Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. I do not own the premise. I do not even own the computer that I’m typing this
on. All I own is the original idea.
Author Notes: After watching The Mission the first time, I was left feeling like TPTB had taken the easy way
out to make Harm the hero once again (not that I mind that, really). Everyone dismissed so casually the concerns of the
shipboard JAG who had made Harm and Mac’s presence on the ship necessary. It was easy to stand in a sterile room and say,
"This is the way it ought to be. Sure there will be some questions, but you have a job to do, and you can’t let your fear of
the potential consequences get in the way of doing that job." But what would happen if it was you making that decision, and
the consequences were almost too horrible to live with?
Feedback of any sort is always welcome at dcamp@wheelerlegal.com.
Proceed.
It was, relatively speaking, a rather small, nondescript word, not one of those words that carried with it a connotation of
doom or horror, not a word one commonly associated with a life-changing event.
But now it was all of those things and more. In the space of a second, that word had become the first link in a chain of
events that had culminated in a horrific explosion. It was the only word that could have set this chain into motion, and
there was only one person who had the authority to say it.
To have that power had been an incredible feeling, a rush of adrenaline, almost an aphrodisiac. She’d prided herself on the
cool, calm way she’d quickly processed the incoming intel and the rational and prompt way she’d made her decision. They were
all looking to her, waiting for her to either give the okay or order the entire operation aborted. There was no question as
to which way everyone wanted her to go. A roomful of men, a squadron of planes, all waiting on her. It felt as though she’d
been waiting all her life for that moment.
Proceed.
How easy it had been. How sure she had been that she was making the right decision. How pleased they’d all been with the
decision she’d made. How they’d celebrated at the news that Commander Rabb, improbably once again in the middle of the
action, had successfully prosecuted the target.
Proceed.
It was a word she’d never look at quite the same again.
Two days earlier . . .
"Hey," Mac said to Harm when she ran into him in the hall. "Did you get the summons, too?"
"Yeah. Any idea what the Captain wants?" Harm asked Mac’s back they made their way through the narrow corridor.
"No. I was just told to report to the Captain’s at sea cabin ASAP."
Harm had received the same order. He’d been trying to sleep, but the adrenalin from his unexpected mission only hours before
hadn’t completely worn off, and he’d been too wound up. He’d never get too old to enjoy the rush he experienced on even a
routine mission, let along a mission with an objective other than just to fly to point A and return. And, he had to admit
with more than just a touch of pride, he’d met his objective as well as or better than any man ten years his junior could
have done. He’d reveled in the attention he’d received after he’d landed and had accepted the congratulations of men and
women much younger than himself as his due. He’d soared through his debriefing, then tried to get some sleep, a futile
exercise. Instead, he’d lain on his rack, staring at the ceiling, reliving every second of the mission.
Then had come this demand for his presence by the Captain.
"Have a seat. Both of you," Captain Johnson said after they’d reported to him as ordered.
They both sat, growing uneasy with the Captain’s manner.
"Ground troops have investigated the rubble of the building we targeted," the Captain said, wasting no time with small talk.
"What was left of it."
Harm and Mac waited expectantly, knowing that whatever was coming, it couldn’t be good.
"They located six bodies, or parts thereof, in the rubble," the Captain said before pausing for a moment. "The bodies of two
women and four children."
The news hit them both hard, like a fist to the gut, leaving them unable to breathe momentarily.
"Women and children, sir?" Harm finally whispered.
"Apparently so," the Captain confirmed. "Spotters are back tracking, trying to figure out where the intel went wrong. It
appears we hit what we intended, but that it didn’t contain what we expected it would. Your Admiral has been informed. He’s
requested your immediate return. You’ll be heloed to Ramstad, then you’ll fly commercial. The helo’s waiting for you."
"What about the investigation, sir?" Harm asked.
"Someone else will be handling it. We have both your statements from the debrief. We know where to find you if we have
additional questions. That’ll be all," the Captain said, dismissing them. He wished he could offer them words of comfort, but
he knew that nothing he said now would put a dent in their guilt.
Reflexively, they both stood at attention. "Aye aye, sir."
They exited the room, and Mac began to move quickly through the corridor toward her quarters. She was going to be sick - of
that she was certain. She wanted to be in the privacy of her own room when she did so, even now unwilling to show any sign of
weakness.
When she put her hand on the door handle, she heard Harm speak her name. Some part of her knew he was reaching out to her
because he was hurting and because he knew she was hurting, too. But a larger part of her needed to be alone right now, to
pull the shards of herself together again before she lost them completely.
"Not now, Harm," she said tersely. She went into her quarters, shut the door firmly without looking back, and stepped to the
sink in the corner. As she heaved the contents of her stomach into the sink, hot tears burning in her eyes, she said to
herself over and over, "I killed them. This is all my fault. I killed them."
That evening . . .
Mac walked into the hotel lounge and immediately spotted Harm sitting on a stool at the bar, his shoulders hunched over in a
posture of resignation. His back to her, he did not see or try to overhear the conversation she had with the waiter she
summoned with a lift of her hand. She watched as the waiter approached the bartender and conversed with him in German. The
bartender’s eyes flicked to her once, then to the object the waiter passed to him. The bartender nodded, Mac’s cue to
proceed.
She slid onto the stool next to him, but he didn’t raise his head or acknowledge her presence in any way.
"Bartender," he said thickly. "Gimme another."
"How many does that make?" Mac asked quietly.
He didn’t look at her. "Dunno. Don’t care."
The bartender held up five fingers.
"You planning to sit here all night?" Mac asked.
"Nope," Harm muttered. "I’m gonna drink ‘til I fall off this stool. Then I’m gonna lay here all night."
"Thank that’ll help?" she asked.
"Can’t hurt."
"Then you won’t mind if I join you." She turned to the bartender. "Vodka, rocks, please."
"It’s not gonna work, Mac," Harm said. Even in his compromised condition he’d figured out what she was up to and was willing
to call her bluff.
"What’s not gonna work?" she asked.
"This," he said, vaguely waving a hand around. The motion disturbed his equilibrium enough so that he almost fell off the
stool. "You pretend you’re gonna take a drink. I think I’m saving you, but you’re actually saving me. It’s not gonna work. I
see right through your little plan."
"It’s not a little plan, Harm," she said as the bartender set a glass filled with clear liquid and ice on the bar in
front of her. "You think you’re the only one hurting?"
She pulled the drink toward her and stirred it with her finger. Harm watched her out of the corner of his eye, secure in the
knowledge that she wouldn’t actually do it, that she’d realize he was on to her and then she’d leave him alone to drown his
sorrow in peace.
His confidence began to waiver when she picked the glass up. When she put it to her lips, he almost cried out to stop her,
but he still believed she was testing him, and he knew she could pull the glass away without throwing her sobriety down the
toilet. He believed that right up until she took the first swallow.
Mac closed her eyes, savoring the cool liquid as it trickled down her throat. Pleased with the taste and the sensation, she
quickly drained the contents of her glass before Harm’s befuddled brain could string together the words to stop her.
"Hit me again," she said, placing her empty glass forcefully on the bar.
"Mac!" Harm said, finally regaining the ability to be alarmed.
"What, Harm?" she asked, her tone challenging. "If it’s good enough for you, it’s good enough for me, don’t you think?"
It was a struggle, but Harm finally marshaled his wits together. The last one joined the crowd just as the bartender
delivered her second drink. He couldn’t let her do this. She’d worked too damned hard on her sobriety to throw it away now,
no matter how compelling the need to forget. Maybe he was too late.
Unsteadily, he got off the stool. He fumbled in his pocket for money and tossed what he found carelessly on the bar, not
knowing or caring how much he’d overpaid. "Let’s go, Mac," he said.
"You go, Harm," she said. "I kinda like your original idea."
Harm put his hand on her arm, and she shrugged it off. She reached for the drink, but Harm pushed the glass away, sloshing
the contents over the sides of the glass.
"Let’s go," he ordered sternly. This time, he took hold of her arm with no intention of letting go. "Either come quietly, or
I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here."
Mac looked up at him, decided he was serious, and slid off the stool.
Harm escorted Mac back to her room, intending to leave her there and return to the bar to continue the agenda he’d set for
himself for the evening. As usual, she was at least one step ahead of him.
"Good," she said. "Go. As soon as you do, I’m just going back down."
Harm sighed and slumped his shoulders, aware that his plans would have to be scrapped. He wouldn’t abandon her to the pull of
the alcohol, no matter how badly he wanted to lose his own troubles in it. "I can’t let you do that," he said.
"You can’t stop me," she challenged.
"I can, and I will," he said firmly. "You’re not going back down there."
"And neither are you," she pointed out, trying successfully to conceal her triumph.
Harm sighed again. "Are you hungry?"
"Not really."
"When did you eat last?"
"I don’t know," Mac said vaguely. "I haven’t felt much like eating."
"Well, you need to eat. I’ll order something from room service. What do you want?"
"I’m not hungry," she stated firmly. "I’m gonna change my clothes."
Mac went into the bathroom while Harm perused the room service menu. She heard her cell phone ring just as she finished
removing her pants. She could hear Harm on the phone with the kitchen, so she threw on her robe and tied it up quickly. She
left the bathroom and picked up her phone just before the fourth ring. "Colonel Mackenzie."
They finished their phone conversations at the same time.
"Food’s on the way," Harm said.
"We leave at 0900 tomorrow," Mac told him.
Harm nodded in acknowledgment. "I ordered you a cheeseburger."
"I told you, I’m not hungry."
"Mac, you have to eat. You can’t stop living just because something terrible happened."
"So that’s what you were doing down there in the bar? Going on with your life?"
"That’s different," he said quietly.
"Why?"
He looked at her, the anguish in his eyes almost palpable. "Because I dropped a bomb that killed two women and four
children."
Mac stared at him in amazement. Was he really that self-absorbed that he couldn’t see beyond his own pain? Why did he feel
the need to take everyone’s responsibility onto his own shoulders? "You wouldn’t have dropped it if I hadn’t told you
it was okay," she said bitterly.
"Mac, you were only using the information you had available. You couldn’t have known it was faulty."
"No? What if I’d asked for more information?" she asked. "What if I’d waited just a few more seconds? I told everyone that
civilian casualties were a part of war we had to live with! That was easy to say before I actually caused six of them! The
Admiral sent us here to make sure that ‘caution beyond all reason’ didn’t interfere with our stated mission. I certainly
didn’t let it interfere with my decision-making, now did I?! Everything seemed so black in white back home. Now, it’s
all just black." At some point in her tirade, the tears had started, and she didn’t even try to stop them.
"It’s not your fault," Harm said helplessly.
"Yes, Harm, it is," Mac contradicted him. "It was my decision to make. No one else’s. I could have turned you around
with a single word. You’d have come home, and those poor people would still be alive. But I wanted to prove to everyone – to
the Admiral, to the Captain, to you – that I had what it took to make the tough call. My pride got those people killed!"
Harm couldn’t take it any more. He took her face in both his hands. "You listen to me!" he ordered, his face mere inches from
hers. "You were only doing your job! None of us wanted this to happen, but we don’t have a crystal ball! We do the best we
can with what we have!"
"But it hurts, Harm!" she choked out.
"I know it does, baby," he whispered, pulling her into his embrace. "I know." He held her for a moment until her sobs
subsided, then pushed her away a little. He wiped the tears from her checks, then tucked loose strands of hair behind her
ears. Her hair was so soft, and he didn’t let go. "It’ll hurt like hell for a while, but some day, you’ll learn to accept the
fact that this was an accident, pure and simple."
Mac stared up at him, a myriad of emotions racing through her. She wanted to believe him, but she wasn’t sure the pain would
ever go away. "I . . ."
Before she could get any further, Harm’s lips were on hers, sucking any further conversation out of her throat and stealing
her breath. Surprised at first, she was soon kissing him back with a passion that had very little to do with lust.
Harm untied the belt of her robe, and she let it fall open. He slipped his hands inside the robe and rested them lightly on
her hips. Their lips remained locked, their need escalating at a frightening pace. Harm’s hands slid up her sides until he
reached the bottom of her satiny bra. With his thumbs, he could just feel the heaviness of her breasts. It would only take a
moment to reach behind her and undo the clasp, revealing her to him in all her glory.
Mac knew what he was thinking and what he planned to do, and she knew she should probably stop him, but she didn’t want to.
There was a giant, aching chasm at her very center, and maybe this was just what she needed to fill it, to push away the
grief and the guilt. To fill that void, she’d sacrifice just about anything.
"But not my friendship with Harm," a little voice inside her said. "Anything but my friendship with Harm." With more effort
than she’d thought should be required, she pulled her mouth away from his. She licked her lips, savoring his taste.
"We should stop," she whispered, more than half of her hoping he would try to persuade her otherwise.
Harm could only stare at her. His well-intentioned attempt to comfort her had quickly gotten out of control. He slid his
hands back down to her waist, knowing she was right, but very reluctant to take his hands off her. "We should," he whispered
back.
Now that it appeared they were going to stop, Mac was no longer sure that was what she wanted. Just as she leaned back toward
him to kiss him again, a knock sounded on the door, followed by a "room service" announcement. Mac jumped back guiltily. Harm
let his hands fall to his sides, the moment shattered beyond repair.
Harm looked at her a second, his eyes filled with regret, before he turned to open the door while Mac tied up her robe.
The next morning . . .
Mac awoke early the following morning, eager to depart and put some distance between herself and this part of the world. She
doubted that distance would lessen the guilt she felt over her part in what had transpired, but at least returning to work
would give her something else to think about.
They hadn’t planned it, but she and Harm met in the hotel restaurant where both had gone for breakfast before leaving for the
airport. Their interaction was awkward and uncomfortable. After room service had arrived last night, interrupting God only
knew what, they’d eaten in almost absolute silence. Harm then said a quiet good night and left. No longer worried that he’d
return to the bar, Mac had let him go without a word.
They ordered and sat gazing absently around the restaurant, looking everywhere but at each other.
"Did you sleep well?" Harm finally asked.
Mac looked at him briefly, then looked away again. "Fine," she said. "You?"
"Took me a while to fall asleep," he confessed.
Mac didn’t ask why. She thought she knew.
Their waiter arrived and set their plates before them. He left with a promise to bring more coffee.
Mac toyed with her scrambled eggs, wondering why she’d ordered them. She’d never felt less like eating.
Harm buttered his bagel, then set his knife on the plate again. He took a deep breath. "About last night –"
True to his word, the waiter arrived with the coffeepot. He filled their cups, then left again.
"Maybe we shouldn’t talk about last night," Mac suggested before he could begin again, afraid of what he would say, but
equally afraid of what he wouldn’t say.
"Why not? You don’t think it was important?"
She looked at him then, surprised that he would think that. On the contrary, she thought it was very important. But until she
knew how he felt about it, she wasn’t willing to confess her feelings and risk having them trampled. "I wouldn’t say that,"
she said finally. "I just think that we have to consider the context that it happened in."
"Excuse me?" he asked, confused.
"Consider all that’s happened over the last few days. In the midst of all this death, I think it’s normal to search for
something life-affirming. You know, it happens all the time in war. That’s why so many babies are born around war time," she
said with a humorless chuckle. "It’s a subconscious need to remind ourselves that life isn’t all about death. We were both
hurting. We were there for each other, and we reached out. That, and you’d been drinking."
"You left something out of your little analysis there, didn’t you?" Harm asked, willing himself not to show the hurt he felt
at her search for justification.
"What?"
"You. You’d been drinking, too. I would have thought that was the first excuse you’d use to explain what happened."
"They weren’t ‘excuses’, Harm. They were reasons," she said. To give you an out if you wanted it, she thought but didn’t say.
"And I hadn’t been drinking."
"Those shots of vodka were . . ." he said accusingly, waiting for her to fill in the blank.
"Water. They were water."
"Mac, I was there. I saw you drink vodka. I’m not blaming you. I understand why you needed a drink, believe me. But I don’t
think you should be in denial about it."
Mac sighed. "I walked into the bar and saw you sitting there drinking. I slipped the waiter twenty bucks to give to the
bartender. I told him to give me water when I ordered a drink. I thought you’d stop me. I have to admit I was a little
surprised when you let me drink it."
Harm stared at her a moment, not sure if he was angry at her for tricking him or proud of her ingenuity. "You set me up?"
Mac shrugged. "It worked. I got you out of there."
"So you weren’t drunk," Harm conceded. "Doesn’t change what happened."
"No, it doesn’t," Mac agreed. "All I’m saying is that it can be explained, and if you choose to believe that explanation was
the driving force behind it, then it can be forgotten, and we can move on."
This was the moment of truth. This was when he made his decision. Did he want to accept that their kiss last night, and the
passion that had attended it, was the product of the situation they found themselves in and leave it at that? Or did he want
to admit that there was something bigger at work here, something that had been smoldering for years and that could no longer
be swept under the rug without fear of burning the house down? He sure wished he knew which way she was leaning. He looked at
her, trying to read her _expression, but she sat there impassively watching him, waiting for him to speak. Behind that
unblinking facade, a whirlwind of emotions was causing Mac’s heart to pound so loudly she was surprised no one else heard it.
Harm opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment, they both became aware that they were no longer alone. A Lieutenant stood
at attention beside their table, waiting patiently to be noticed. How long had he been there?
"At ease, Lieutenant," Mac invited.
The Lieutenant assumed the position. "Good morning, ma’am, sir. I’m Lieutenant Nason. Captain Johnson sent me."
"Sit down, Lieutenant," Harm invited. "Coffee?"
"Thank you, sir. But I’m escorting wounded to the air base, and my ride’s waiting for me. I have news to deliver, but it can
wait until you’re finished."
Harm and Mac exchanged a look of silent agreement. "We’re done," Mac said, standing up.
"I got it," Harm said, reaching for his pocket and throwing money on the table. They left the restaurant in search of a more
private place to converse.
They found it in an unoccupied corner of the hotel lobby.
"Sir, ma’am, the Captain thought you’d like to hear this in person. The autopsies have been finished on the victims of the
bombing run."
The looks on both their faces made the Lieutenant hurry on with his news. "They were all likely killed by the bombing, but
not this bombing."
"What are you saying, Lieutenant?" Mac asked.
"The victims had been dead for days, ma’am, maybe as much as a week."
Harm and Mac looked at each other again, hardly daring to believe what they were hearing. "We didn’t kill them?" Mac asked,
more of herself than anyone else.
"It certainly appears that way, ma’am. The Captain thought you’d like to know before you left."
"Thank you, Lieutenant. And thank the Captain for us as well," Harm said.
"Yes, sir. Now if that will be all, I’ll be on my way."
"You’re dismissed, Lieutenant."
"Aye aye, sir, ma’am." Lieutenant Nason pivoted and left them.
"We didn’t kill them," Mac said, smiling up at Harm. It didn’t change the tragic death of six innocents, but knowing they
weren’t directly responsible took a lot of the weight off their shoulders.
"No, we didn’t," Harm said, smiling back at her. He couldn’t help it. He pulled her into his embrace and held her tightly.
While he had here there, he whispered into her ear. "By the way – what we were talking about before –"
Mac tried to pull away, but Harm held onto her a little more tightly. "I don’t want to accept any of the explanations you
offered," he said into her ear. "I’ve got one of my own. We kissed because we wanted to kiss. And if we weren’t in the middle
of a hotel lobby right now, I’d do it again. That’s just a little something for you to think about on the ride home."