perfect weather for shooting.
Match rifles were not used for qualifying. Each M16 on the firing line was a standard service rifle, and everyone qualified firing standard ball ammunition. The M193 Ball cartridge performed better in cold weather, so winter qualifying scores were typically higher than those in the summer.
Excitement was running high, not only in the company, but throughout the battalion. There was talk that Lieutenants MacKenzie or Moore might achieve what was then the maximum possible score of 250 points on the KD (Known Distance) range.
There hadn't been a "Perfect Possible" fired at The Basic School in well over a decade, and no female Marine had ever accomplished it.
Bets were made. Not only among the Marines in the company, but between their coaches and instructors, as well as with senior NCO's throughout the battalion.
Mac's reputation on the firing line was such that a few of the male NCO's bet on her to win.
60% of Mac's company would qualify as Expert that day- including Amanda Jones. This was an excellent showing; well above the norm, but every eye was focused on MacKenzie and Moore, who had been arranged next to each other on the firing line.
Before he put a plug of Red Man into his mouth, Chief Warrant Officer Hanson, the Range Officer, told his staff, "This should be good."
The first course of fire began with slow fire from the sitting, kneeling and standing positions using the Able target: a conventional a bullseye, at 200 and 300 yards.
Mac and Moore's scores went back and forth, with Moore finally edging ahead by two points.
The second course of fire was rapid fire at 200 and 300 yards, but now using the "Dog" target, which looked vaguely like a person looking over a barricade.
This was the target that Mac had trained with at Red Rock Mesa. Mac outscored Moore by 5 points and was holding a three point lead when the course of fire moved to Baker.
Sergeant Cortes, Mac's coach, approached Gunnery Sergeant Teresa Turner, the most senior female marksmanship instructor on the range. "Gunny, LT MacKenzie's going to win."
Gunny Turner was a lanky woman from Oklahoma whose face appeared to have been chiseled from a block of granite. "Sergeant Cortes, this is individual rifle qualification. It is not a competition."
Of course it was a competition. Turner, while optimistic about Mac's chances, knew that the Baker target was what separated the men form the boys.
The final course of fire was slow fire (20 rounds in 10 minutes) from the prone position at the 500 yard line using the "Baker" target: a human silhouette. When firing on Baker, only the sling can be used for support. The rifle itself can not touch the ground or anything other than the shooter's body.
Mac could normally hold her own on Baker, but this course of fire was Travis Moore's specialty. Moore began gradually pulling away, eventually scoring an amazing 50 of 50 possible points.
When the final scores were posted, Moore had scored 244- the highest score posted at the Basic School in over ten years, while Mac had scored 238.
Mac's score would be the highest recorded by a female for five years, but it was small consolation to Sarah MacKenzie, who felt that second place meant "First Loser."
This was my best chance to show that on a level playing field, women are not only the equal of men, we can beat them! I couldn't have shot any better than I did today, and I still lost.
Travis Moore approached Mac to shake her hand. "LT MacKenzie, you are a gifted marksman," Moore said sincerely. "I consider myself fortunate. Were the two of us to shoot again, I would not expect to see the same results. "
"Thank you, LT Moore. And please, call me Mac."
2nd LT Sarah MacKenzie had just won the respect of one of her male colleges. Now it was time for her to focus on next week's pistol qualifications.
Back in their hotel room, Harm was looking directly at Mac. "I asked you if you're ready to go to dinner?"
Mac came back to reality. "Yes, I'm ready. But let's shut the windows before we go."
[A/N] My thanks to Rebecca, who serves as my subject matter expert on women in the Marine Corps, and who qualified at The Basic School with an impressive 230 out of 250 possible points. Becca, you and I have been to the range many times, and I swear that the day will come when I shoot well enough so that you'll have to buy me lunch!
