Lost and Found
Author: Pixie Rating: PG Category: JAG Story Disclaimers: Neither JAG nor its characters belong to me. I'm not making any money from this little escapade, so please don't sue me.
****** Part 2 ******
2012 Zulu (1512 Local)
Mac looked up from the file on her desk. "Opening statements are tomorrow?" she asked Sturgis. "Yes, Ma'am. 0900," he answered. "And I hope to wrap it up within two days. There are quite a few witnesses, but the case itself is pretty straightforward." "Good. That'll get us that much closer to putting the Imes mess behind us." Mac closed the folder and added it to the stack of files that sat next to her. As she pulled her hand back, a sudden flash of intense pain at her temple made her wince, and she rubbed the spot reflexively, unaware of the small sound she made as she did so. "Colonel? Are you okay?" The concern in his voice reminded Mac that she wasn't alone, and she forced herself to drop her hand and smile at him. "I'm fine, just a bit of a headache. Will there be anything else?" "That's it for today." "Thanks, Commander." She waited for the door to close behind him before she reached up to rub the spot that still throbbed with pain. She'd never felt anything like it before, and she wondered at its cause as she reached into the top drawer of the desk and took out the small bottle of Tylenol. She chose two and took them with a sip of water, then leaned back in her chair with a weary sigh. She'd been acting JAG for two weeks now, ever since Admiral Chegwidden's Dining Out, and the official Change of Command Ceremony wasn't until Monday morning. She'd never liked the responsibility that came with this position, and as she rolled her head, easing a knot out of her neck, she thought again how relieved she'd be when the new admiral was officially installed. The knock on her door reminded her of her duties, and with a sigh, she answered its summons. "Come in." Jen entered, requisitions in hand, and Mac automatically reached for her pen. "These need your signature, Ma'am." Jennifer handed the forms to Mac who scanned over them quickly before quickly signing her name and handing them back. "Anything else?" "Commander Roberts would like to see you if you've got a minute." "Send him in." "Yes, Ma'am." Jen left, and moments later Bud walked in. Mac noted the pride in his walk with an inward smile. The new stripe on his shoulders suited him well. "What can I do for you, Bud?" "I wanted to ask you about this case I'm defending against Commander Turner." "Have a seat." He did, and they spent the next thirty minutes discussing the case, the witness list, and possible defense strategies. They were wrapping things up when her phone rang and Bud stood, preparing to give her some privacy. She gestured to him to stay, and he relaxed into his seat. "Colonel Mackenzie." "Ma'am? This is Major Sotheby at Fort Bragg." "Good afternoon, Major. I trust Commander Rabb made it there all right?" "Actually, Commander Rabb is the reason I'm calling." Something in the major's voice chilled Mac's blood, and she sat up straighter in her chair. "There's been an accident," he said, sending Mac's adrenalin into high gear. "What kind of accident?" She forced her voice to stay calm. "We lost the Black Hawk that was taking him to the site of the mishap." "Lost? How do you lose a helicopter, Major?" Her tone was scathing, and the major's answer was apologetic. "It dropped off the radar screens about thirty minutes ago." "Any indication of trouble before that?" "No. There's been a bit of weather around here, but nothing serious. There was no distress call from the helicopter, and we're not receiving an emergency signal. At the moment, we're assuming they had to put down somewhere because of a lightning strike." "When will you know for sure?" "We're putting together a search and rescue team now, Ma'am. We hope to know more within the hour." "Keep me informed." "Yes, Ma'am." She hung up slowly, and then looked at Bud. "When am I going to learn, Bud?" Her soft, worry-filled voice brought his eyes to hers. "Ma'am?" "When am I going to learn not to let Harm within a hundred miles of anything that flies?" The question was meant to be rhetorical, but Bud answered anyway. "Excuse me?" His puzzled expression might have made her smile if the circumstances had been different. "It seems that the helicopter that was taking Harm to the site of a mishap investigation has disappeared somewhere in the mountains." Concern washed over Bud's face. "Disappeared?" "Dropped below radar, at least." "They can't reach him by radio?" "Apparently not." She punched a button on the intercom. "Jen?" "Yes, Ma'am?" "Will you please gather everybody in the bullpen?" "Right away, Ma'am." She released the button and turned back to Bud. "I'd better inform the masses before they hear about this on ZNN." A few minutes later, she entered the bullpen, not surprised at the atmosphere of silent tension that greeted her. She scanned the anxious faces, wishing she didn't have to be the bearer of bad news. "A few of you know that Commander Rabb left this morning to investigate a training mishap at Fort Bragg." She took a breath. "I just received a telephone call from Major Sotheby at Fort Bragg. Apparently, the Black Hawk that was flying the commander to the accident site dropped off the radar screens about a half hour ago. The base hasn't been able to contact the crew, so they're assuming for the moment that they had to land due to a lightning strike." "Are they sending in a search and rescue team?" asked Sturgis. "Yes." "When will they start looking?" "I don't know that yet." "They didn't tell you?" "Not yet. Major Sotheby will keep us informed." "Colonel…" She could tell by the tone of his voice that he wasn't satisfied with the way she was handling this, and she resented the implication that she would do less than her best to bring Harm home safely. She stared him into silence, and he subsided, recognizing the rebuke for what it was - a reminder of the current, though admittedly temporary, chain of command. Mac allowed her eyes to scan the rest of the people in the bullpen. "Anybody else have any questions?" She waited a few moments, then sent everybody back to work and turned to go into her office. ********** Harm gradually became aware of muffled noises and a trickle of cold water slipping down the back of his neck. He stayed still, concentrating on sensations and impressions, waiting for understanding to dawn. Rain. That was what he was hearing. Rain and a creaky metal on metal sound that set his teeth on edge. He forced his eyes open and gingerly lifted his head, stifling a groan when pain exploded inside his skull. As he looked around him, taking in the twisted mass of spare parts that used to be a helicopter, he remembered what had happened – or at least, parts of it. He'd been on his way to a classified location in the mountains to investigate a training incident. Two Marines had gotten separated from their team and were caught in a rockslide. Both had been seriously injured. He and … What was her name? He thought hard for a minute. Oh, yes. Colonel Palmiro - the officer in charge of the training exercise. He and the colonel had been on their way to the accident site when they'd gotten caught in some sort of bizarre weather event. The last thing he remembered was a single frantic Mayday call as the world exploded in noise, an impossibly bright flash of light, and then…nothing. With memory came concern for Colonel Palmiro and the flight crew. Gingerly, he unbuckled his shoulder harness, grateful to realize that he didn't seem to have any broken bones. Free, he began to look around for the others. The pilot and co-pilot were still in their seats, but their slumped bodies told Harm that they were either unconscious or dead. He eased his way forward to check for pulses. No luck. Neither man had survived the crash. With a soft but heartfelt curse, he turned to look for Colonel Palmiro. He didn't see her at first, but then a flash of color outside the aircraft attracted his attention. He eased his way out of the helicopter, gingerly putting weight on his legs, not surprised when one ankle complained bitterly. If a sprained ankle and an ungodly headache were the worst he got from this, he'd consider himself lucky. When he finally reached the colonel, he checked her pulse, breathing a sigh of relief when he found a faint but steady heartbeat. He did a quick visual examination, trying to determine whether or not it would be safe to move her. One leg was twisted at an unnatural angle, obviously broken. She had plenty of cuts and bruises, and she'd landed right in the middle of a bed of poison ivy. Lucky for him, he'd never been very allergic to the stuff. He had no idea whether or not Colonel Palmiro had been blessed with the same resistance. Deciding that it was probably safe to move her, he eased her closer to the downed helicopter, careful not to jostle her leg any more than necessary. She groaned once, but didn't wake up. That done, he climbed back into the helicopter, searching for survival kits and first aid gear. It didn't take him long to discover that the electronics had been fried – either in the crash, or by a lightning strike on the way down. Obviously, they weren't going to be able to call for help. Lovely. He didn't know if the emergency transmitter was working or not, but decided to assume it wasn't. If lightning had taken out the radio, it might've killed that, too. It wouldn't do any good to worry about it. He needed a first aid kit. If he didn't at least attempt to set the Colonel's leg, there was a good chance she would lose it – and maybe worse. He finally located the kit jammed underneath a mangled seat and, after much struggle and a string of colorful curses, managed to wrench it free. Most of what was inside the kit was pretty much useless. Band-Aids, alcohol pads, and a tube of antibacterial cream wouldn't go far toward helping him set a broken leg. Then he spied a roll of gauze and pulled it out with a sigh of relief. This would help. Now all he needed was a splint. A few minutes later, he'd located a pair of suitable sticks and immobilized the leg. That done, he covered her with flight jackets he'd taken off the dead pilots, and pillowed her head in some downed evergreen branches. There was nothing more he could do for her now except hope that help would arrive quickly. Tired, his head and ankle aching, he sat down to plan his next move. Within moments, he was asleep. ********** Mac rubbed her aching temples and sighed wearily. Two hours had passed - two of the longest hours in recent memory. And still, there was no word from Fort Bragg. Finally, frustrated with the delay she reached for the phone, but when she placed it to her ear, she was somewhat unnerved to hear somebody speak. "Colonel Mackenzie?" She regrouped, realized that she'd picked up the handset just before the ring sounded, and answered. "Yes." "This is Major Sotheby." "Yes, Major. What can you tell me?" "Not much, I'm afraid. We still haven't heard anything from the missing aircraft." "No transmitter signal?" "Nothing. We had a radio call from the pilots about twenty minutes before they dropped off the radar screen. They said they were changing course to bypass a storm cell." Mac didn't like the sound of that. "What about the SAR team?" "Ready and waiting, but base command won't send them out until the weather clears." "Exactly how bad is it down there, Major?" "It's pretty ugly, Ma'am. There's a line of intense squalls moving in from South Carolina and Georgia." "How long, Major?" "I'm sorry?" "How long until the team leaves?" "One moment please…" She drummed her fingers impatiently and listened to fragments of whispered conversation. "They're estimating six hours, Ma'am." Mac sat up abruptly, her spine stiffening in shocked disbelief. "Six hours?" "Yes, Ma'am." "Those people could be injured – or worse. And you're just going to sit there and do nothing?" "I'm afraid it's not my call, Ma'am." "To hell with your call, Major." Her icy tones left no doubt in the major's mind about her feelings in the matter. "I want a team out there…immediately." "I'm sorry, Ma'am. I can't do that." Mac sighed. She knew she didn't have the power to make this happen, and the feeling of helplessness that washed over her at the knowledge was overwhelming. She ended the call abruptly, slamming the phone into its cradle with significantly more force than necessary, then stood and moved to the window, staring into the rainy afternoon while she considered her options. Her first instinct was to go after Harm herself. It was what she wanted to do - what every fiber and molecule in her body ached to do. And yet, she knew she couldn't. Her position as acting JAG made it altogether impossible. Her second choice would be to send somebody after him – but who? Sturgis? No. He was a bubblehead. He'd likely be worse than useless in the mountain wilderness. Bud? No way. And that was it. There were no other choices. All she could do was sit back, wait, and pray. She slammed a fist into the back of the chair, venting a small portion of her frustration on the nearest available victim. Then she sat down, picked up a pen, and forced herself to concentrate on the never-ending parade of paperwork that marched across her desk. ********** Harm awoke with a start, sitting up quickly, then dropping back again when pain flashed behind his eyes. He waited for the throbbing to ease, recognizing the symptoms of the concussion, but aware that there was nothing he could do but wait it out. After a few moments spent fighting down nausea and vertigo he sat up again, more slowly this time. The light had changed, taking on the greenish yellow tint of another approaching storm. Thunder rumbled ominously, and flashes of lightning outlined the trees and mountains in sharp relief, and then cast them back into the deepening shadows of twilight. He realized he needed to find shelter, and he needed to find it fast. He checked on the colonel, relieved to find that her pulse was stronger, though she was still unconscious. Then he used the remainder of the gauze to wrap his painfully swollen ankle. He tore his pant leg up to his knee to ease the pressure, and then stood gingerly, pleased to discover that the pain was almost bearable. Straightening, he looked around, scanning his immediate surroundings for something that might do as a shelter. When he saw an outcropping of rock slightly above them and to the right, he breathed a sigh of relief. With a little bit of luck, he could get himself and Colonel Palmiro safely inside before the storm broke. A glance at the dense growth of shrubs and berry bushes caused him to take a deep breath. The hike up wasn't going to be easy, but he didn't see any choice in the matter. It took him fifteen precious minutes to fight his way through the foliage and up to the narrow rock ledge. The dent in the mountain was just deep enough to allow the two of them to get in out of the weather. After a quick scan to make sure they wouldn't be sharing the space with any possessive four legged inhabitants, he returned to the crash site. The first heavy drops of rain splashed the rocks around him, and thunder rumbled its ominous warning as he finally dragged the colonel under cover. Exhausted, he made sure she was safe and dry, and then seated himself at the back of the small cave, resting his back against the wall. He knew there were things he needed to think about, survival issues like food and water. Luckily, it was summertime, so he didn't need to worry about cold weather, but the mosquitoes were going to be a problem unless he could get a fire going. Right now though, he was too tired to dig through the underbrush looking for enough dry wood to start a fire. It would just have to wait until after he'd rested for a while. With any luck, the ugly weather would keep most of the insects away during the night. He closed his eyes, giving in to creeping exhaustion brought on by a moderate concussion and exacerbated by his efforts to drag the colonel up the side of the mountain.
**********Commercial Break **********
We interrupt this program to bring you the following news bulletin: In a move unprecedented in television history, the writers and producers of the show “JAG” have been locked in a room at Paramount Studios and are under heavy guard. A group calling themselves “The Shippers” is claiming responsibility. “JAG” personnel will be released after scripts for season ten are written putting the two main leads, Harm and Mac, together romantically and keeping them together. The Shippers claim that, after eight seasons of torment, enough is enough. On a side note, The Shippers also requested that the character of Harm wear less clothing, and that there must be at least one “boxers scene” per episode. Further details as events unfold.
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