Author: TracyJean
Subject: Thy Heroic Servants - HBX Challenge June 2009

Author's notes: I have not posted here in forever (waves hello to everyone who was around back then), but many of you are aware that I've been writing again. I have been lurking on the boards recently and was inspired to write something for this month's challenge.

This story has not been beta read because I wanted to get it posted today because it is in honor of D-Day. The title comes from FDR's D-Day prayer, given to the nation in a radio broadcast as the Normandy invasion was taking place 65 years ago today. An except from the prayer is at the end of the story. This story could also serve as a Memorial Day story given the subject matter.

This story takes place in my Calendar Girl universe, in March 2002 (if you've read my recent stuff, it takes place about 7 weeks after Reflections and a month after the soon-to-be-posted sequel - yes, really, since that story is with my beta). Harm is deployed aboard the SeaHawk and Mac has to, in the absence of Admiral Chegwidden, inform the wife of one of JAG's MPs that her husband has been killed in Afghanistan.

This and all my other stories can be found at http://www.dresswhites.info/

~*~*~*~

ON THE ROAD TO QUANTICO MCB
19 MARCH 2002

I am a Marine. I shouldn’t be fiddling with my cover, but I need something to do with my hands. I am about to perform perhaps the hardest duty a member of the military ever has to perform, but it is not one that should even be mine to carry out. Admiral Chegwidden is on leave this week. His normal duties have fallen to me for now, including this one.

There but for the grace of God go I. Under other circumstances, I could be the one at the receiving end of a visit such as the one I am about to make. I might have been if things had gone differently a few weeks ago. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, trying to push the thought from my mind. I need to focus on what I’m about to do, not think about my own husband in a war zone half a world away, his life in God’s hands every time he takes off from the carrier.

“Colonel?”

"I'm sorry, Chaplain Turner," I say, turning to face him. "I was just thinking."

"That is understandable," he says in his usual gentle tone. "Harm is always in your thoughts, but when something like this happens, you can't help but think that you might be the one receiving a visit from the officers in uniforms, telling you that your husband is never coming home."

Is the man a mind reader? "I should be thinking about Leslie Hindman," I say, "and their children. This isn't about me."

"Part of our ability to relate to others is what makes us human," he says. "There is nothing wrong with what you're thinking or feeling."

I spread my hands helplessly. "I suppose," I sigh.

"Why don't you tell me about Sergeant Hindman?" he asks. "I was able to quickly glance through his service record while I was waiting for you at JAG, but that doesn't tell me about the man he was outside of the Marine Corps. I haven't really spoken to his wife much during his deployment. She's always insisted that she's handling things."

Chaplain Turner has become the unofficial chaplain of JAG since September 11th, offering a sounding board for whoever wants it in the face of all the deployments. We have a total of 28 people from our small building who are deployed right now, all of whose pictures are posted in the foyer as you enter the JAG building. Some are Marine MPs who were recalled to units being sent to the front lines, or who volunteered to go, like Gunny. Some are Navy admin clerks, junior attorneys and other office staff who volunteered for sea duty. A few personnel, like Harm and Bud, were ordered to go. JAG has been lucky until now. Six months into the war, Sergeant William Hindman is our first casualty.

"He was as good a man as he was a Marine," I say, not sure where to begin. He was enlisted and I am an officer, but I have seen him with his family at softball games, office picnics and other non-official functions. I chuckle a little, remembering his little boy Georgie and little AJ playing hide-and-seek at my wedding reception a few months ago. The long table cloths on the buffet tables had provided the boys a perfect hiding place, much to the worry, and then consternation of their mothers.

"He and his wife had known each other their entire lives, according to her," I continue. "At one of the softball games after he first got stationed here, we had a picnic after the game and someone had asked her - Harriet, I think - how they met. She said they'd always been together. He'd never even really asked her to marry him. Everyone, including the two of them, just took it for granted that was the next step in their relationship. He had a couple weeks' leave after boot camp so they got married and spent their honeymoon driving from Maryland to South Carolina, just stopping wherever took their fancy. She said that Ernie had never been outside of Maryland before he joined the Marines, so he wanted to explore a bit."

"Ernie?" he asks, his tone clearly puzzled. "I thought his name was William?"

"Ah," I say, chuckling. "This, um, is an interesting story. Sergeant Hindman had worn his hair kind of long most of his life. When he got his buzz cut when he went to boot camp, it became obvious that his ears kind of stuck out from his head. One of the drill sergeants apparently thought it made him look like Ernie from Sesame Street and started calling him that when he was yelling at him. Sergeant Hindman took it all in stride and the nickname stuck."

"He was a good sport about it."

"He once said that it was better than being called 'Dumbo'," I say. "Apparently, someone had done that when he was five, which was why he grew his hair long in the first place."

"So he got married right out of boot camp. They have two children, correct?" he asks. "I remember his little boy from that ruckus at your reception, but they have a little girl as well?"

"Yes," I reply. My mind conjures up the image of a little girl with pale blond curls in a dark pink dress, holding so tight to her daddy's hand that her knuckles were white. Had she realized then that the days were counting down to when her daddy would leave her? He deployed two weeks after Harm and Bud did. "Caroline is six. She will tell anyone who will listen that her ambition in life is to be a princess."

"I imagine that's a common goal for a lot of girls her age," he says.

"Probably put in their heads by daddies who are wrapped around their little fingers," I joke, my hand going to my stomach. What is it with some men and their little girls? Do those little girls realize how blessed they are? I hope my little girl will.

He laughs. "Yes, some men just fall stupid in love with their girls, don't they?"

"'Stupid in love'," I repeat, turning the phrase over in my mind. "I like that one. Describes someone we know perfectly, doesn't it?"

"That it does, Colonel," he says. After a moment, he steers the conversation back to the Hindmans. "So Caroline is six and their boy George is two?"

"Almost three," I reply. "He's a month younger than AJ Roberts, so they've grown up together, hence that little display you saw a few months ago. You've spent some time getting to know Harriet Sims the last few months. I'm sure you've realized that she can be a bit of a mother hen. She's gone out of her way to arrange for the boys to spend more time together since their dads have been gone."

"Perhaps that is how Leslie Hindman has been coping with her husband's absence," he suggests, "by making sure that her children are coping?"

"It does help to have something to focus on," I say. I can tell by the look on his face that he realizes I'm not just talking about Leslie Hindman. But eventually, you run out of things to do - the nursery is painted (courtesy of one of my brother-in-law's rare free weekends), the furniture is all put together (a family group effort), the bassinet that Harm fell in love with in the Exchange catalog is even sitting in the living room already, waiting for its future occupant. In about a month, I will have more to occupy my time than I can imagine now, but now I have nothing to do but wait and let my memories and each precious contact with my husband sustain me.

We fall silent as Chaplain Turner slows down to enter the main gate at Quantico. In a few minutes, we'll pull up in front of the Hindman's quarters in our dark government sedan. Maybe Leslie Hindman will be outside, watching her son play in the unseasonably warm weather. Perhaps she'll be inside, doing whatever occupies her days. But she'll know. She'll hear the car pull into the driveway, she'll take one look at us, and she'll know.

~*~*~*~

LATER THAT EVENING
HARM AND MAC'S HOUSE
ROSSLYN, VA

Today was every bit as hard as I knew it would be. Leslie Hindman had been inside her quarters when we arrived. She'd come out onto the porch at the sound of our car in the drive way, wrapping one of her arms around a post, as if it would hold her upright as we uttered those words that so many before her have heard in American history.

We stayed with her all afternoon and into the evening. I kept an eye on Georgie while Chaplain Turner helped her call her parents and in-laws, who immediately started driving down from Maryland. Harriet arrived after work with little AJ, the sound of the boys' shrieks of laughter providing a bit of sunshine in the midst of the overwhelming gloom.

Chaplain Turner went with her at the end of the school day to pick up Caroline, after a brief debate about whether or not to pull her from school early. Finally, Leslie had said, "Let my little girl believe everything is alright with her world for a few more hours."

It was after she got home from picking her daughter up from school that the tears finally came. Since I wasn't there, I can't say for sure, but I wonder if telling her daughter that her beloved father is never coming home was harder than hearing the news herself? Harriet and I watched after the kids for a few minutes while Leslie closed herself off in her room. During that time, Chaplain Turner contacted Quantico's Family Readiness Program to inform them what had happened. By the time Leslie emerged half an hour later, her living room was full of family members of other Marines who had come to lend a hand. The back yard was full of children laughing and playing, in affirmation that life does go on.

I stayed long enough to offer my condolences to her parents and in-laws, who arrived just before suppertime. Chaplain Turner was going to stay as long as he felt he was needed, so Harriet offered to drive me back to DC. AJ fell asleep almost as soon as we left Quantico, and neither Harriet nor I felt the need to talk on the drive home. I am sure that her thoughts were consumed, as mine were, with her own deployed husband.

As I change into a comfortable pair of sweats - Harm's actually, as mine don't fit, with the sleeves pushed back and the pant legs rolled up - my mind drifts back to part of the conversation Harm and I had on the docks that cold, windy January day a few months ago....

~*~*~*~

NS NORFOLK, VA
6 JANUARY 2002

A voice in the back of my head insists that I'm a Marine and Marine's don't cry, but I mentally push it aside. Today, I'm not here as Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie. I'm Mrs. Harmon Rabb, Jr., about to say goodbye to my husband of six days.

His hand cups my face gently, his thumb brushing at the falling tears. I lean my cheek into his palm, feeling the warmth of his touch spread through me this cold, blustery day. "Hey," he says, his voice so tender and sure, "I'm only a phone call away."

"That's a little difficult logistically," I point out, trying to turn it into a joke. "I can't just pick up a phone and call you on the carrier."

"Or an e-mail or IM," he continues. "I'm flexible." He leans down and brushes his lips against my forehead, lingering longer than he normally would for a kiss like that. I could stay here like this forever, just like last night, when all we did was hold each other as our watches ticked closer to the moment of our parting this morning. "Oh, Sarah."

I reach up on tiptoe, throwing my arms around his neck and holding him as tight as I can. As his head rests against mine, I can feel his own tears start to fall, the moisture warm against my cold skin. We've parted before for just as long as period of time as this separation will be, but that was before. It means so much more now. "I'm only a phone call away, too...." I pull away and lose myself in his brilliant eyes, glistening with tears. "Or an e-mail or IM."

~*~*~*~

I glance at my watch - never used for its usual purpose of keeping time thanks to my internal clock, but now set to Afghan time - as my laptop boots up. It's very early in the morning in his part of the world, but with his schedule he could be anywhere - in the air, decompressing in the wardroom after a mission, in his bunk fast asleep. I start Outlook, composing a short e-mail and sending it.

To: harmonrabb@cvn65.navy.mil
From: sarahrabb@jag.navy.mil
Subject: Please call

Harm, please call me at your earliest convenience. Doesn't matter what time it is here. Tori and I are fine, but I need to hear your voice.

Love, Mac

~*~*~*~

The phone rings within an hour of the e-mail being sent. Even before I reach over to the nightstand to pick up the handset, I know it's Harm. "Harm?"

"Hey, Mac," he says in a tired voice. "I got your e-mail. Are you okay?"

"Tori and I are both fine," I repeat. "I just needed to hear your voice right now. You sound tired. Did you just get back from a mission?"

"More bombing runs in the Khyber Pass," he says. "Nothing more exciting than that." After his near miss of a few weeks ago, I know it is no more than he says it is. He wouldn't sugar coat things for me, no matter how much he might want to. "I figured I'd check e-mail before heading to bed and saw yours. What's up?"

I take a deep breath. "You probably haven't heard yet - Bud might have - but Ernie Hindman was killed by a roadside bomb yesterday in Afghanistan," I say.

"Oh, God," he says, so softly I almost don't hear him. Harriet and I have been keeping Bud and him up to date on any news from our deployees, so he knows that Sergeant Hindman is our first loss. "Do you know how Leslie and the kids are doing?"

His voice catches a little at the question, and I imagine that he's thinking particularly of Caroline Hindman, the same age that he was when the officers in the dark government car came to his home to deliver similar news to his mother. "The Admiral's on vacation this week...." I begin, my voice shaking slightly.

"I forgot," he says, inhaling sharply, realizing what I'm trying to say. "Oh, God. You were the one who told her. Mac, I'm sorry."

"Chaplain Turner and I went out there late this morning after I received the notification from his commander in Afghanistan," I say, looking up at the ceiling as I blink back tears. "I think she knew as soon as she saw the car in the driveway. I don't think I'll ever forget the look in her eyes as I said 'We regret to inform you....' and I couldn't help thinking...."

"I know," he says. We are both quiet for a moment. There isn't really anything we can say. Sure, he could tell me that everything will be okay and he'll come home safely, but two generations of Rabb history and his own tendency for close calls means that may be a promise he is unable to keep. True, the odds are in our favor, but the possibility is there regardless.

"Anyway," I continue shakily, "I really just needed to hear your voice right now, to spend a few moments with you, even like this....I just wish you could hold me."

"Me, too, Sarah," he says softly, in that same tone of voice he used that last night in Norfolk, when he asked if he could just hold me all night. It's so loving, but heartbreaking at the same time.

"I love you so much," I say, my voice cracking. I press my hand to my mouth, forcing back the sobs.

"I love you, too," he says. "And I'm here on the other end of this line, just as long as you need me to be."

~*~*~*~

From Franklin D. Roosevelt's D-Day prayer, 6 June 1944

...."For these men are lately drawn from the ways of peace. They fight not for the lust of conquest. They fight to end conquest. They fight to liberate. They fight to let justice arise, and tolerance and goodwill among all Thy people. They yearn but for the end of battle, for their return to the haven of home.

"Some will never return. Embrace these, Father, and receive them, Thy heroic servants, into Thy kingdom.

"And for us at home - fathers, mothers, children, wives, sisters, and brothers of brave men overseas, whose thoughts and prayers are ever with them - help us, Almighty God, to rededicate ourselves in renewed faith in Thee in this hour of great sacrifice."....