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Date Posted: 11:40:21 02/23/06 Thu
Author: Sylvia Mohr Bartlett
Subject: For Which We Are Truly Thankful Ch 1 Sec 1A
In reply to: Sylvia Mohr Bartlett 's message, "For Which We Are Truly Thankful Ch I Section 1" on 08:17:23 02/23/06 Thu

FOR WHICH WE ARE TRULY THANKFUL Chapter I Part B



At the same time in the Rabb residence, Harm finally managed to get up off his coach and limped to his refrigerator to put the ice pack he had been laying on back in the freezer. He grabbed a bottled water and went to his rack in his room, leaned over to switch on the heating pad that lay waiting there and eased himself down on the mattress with a radio playing softly in the background. He lay there for quite a while, but the heat wasn’t helping any more than the ice had. He rose slowly from the bed and limped into his bathroom to rummage through his medicine cabinet. Finding a mostly full bottle of muscle relaxers, he got two out and limped back to the bedside table to swallow them down with the bottled water. He got himself back down on the heat and lay there hoping the heating pad and muscle relaxers would accomplish what Tylenol and Motrin had not, grant him some relief from the painful spasms in his lower back and rear end. It was humiliating to have to call in to the Admiral, but he couldn’t have imagined driving himself into work that morning. He hadn’t slept all night and the pain and exhaustion were really taking a toll. After about forty-five minutes on the heating pad, the muscle relaxers finally worked their magic and he drifted off into sleep. He was in the cockpit of a Tomcat. The air about the bird was turbulent and dark. Lightning flashed all around him and he heard Skates saying, “Harm, navigation just went totally out on us.”

Damn this bird was getting hard to hold on a heading. “Sorry, Skates…I guess we didn’t out run that weather. This is my fault. We shouldn’t have gone up today.”

“You didn’t hold a gun to my head, Hammer. Just get us out of this mess, sir. I don’t swim all that well, so I would really not want to have to eject.”

Harm tossed restlessly and woke when the pain lashed through his body so harshly he actually cried out loud as he was waking up. “Oh, God. What in the hell is going on here?” He was sweating profusely and the pain was not letting up. He tried to sit up and yelped again from the pain. “Shit. Great. Now I can’t even get out of the frigging bed. What is the matter with you, Rabb? Get yourself together. A little fall should NOT be doing this to you.” He lay quietly a few moments, the pain eased up enough that he cautiously turned on his side and slowly raised up, swinging his legs off the bed and moving carefully until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Waiting a little longer, he stood, leaning heavily on the night side table. He walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower as warm as his hand outstretched under the spout could stand.

It was a delicate balancing act to get out of his shorts and T-shirt. He stepped into his shower and turned the water stream up as strong as it would go. He turned and leaned against the opposite wall, letting the hot water hit his back from the mid rib cage down. “You need a massage head on this shower, Rabb. You are definitely not getting any younger. I cannot believe this nonsense.” He stayed under the water until his fingers began to wrinkle from the prolonged exposure to moisture. Than he turned, holding onto the handle to steady himself and lathered up quickly and rinsed off. Turning the water off and feeling a little better, he toweled off and wrapping a fresh towel around his lower torso, he left the room and headed into the kitchen area of his loft apartment. He retrieved the remnants of the previous nights dinner…a veggie salad with cous-cous, a hunk of bread and some milk and opened his breadbox on the counter where he found the left over pain pills from his last time in the water. He hesitated a moment, than extracted two of the pills and went to sit at his table. He forced himself to eat the salad, though he wasn’t really hungry and the bread, so he would not be taking pain meds on an empty stomach. He didn’t like using the Vicodan ES, but it was better than getting no sleep at all.

The way the admiral sounded when he called in, he had to get this thing under control and get in to work tomorrow or he would face a royal dressing down in true Chegwidden battle form. He didn’t need that right now. He felt stupid enough taking time off for something like this anyway. If this didn’t work within four hours, he had some left over pills that were even stronger than Vicodan. He really did not want to have to go there. Though he was always conservative in his pain med usage, he still worried about overusing them. Bitter experience had taught him, however, that ignoring pain could make it drastically worse; that was not going to help his situation any.

If he called in again, Chegwidden might insist on a flight surgeon’s okay before he could fly CAP again. No fly orders were a complication he did not want in his life right now. They could be a bear to get lifted and he was grateful he could serve his country in the air while still pursuing his JAG career. That had come about post 9/11 and while he regretted the necessity of it, at least he felt he was contributing to the war on terrorism by more than just legal pursuits. It wouldn’t have felt right not to be flying when his country was at war in this new kind of warfare. This was perhaps the most vital war America had ever fought and part of it was being fought in the skies over his own home. He felt anew the outrage at the kind of men who could call it war when they used domestic air flights as flying bombs to damage and destroy landmarks and take innocent civilian lives.

The horror of watching the attacks on the World Trade Center on TV came back all too vividly as did the race to the Pentagon when word reached JAG that it had been hit. He had personally known 12 of the victims who lost their lives at the Pentagon and he had helped carried out some of the wounded and dead. His stepfather Frank lost 25 close friends and former co-workers at WTC and a distant relative of his mom’s had been on the flight that went down in Pennsylvania. At least those people had had a chance to fight back.

The scenes replayed themselves in his mind…jumbled up with his own crash with Skates that had been in his nightmare earlier. This wasn’t helping, damn it. He stood, slowly and carefully. Grabbing his wireless house phone, he headed back to bed, hoping he could get some dreamless sleep this time.

It took too long, staring at the ceiling, but he finally drifted off to sleep, hearing in the background that wonderful classic… “Embrace me, you sweet embrace-able you….”

And he dreamed of Mac…in that white gown from his fantastical mind tripping when he flipped in the admiral’s chair. She was smiling at him. He held out his hand and they began to dance, wrapped in each other’s arms.

It felt like home, like it was where he always belonged. As he drifted further into sleep, a smile played briefly across his lips.

He woke several hours later. With only the towel on, he was chilled and shivering. That didn’t help his back any. The spasms made him groan. He dragged himself up, put on some sweats, took more meds and crawled under the covers, positioning himself over the heating pad again. The pain was too much. Damn, he couldn’t sleep. Sighing, he went into his living room and grabbed his guitar. Playing wouldn’t help the pain, but maybe concentrating on something else would.

It didn’t take him long to realize this had NOT been a good idea. The spasms were just getting worse. He put his guitar back on its stand with a sigh. He had to grab the corner of his desk to steady himself. The meds were making it hard for him to… Lord, he was woozy. He forced himself to make the trip back into his sleeping area, but it was only with difficulty. He fell across the bed and finally slipped back into sleep.


Sturgis tried knocking at Harm’s door again. Still no answer. Following the instructions he had gotten from Bud when Harm hadn’t answered his cell phone call on the way over, he located the cubby where Harm hid his spare key and let himself in. “Hey, Harm. Come on, man…where are you? You okay?”

He walked into the bedroom and found Harm lying sprawled across the bed at an angle. He found some spare blankets and covered his friend up, checking to make sure the Commander had a steady pulse. Sleep had not wiped away the pain lines from his friend’s face. Clearly the man was still hurting, Turner had seen the open pills on the counter.

Suddenly, Harm began to twist restlessly as if wrestling with something. He rolled over to his back, with a low moan. His head pivoted about as if he was trying to see something and a sheen of sweat quickly appeared on his forehead. His hands seemed to grasp for airplane controls. Fear and resolve played across his face, fighting for equal time. Just when Sturgis was almost ready to intervene and wake the man, Harm’s eyes snapped open with one utterance. “No!!!” He was breathing heavily. An expression of consternation came over his face as he saw his friend staring back at him. “Commander Turner? What’s up?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing, my friend. ‘No!’ to what? That didn’t look like a happy excursion into dream time.”

“I thought you were beating me at b-ball.” Harm quipped, but the laughter did not reach his eyes.

“Look, Harm. From the way you look, I’d say you are still having problems with that back of yours. Hitting the pills too. Don’t you think you should get it checked out.”

“I just pulled something, Sturgis. It will die down in a day or two.” He added in a low mutter, “If the Admiral doesn’t kill me and save it the trouble…”

“He’s concerned about you, Harm. So am I. You really don’t look like you are improving much here. And what’s with the nightmares?”

“Nothing specific. Just having some memories replay.” Harm shrugged. “It happens.”

“Okay, if I can’t get you to go see a doctor, could I at least put some liniment or salve on your back for you?”

Harm only hesitated an instant before he agreed. “I’d appreciate it. It’s in the medicine cabinet…”

“I can find it. Stay put.” Sturgis went and got the needed supplies while Harm rolled on to his stomach carefully. When his friend returned, he pushed aside the garments and the aviator indicated where the pain was localized. Turner applied some salve and began to gently, but firmly work it in. He could feel knots and lumps where the muscles were bunched in protest to the abuse they’d endured. He heard Harm hiss and felt him pull slightly away from the probing, kneading movement, but he kept up the effort, periodically asking if he should apply more or less pressure.

After perhaps seven minutes, Harm said. “Thanks, Sturgis. I appreciate it. Hopefully, between that and the meds, I’ll be back to it tomorrow. Don’t think the Admiral would appreciate another day lost to ‘recreational activity’ pain.”

“Let me go get you something to eat.”

“Thanks, my friend, but NO. I really couldn’t eat a thing.”

“Harm, with those meds and everything, you NEED to eat.”

Rabb finally gave in to the degree he let his classmate make a cheese sandwich and bring it and a glass of milk in. He also requested more of the meds.

The chaplain’s son wanted to stay, but Harm insisted he would be all right. Reluctantly, Turner left about 20 minutes later.



>get as far as I was before. In the meantime, I will be
>working on future chapters, previously planned but
>never executed. So, once again, dear friends...into
>the breach.
>
>
>
>Sturgis caught up to Commander Harmon Rabb as he left
>the courtroom. “Hey, Buddy, are we still friends after
>I beat you in court just now?”
>
>“You didn’t beat me, Sturgis. I was sandbagged by my
>own client. I can’t defend him if he doesn’t give me
>all the facts.” Harm sounded tired.
>
>“Sounds like maybe you are too worn out to keep our
>court date tonight, Counselor.”
>
>“In your dreams, pal. I could beat you in one on one
>in my sleep.”
>
>“Keep telling yourself that, Rabb. Are we still on for
>8 then?”
>
>“That’s when we have the court time, buddy. See you
>then.” Harm went into his office and closed the door
>behind.
>
>Mac was still out on the Seahawk and he was surprised
>how much he was missing her. He’d be glad when the
>ship docked and she was home. He had spent lots of
>hours playing b-ball with Turner and playing guitar at
>home, but he missed his best pal now that their
>friendship was back on track. He had flown combat air
>patrol the last 3 weekends each day and he wasn’t
>sleeping well during the week, so he was very tired,
>but all the activity didn’t seem to help him get any
>decent rest.
>
>His back was hurting a lot. That had all started when
>he had slipped on the steps leaving JAG HQ one night
>with Mac. The fall had been more embarrassing than
>damaging he thought, but he had been getting frequent
>twinges in his back and sudden weakness in his right
>leg ever since he fell. He figured he’d bruised
>something and had to work out the kinks. No big deal
>and nothing to worry about.
>
>
>Turner was surprised when he walked on to the
>basketball court to see Harm already throwing hoops
>and having worked up a pretty good sweat. “You wearing
>yourself out for me, Pal?” He asked with a warm
>chuckle.
>
>“Just loosening up and warming up to toast you good,
>Sturg, my man.” Harm laughed as he sunk a shot from
>outside the key over his shoulder without looking back.
>
>“Impressive.” The black officer commented without a
>grudge. “I think the doctor is ready for me now.”
>
>The two had a good, clean, aggressive, but close, game
>going. Harm evaded a block and went up to make a jump
>shot which scored nicely and won the game for him, but
>as he came down from the leap on his right leg, the
>leg gave out and he went down hard on the boards.
>Turner winced as he ran over. Harm wasn’t moving and
>seemed to be having a hard time catching his breath.
>Sturgis knelt by his friend, getting seriously
>concerned at how pale the man was. “Hey, Harm…that was
>a hard hit.”
>
>Harm finally gulped some air in and coughed, his eyes
>watering. He shut his eyes tightly. “Damn.” He said
>softly. “That really hurts.”
>
>“Do you think you broke anything?”
>
>“My fall…with my butt.” Harm retorted, still not
>sitting up. “It’s mostly my dignity that’s hurt, my
>friend. Give me a minute to regroup here.” He stayed
>still, slowly getting his breathing under control, but
>he was still extremely pale. He started to try to get
>to his feet, but fell back. “Okay. Too soon to get up
>just yet.”
>
>Now, Turner was worried. Harm usually bounced back
>pretty quickly from tumbles he took on the basketball
>court. For him to not get back up this long, he was in
>some serious pain. “Need a hand?”
>
>“No, Sturgis. I think I’ll just stay here for a while.
>You can hit the showers if you want.”
>
>“Are you sure? I can stay with you.”
>
>“Go on, mother hen. Your chickie is just fine.” Harm
>tried to smile, but his eyes were still shut and he
>was still laying on his back on the gym floor. He
>finally opened his eyes when his friend neither moved
>nor said anything further. “Commander,” he said
>firmly, “I will be fine. I just think I need to lay
>still a few minutes and give the world a chance to
>slow down.”
>
>The two men’s eyes were locked on each other and
>Sturgis reluctantly stood up, but he was frowning.
>After a minute of the stare down, Turner relented.
>“Okay, Harm. If you are still on the floor when I get
>back here though, I am going to help you up.”
>
>“If I’m still on the floor when you get back from a
>shower, it will probably because I fell asleep while I
>lay here. And you can wake me up and send me HOME.”
>Harm tried to laugh, but failed at the attempt
>miserably. “Go before I humiliate myself any more,
>please.”
>
>“Score wise, I am the humiliated one, Doctor Rabb.
>Damn fine game! See you in a few.”
>
>“Not if I see you first.” Harm responded, but it was a
>halfhearted attempt at levity that didn’t achieve much
>to alleviate his friend’s concern as he headed to the
>shower.
>
>After the door closed behind his old Academy chum,
>Harm slowly and painfully sat up. He had to drag
>himself to the bleachers to use them to aid in his
>reaching a standing position. He walked over and
>picked up his jacket from the floor and went straight
>out to his car, limping heavily. By the time Sturgis
>got out to the parking lot, Harm had driven away.
>Turner frowned. Harm usually showered at the gym
>before going home. His concern for his friend only
>deepened.
>
>
>The next morning Turner didn’t see Harm in his office.
>He headed for the Admiral’s office and was stopped by
>Tiner. “Sir, I wouldn’t go in there just now. The
>Admiral is liable to bite your head off. Commander
>Rabb called in, he won’t be in today and the Admiral
>is not very happy about it.”
>
>“I’ll risk it, Tiner, but thanks for the heads up.”
>Sturgis knocked and at the terse ‘Enter’ from the
>Admiral he went in. After coming to attention before
>the Admiral’s desk, he waited until Chegwidden looked
>up. The admiral did not seem angry, but he was
>frowning.
>
>“Enjoy your game with Rabb last night, Commander
>Turner?” Chegwidden asked in a mild tone.
>
>“It was invigorating right until the Commander won the
>game with a great jump shot.”
>
>“Was that before or after he fell and bruised himself
>too badly to make it to work today?” The admiral
>asked, even toned.
>
>“Right before actually.” Turner hesitated, but his
>desire to say more was clearly evident.
>
>“Yes, Turner. You seem to have more to say about this?”
>
>“Sir, it was just so odd. There appeared to be no
>reason for that fall. Harm didn’t slip or twist his
>ankle - he just went down, hard; like his leg gave way
>on him. I play basketball with the Commander often.
>He’s a good athlete and I don’t understand why he
>fell. It really knocked the wind out of him. He just
>lay there. Admiral, I’m worried. I don’t like it. He
>didn’t come in and shower – he just left to go home. I
>called him several times last night after I got home
>and he didn’t answer.”
>
>“I spoke with him this morning on the phone when he
>called in. He sounded very tired. I read him the riot
>act for letting recreational sports interfere with his
>work, which wasn’t really fair - the man has enough
>sick leave saved up to make a real dent in time
>between now and the end of the year and he doesn’t
>take days off lightly. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so
>hard on him.”
>
>“Sir, not to make you feel bad about how you responded
>to him calling in, but Harm wouldn’t have called in,
>unless he were really hurting still. Is he going to
>see a doctor?”
>
>AJ frowned. “Do you think that’s necessary?”
>
>Sturgis sighed. “Harm accused me of being a mother hen
>when I expressed my concern last night, sir, but he
>was really pale afterwards. I never saw his color
>come back. I can’t say if a doctor’s visit is in order
>or not, but with the amount of time he is spending in
>the air, I am a little concerned.”
>
>“Stearman or Tomcat?” AJ asked tersely.
>
>“Admiral, Harm has flown combat air patrol over points
>on the East coast every weekend the past 3 weeks, sir,
>Saturday and Sunday. I am surprised you weren’t aware
>of that.”
>
>Chegwidden broke in impatiently as he stood from his
>chair. “I’m not the man’s log book, Commander Turner.”
>
>“Of course not, sir. Sorry, sir. Anyway, he has
>admitted he isn’t sleeping well during the week.”
>
>“Why is that?” Their commanding officer rapped out.
>
>The other man shrugged. “Harm doesn’t seem to have any
>theories on that he is willing to share, sir. He has
>bouts with insomnia fairly frequently, but this has
>been a longer haul than he’s had for a while, at least
>that I am aware of. He says he sleeps the best after
>he’s flown, so I guess that means he gets sleep on the
>weekends.”
>
>Admiral Chegwidden turned his back on his subordinate
>and gazed out the window, but the concern behind the
>next question was evident. “You don’t think he would
>try to fly if he wasn’t feeling better by the next
>time he’s scheduled, do you, Commander Turner? I know
>Rabb can be damn stubborn most of the time, but is he
>foolish enough…?”
>
>“Sir, I don’t think he would ever intentionally risk
>an aircraft and his RIO if he didn’t feel up to the
>task.” Sturgis broke in, with firm conviction in his
>voice. “I’m more concerned that he may have really
>injured himself in a way that won’t show up for a
>while, than that it will affect his abilities in the
>air or in the courtroom. A fall like that can really
>screw up a back and he has ejected a few more times
>than most pilots ever dream of…”
>
>“Do me a favor, Commander? Check on him on your way
>home tonight?”
>
>“I was planning on that anyway, Admiral.”
>
>“If he doesn’t make it in tomorrow, I would like you
>to report to me first thing in the morning with your
>evaluation of how you find him, Commander Turner. I’ll
>make that an order if I have to.”
>
>“Admiral Chegwidden, that will not be necessary. I
>will be glad to update you with my opinion of things
>after I see how he seems to be faring. However,
>couldn't you just ask him if he does call in tomorrow,
>sir?”
>
>“After my reaction this morning, I rather expect he
>will call in early enough to get the machine if he has
>to take another day.” AJ sighed, a sound heavy with
>regret. “Sometimes even admirals should think before
>they bark. At any rate, thank you, Commander. That
>will be all.”
>
>Although AJ’s back was still to him, Turner snapped to
>attention as he said. “Aye. Aye, sir.” He turned and
>left the office, nodding and giving a brief smile to
>Tiner on his way out so the Yeoman wouldn’t think he’d
>been reamed out by their CO. He went to his office, in
>deep thought.
>
>
>Sitting down at his desk Commander Turner saw a
>message waiting on his computer.
>
>“Turner, are you there?” The e-mail was from Mac on
>the Seahawk taking Singer’s place.
>
>“I’m here, Colonel Mackenzie, how are you?” He typed
>back.
>
>The cursor blinked a moment and than the answer came
>through. “Okay I guess. We are hitting some rough seas
>just now. I’ve been trying to reach Harm and he isn’t
>answering his e-mail.”
>
>“Harm isn’t at work today, Mac. Can I help you?”
>
>“I don’t need anything. Just wanted to hear from Harm.
>Is everything all right with him?”
>
>Damn, how should he answer that one? “Any particular
>reason you are asking?”
>
>“Don’t play with me, Sturgis. Is he on assignment? Why
>isn’t he at the office?” The impatience came through
>loud and clear.
>
>“I didn’t just say he wasn’t in the office, Colonel. I
>said Harm wasn’t at work. He took a sick day. Look,
>don’t get overly worried or anything, but Harm took a
>fall when we were playing basketball last night. Hit
>the deck pretty hard. I don’t think there was any
>serious damage, but he called in today saying he was
>too sore to come in. Guess the admiral was pretty hard
>on him for missing work.”
>
>“Why would the Admiral give him a hard time about
>missing work? Harm doesn’t take sick leave lightly and
>he has loads of it coming. Sturgis, did you push Harm
>when you were playing? I know you two are pretty
>competitive when you play…”
>
>Sturgis cut her off quickly. “Of course I didn’t push
>Harm… he just fell. It happens to the best of us.”
>
>“I wasn’t accusing you of anything, Commander. It’s
>just that…”
>
>The cursor blinked a few seconds before continuing
>across the screen.
>
>“It’s just that, Harm fell on the steps outside HQ a
>while ago. I feel kind of bad about it because he hit
>really hard, and, well, it looked so funny that I just
>laughed and laughed. Until I realized he was really
>pale, and he wasn’t getting up. He tried to laugh it
>off when I started to worry, but he was limping the
>next day, even though we were jogging together. He
>would run and seem fine, but when we slowed down and
>he was walking the limp would come out. He said it was
>nothing….”
>
>Turner leaned forward and urgently broke in. “Mac,
>which leg? Which leg was he limping on?”
>
>The cursor blinked for so long he almost jumped back
>on to ask if she was still there.
>
>“I am pretty sure it was his right leg -- he was
>limping right sided. And holding his back between his
>ribs and his hip, too. Why do you ask?”
>
>“It’s probably not important, Mac. But it was his
>right leg that went out on him last night. There was
>no obvious reason for him to fall. He didn’t slip or
>twist his ankle. He went up for a jump shot, made a
>beautiful basket, but when he landed on his right
>foot, he just kept on going all the way to the gym
>floor…like his leg gave out.”
>
>“How can you say that isn’t important? It’s the same
>leg, Sturgis.”
>
>“But, Colonel, he hasn’t been limping since he came
>home from the Seahawk. Not once. Nothing before he
>fell last night. So I don’t think it’s related to his
>previous fall when he was with you.”
>
>“Sturgis, I’m not just being a worry wart here. Harm
>tends to push himself and he neglects things he should
>see to sometimes. Will you check on him tonight for
>me, please?”
>
>“Admiral already asked me the same thing, Mac and I’ll
>tell you what I told him. I was planning on it anyway.
>I’ll let you know any new info as things progress. If
>Harm makes it in tomorrow, I’ll have him e-mail you
>right away - okay? Otherwise, I will give you the
>scoop. Okay?”
>
>“Thank you, Sturgis. I really appreciate it. I miss
>you guys, so much.”
>
>“I’m sure you do, Colonel…especially a certain fly boy
>we both know. If it helps, he is really missing you
>too. He gets this look on his face and I know who he’s
>thinking off. It ain’t me and it ain’t Petty Officer
>Coates. It’s you. He does care for you…you know that
>don’t you? Any way… He’s tough, Mac. He’ll be okay. I
>had better get to work here.”
>
>“Me too. Mac out.”

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  • For Which We Are Truly Thankful Ch I Section 1A above -- Sylvia Mohr Bartlett, 11:47:20 02/23/06 Thu
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