| Subject: The Present Moment - Repost (13/16) |
Author:
mary48184
|
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
Date Posted: 03:16:58 04/26/08 Sat
Chapter 13
Tuesday
May 21, 2002
0845 ZULU (1245 local)
USS Seahawk
North Arabian Sea
Good, bad or otherwise, the tribunal’s panel of judges once again found Mustafah Atef, a.k.a. Mohan Des, guilty as charged and sentenced him to death.
And as before, Atef bled himself to death with the aid of a pilfered pen before the CIA could interrogate him.
The frustrating part is that this time around I actually warned Clayton Webb about Atef’s impending suicide! But obviously my directive – ‘Whatever you do, make sure he doesn’t take a pen off the desk in the courtroom!’ – went unheeded because shortly thereafter I was summoned to the brig, where the prisoner lay dead over a massive puddle of blood. Of course, after the body was discovered Webb approached me with what I suppose he considered to be an apology. Unfortunately, it came off less as, ‘I’m sorry for not listening to you,’ and more as, ‘Why couldn’t you have been more specific and said a ballpoint pen?’
Had Webb always been that patronizing and I’d just failed to notice? Or did our interactions over the years, culminating with the horrors of Paraguay, simply color my perceptions of him to the point where I didn’t recognize the truth of his personality? How could I ever have wasted a year on such a man?
Thank God it doesn’t matter any more, I think to myself, smiling softly as I struggle to close the zipper on my sea bag. Somehow I’ve been given a second chance to fix everything that’s gone wrong these past few years. I’m not about to let that chance slip away.
There’s really been only one other thing I took it upon myself to change: Bud and Harriet’s house, or more specifically, getting Harriet on the phone and making her tell Bud about their new abode (and making him tell her about his new legal man). Although I’d mentioned to Harm that he should follow-up with Harriet about telling Bud before closing the deal, things proceeded as they had previously... Mr. Roberts was soon the proud owner of a classic white two-story without even knowing that he held the deed. And of course he’d in turn failed yet again to tell Harriet about having the young and pretty Petty Officer Jennifer Coates as his new legal man aboard the Seahawk. I figured it would be better for all involved if they got it out into the open and deal with it ASAP. So with a little interference on my part, I was at least able to ‘save’ Lieutenant Singer the satisfaction of causing friction between Bud and Harriet, and I spared the rest of us a massive headache in the bargain.
With that said, there are some things I haven’t had to worry about fixing at all. With very few exceptions, mostly regarding my relationship with Harm, most everything that’s happened in the last month or so has happened more or less as I remembered... the tribunal... Captain Sebring’s trial and subsequent acquittal... the adventures Harm and I had in the Afghan desert after the near-miss with the goat...
Okay, I admit, I tried to avoid the goat altogether, but my reflexes weren’t quite as good as I’d hoped. Fortunately the ammo-box-on-the-Soviet-butterfly-mine trick worked as well the second time around as it did the first.
Still, with those three admitted exceptions, things haven’t been much different. Even Harm’s real-life game of Missile X once again turned out successfully, averting nuclear disaster and ending a heart-stopping crisis in its tracks. The last time we did this, I’d still been a little wary of his flying due to that minor spill he’d taken into the drink less than a year before. However, this time around lot more time has passed since his swim in the Atlantic – in my mind anyway – and Harm’s had ample opportunity to prove himself king of the Tomcat once more. My renewed confidence in his skills as an accomplished aviator helped keep my heart out of my throat as I stood on the bridge of the Seahawk for the second time, watching him speed past with a dirty nuclear missile hot on his six. With Harm, it’s just all in a day’s work.
His face flashing through my mind, I suddenly realize that I’d better get a move on as he’s going to be here any minute and I’ve been wasting precious time fighting the limited space in my bag. As if right on cue, there’s a knock on my stateroom door.
“Who is it?” I call, knowing full well that a certain tall, dark and dreamy naval commander is standing on the other side carrying two sets of the protective gear that we’ll be required to wear on the COD... and I’m nowhere near dressed. I guess that’s what I get for waiting until the last minute to pack.
“Harm.” His muffled reply echoes through the metal door. As much as I might wish otherwise, considering that he’s seen me in much less over the course of the last four and a half months, under the present circumstances it would be highly inappropriate for me to answer the door wearing nothing but a bra and panties.
“Uh, just a second!” Abandoning my books in favor of retrieving my pants from their nearby hanger, I quickly move to step into one leg.
“C’mon, Mac,” he calls persistently. “What are you doing? Open up.”
“I’m packing.” In goes the other leg.
“Well open up, let me help.”
His tone reminds me of a little boy begging for admission to somewhere he knows he’s not supposed to be. With an involuntary smile, I reach for my blouse. “I’m also dressing.”
There’s a brief pause. “I can help with that, too.”
Did I just mentally compare him to a little boy? Because he just grew up in a hurry. If he’s resorting to using that suggestive bedroom voice while aboard the carrier – and that was definitely his bedroom voice – it’s time for me to nip this in the bud. With one last button to go, I turn around and open the door.
“Got it handled, but I appreciate the offer.” I grin. Then, before he has a chance to react, I snatch one of the cranials and a flotation vest out of his outstretched hands, turning back into the room with a deliberately absent, “Thanks.”
“How’d you...” He stands there for a second before stepping into the room. Behind him the door remains open, a concession to the propriety that’s required between two officers of the opposite sex while aboard a carrier at sea. “Since Sturgis is heloing in from the Watertown, I thought you might like to join me on the flight deck in giving him a hero’s welcome.”
“Sure.” Dropping the gear on the chair beside the bed, I frown down at the two books that for whatever reason are again refusing to simultaneously fit into my bag.
“What’s the problem?”
I pick both of them up and look at the spines contemplatively. “I’ve only got room for one book.”
“Can’t you fit them both in?”
“No, I’m packed too tight. Only have room for one.” I glance up at him curiously. “Can you take the other?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
Harm peers over my shoulder. “No, I’m packed as tightly as you are.”
“Damn.”
A moment later, both paperbacks are plucked from my grasp. “David Baldacci and Tom Clancy, huh?” Harm comments as he examines the covers. Then he frowns at one of the titles. “The Hunt for Red October? Don’t tell me you’ve never read it.”
“I won’t.” I grin. To tell the truth, I read it when the movie first premiered in theaters, but years have passed and I admit to forgetting a lot of what happened. A few days ago I impulsively picked it up upon spotting it at the ship’s store – knowing that Sturgis would soon be bringing Jack Ryan’s underwater escapades to fruition gave me plenty of incentive to re-read the book. Talk about life imitating art!
Grinning back, Harm’s gaze once again returns to the novels. “These are both bookmarked halfway through,” he notes with surprise.
“So?” My laugh echoes heartily through the room. It’s not like he’s never heard of multitasking. “Sometimes I read five or six books at once. What’s wrong with that?”
“Well nothing, except when you can’t fit them in your luggage,” he replies, one corner of his mouth turned upward in a smug little smirk.
“Very funny.”
Giving him an impertinent smile, I reclaim both books. For a moment I stand there weighing one in each hand, trying to come up with an alternative as the seconds tick away. Finally, I succumb to the inevitable.
I heave a heavy sigh of frustration. “I was trying to avoid this.”
“Avoid what?”
Without answering, I open the books where I’d left off reading, laying them one atop the other, and neatly rip them down the middle just as Harm himself had done once-upon-a-time. My inner being cringes at the sight of the shredded pages. As a book lover I hate destroying perfectly re-readable novels, but better that I do the deed to my own property than let Harm do the destroying for me.
“Don’t you think that was a little extreme?” he questions as I turn to stuff the unread halves into the top of my duffel and successfully close the zipper at last.
“You would have done the same thing.” You DID do the same thing, I think, slipping quickly into my shoes. “C’mon, let’s go.” Grabbing the protective gear, I walk past him and out into the corridor. We’ve got a helo to meet.
Following close on my heels, Harm considerately closes my stateroom door behind himself. His voice is laced, however, with a twinge of disbelief. “But Mac, Sturgis might have room in his bag. You could’ve at least waited to ask him.”
My feet stall, bringing me to a grinding halt when his meaning sinks in. You mean I could have saved myself the trouble of resorting to librocide? With one last sigh, I think about the now ruined books in my bag.
“I guess I just can’t win, no matter what I do,” I mutter distractedly to myself before stepping over the nearest knee-knocker and heading in the direction of the ladder leading up to the flight deck.
The next thirty-six minutes pass by in a semi-distracted blur, the three of us chatting good-naturedly as Harm and Sturgis tease each other about their respective recent escapades. With all the strife that I vividly recall passing between them in the other timeline, it’s refreshing and a little bittersweet to see the two of them back in their old groove, the easy banter of their academy days still holding fast.
I’m so engrossed in the conversation and laughter that it takes me a while to notice the sense of uneasiness gradually infiltrating my stomach. However, as soon as we part ways with Sturgis outside the temporary officers’ quarters, the uneasiness blooms into full-fledged queasiness. It’s not like I’m actually going to be sick, but there’s a desperate empty ache in my abdomen and a chill running up the back of my neck, a tenseness that I don’t remember being present when I was standing around my quarters in my underwear a short time ago. Not having breakfast will do that to a person, I guess. After the excitement of the last few days, it’s no wonder that my digestive tract is giving me problems, but I really don’t want to endure a fifteen hour commercial flight with an upset stomach.
Fortunately, the officers’ mess is nearby. Without saying a word to Harm, I steer us to the right when we’d normally take a left to get to the JAG offices. Thankfully he follows my lead.
“Did you get any sleep last night?” I ask conversationally.
Glancing behind, I see him shrug out of the corner of my eye.
“As much as could be expected, I guess.”
“I bet adrenaline is ten times worse than caffeine.” I smile, wondering how long it must have taken him to come down from the high of yesterday’s mission. After all, even Harm has never had a dirty nuclear missile try to crawl up his afterburners before.
“That,” he says with a nod, “and having to spend three hours in the mission debrief afterwards.”
It doesn’t take but a few moments before I’m pushing the hatch open and making a beeline for the insulated industrial-sized coffee urns that line one wall of the officers’ mess. Harm’s close on my six. Beating him to the large silver canister simply labeled ‘regular’, I reach for one of the sturdy white ceramic mugs sitting neatly off to one side.
The knot that’s been forming in my stomach loosens a little as soon as the steaming scent of java hits my senses, but I can still feel the tension coursing through my body, lingering insidiously in the shadows. Two sips in quick succession seems spreads warmth down my body.
“Bud and I missed you at dinner.” A handful of off-duty officers is scattered throughout the room. Grabbing a few stray slices of cheese from the nearby buffet, I motion towards an empty table.
Armed with his own cup of coffee, Harm holds out a chair for me, smiling ruefully before taking the adjacent seat. “Captain Johnson was a little peeved that I’d, quote, ‘gone off and pulled another of my typically foolhardy stunts,’ end quote. But otherwise he seemed pleased.”
“Nothing like averting nuclear disaster and saving the lives of the crew to put things in perspective.” I grin. “And keeping a missile from slamming into the hull of a multi- billion dollar aircraft carrier didn’t hurt your case either, I’m sure.”
An easy moment of silence ensues, and we both relax back into our chairs. They’re not the most comfortable chairs in the world, standard navy-issue aluminum mess hall fare, but after the insanity of the past few days we’re both content to simply be, if only for a little while. Even a bed of nails would be welcomed at this point, so long as sitting quietly came as part of the package! And thankfully, as I’d hoped they would, the cheese and coffee have helped somewhat to calm my tangled nerves. Toying with my mug, I let my senses stretch out and unwind, willing myself to be present in the moment.
The relief is fleeting, however, and within seconds I feel the hair at the back of my neck begin standing on end. Tendrils of chill seep up from the chair and crawl up my spine, a fine layer of goosebumps appearing on both arms, and my shoulder muscles tense involuntarily despite the warm humid atmosphere of the room. Setting down my coffee, I reach up and gently massage the knot with my fingertips. Something’s not right. I can feel it in my bones.
“You okay?” Seeing the expression of discomfort on my face, Harm leans forward with obvious concern.
For a second I debate whether to say anything. “Yeah, I—”
At that moment, a baby-faced petty officer third class comes briskly into the room. He takes a quick glance around before his gaze alights on us.
“Commander, Colonel.” He’s at our table in four long strides. “Captain Johnson needs you to report to the flag bridge ASAP.”
Harm and I exchange a glance. We weren’t expecting to be needed on the bridge again before boarding the COD, which is due to arrive in less than an hour. What’s going on? Moving in near-perfect synchronicity, we both hastily push back from the table and rise to our feet.
“Tell the skipper we’re on our way,” I inform the petty officer, who nods before heading back out of the room. We’re not far behind.
My sense of foreboding increases tenfold when Sturgis falls in line just before we reach the entrance to the bridge, straightening his cover as he reaches the door. I do the same, as does Harm.
“Any idea what the captain wants?” Sturgis asks.
“No idea. He summoned you too, huh?” Harm looks perplexed, but not overly concerned.
“Sure did. Fortunately I shower fast.”
Holding the door open, Sturgis follows the two of us through the hatch. Directly ahead, Captain Johnson stands looking out through the massive windows over the water stretching out around the ship. From this high above its surface, the Arabian Sea is a slate blue plain that sparkles in the unrelenting heat of the midday sun. The crewmembers currently on duty continue to work at their respective functions, oblivious to the stark beauty before them.
“JAGs reporting as ordered, sir,” Harm announces. The three of us come to a crisp salute, waiting for Johnson to acknowledge our presence.
“At ease,” he finally orders, keeping his back to us for another moment before turning around. His expression is impassive, and I find myself relaxing a little.
But, as Uncle Matt always used to say, life has a way of knocking you in the teeth when you least expect it.
Captain Johnson doesn’t mince words as he meets each of us in the eye. “Lieutenant Roberts has been injured in Afghanistan. He stepped on a land mine.”
Lieutenant Roberts… stepped on a...
Oh God, NO!!!
The world around me goes black.
tbc
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
| |
