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JAG: Sarah Ch. 01

By: Katherine English 2



Chapter 1: The Ragle Years

Disclaimer: JAG and its characters are the property of Donald Bellisario, Paramount and CBS. All other characters are mine and fictional.

Sarah I - The Ragle Years

12:37 A.M.
July 1, 1989
Red Rock Mesa, Arizona

Even the stars were passing judgement.

Sarah lay in the chill darkness of the high desert, staring despondently at the all-seeing firmament above her. How could she have made such an utter mess of her life in only 19 short years? Where was the childhood she'd longed to live...the budding promise of womanhood soon to come? 

She scanned the earth below. Red Rock Mesa seemed a million miles from where she thought she'd be tonight, a million miles from Chris, and even further from the cemetery where dear, vulnerable Eddie lay cold in an early grave.

She felt empty, hollowed out, alone. As she looked at the barren desert stretching outward toward infinity, she couldn't help but wonder...where did it all go wrong? When had her world become such an unbearable place in which to live? When had it all turned to dust?

Near the Marine Corps Air Station
Yuma, Arizona
May 30, 1985

Life had never been easy in the MacKenzie household, she reflected. Her father, Joe MacKenzie, a Marine NCO, was both a brutal man, and a drunk. His nightly dance with the bottle had left her mother weary beyond her years, and battered beyond endurance.

Within those tired and faded walls, the passing of time had become a tortuous existence. And so, while it damaged her in more ways than she would ever know, it came as no surprise to Sarah when on the night of her 15th birthday, her mother simply vanished.

No one had even looked for the matriarch of the MacKenzie family. It was as though her escape was long overdue, the theft of a clemency that had never been granted. In fact, if anyone had bothered to give it any thought at all, they would have wondered why it had taken her so long.

She had told her mother that she'd be "sleeping over" at her friend Cheryl's house that night, but it had been a lie. Cheryl was barely an acquaintance. Instead, she'd spent the night in the desert with her best friend and drinking buddy, Eddie. 

In honor of her birthday, Eddie had "boosted" a six-pack from the local 7-11, an infraction that was rapidly becoming a habit for him. 

Close and kindred souls, they spent the night watching the constellations float lazily across the darkened sky. There, beneath the unseeing moon, they sipped their beer and dreamt of rosy futures beyond their reach.

"Sarah?" he'd said. "Some day I'm gonna get away from here. I'm leaving this place behind me, and when I do...I'm never comin' back."

"Me too, Eddie. Me, too." she replied. "I'll be so far gone, this place won't even be a memory."

Sarah recalled coming home from school the next day, her long, dark hair streaming behind her as a "dust devil" whirled across the open desert on its way to the great unknown. 

"Where've you been?" her father had slurred drunkenly. "I thought you left with that bitch of a mother of yours. I was just getting ready to celebrate."

"I had to study at the library." she lied, knowing full well that Joe MacKenzie would never check on her there.

"Well, pull my shoes off!" he ordered. "If I'm stuck with you, then you're damn well gonna pull your weight around here."

Stunned, Sarah realized that her mother was never coming back, and her already oppressive life had just taken a turn for the worst. Her first impulse was to follow her mother's example, and get on the next bus out of town. If it hadn't been for Eddie's sensitive counsel, her relationship with Arizona and her father would have ended right there.

Sadly, her best friend had demons of his own to deal with, and so they had formed a mutual support group for each other. He never asked for more than she was willing to offer, and she extended him the same respect. Instead they shared an empathy that only they could understand or offer. They each gave the other the comfort and understanding so needed in their young lives, but which the fickleness of fate had denied them both.

It was hard to believe that things could have gotten worse, but with the absence of her mother, life in the MacKenzie home suddenly took on nightmarish parameters. Joe MacKenzie, formerly a closet alcoholic, now decided to make his status official. His frequent binges on the dilapidated sofa in the living room, became essentially a thing of the past. His safaris into the bottle now lead him to the seedy bars and whorehouses on Santa Fe Avenue. More than once he'd been sentenced to the local brig for becoming "drunk and disorderly".

Her life was actually better when he was away, however, for it was when he was present that life truly became unbearable. Having no one else upon whom to vent his ever-deepening anger and frustration, he exercised what he felt was his paternal right and tormented his only daughter with his perpetual invectives and insinuations.

And then one day, during the summer of her 17th year, Chris Ragle came roaring into their cluttered yard on his huge, black Harley, and stole her heart away. 

Summer, 1987
Yuma, Arizona

Chris was a rebel, a "bad boy" of the first order. Most people in their small town headed the other way when Chris rolled by. But to Sarah, he was the salvation she had always needed.

The rugged biker was eight years her senior, and had lived life on the edge since he had dropped out of high school at 16. His aging Harley, burdened with more miles than anything on wheels was meant to have, had been his only companion on the lonely road, and so, it was no surprise that he formed an immediate attachment to the lovely waif with the long, raven-colored hair and doe-like eyes.

He said that he'd stopped for directions to the interstate that day, but in fact, Ragle had seen young Sarah from the dusty dirt road that ran by her yard, and had invented a weak excuse to stop and establish a connection. 

Wide-eyed and naive, Sarah had fallen immediately beneath his spell. He was her Svengali, and his hold on her was hypnotic. And so, in spite her father's vehement attempts to dissolve the relationship, Sarah found herself spending much of her free time on the back of his Harley, her thighs wrapped firmly around him, her cares becoming lost on the lonely stretches of desert roadway they perpetually explored.

The situation came to a head late that summer, on a balmy night in the front yard of the MacKenzie bungalow. Chris had once again ridden up to claim the winsome Sarah, only to be confronted in the yard by her father. 

MacKenzie was drunk that night, as usual, only this time the "spirits" had told him it was time to take Ragle to task. Grateful for a chance to escape her father's wrath,, Sarah had rushed out to meet the aging Harley, hoping to be far away before her father could intervene. But it was not to be. With a burst of speed unbelievable in one so despoiled, Joe had rushed madly out into the yard behind her, grabbing her hair, pulling her off of the roaring piece of machinery into the dirt at his feet.

It was hard to say exactly what happened next. One minute Chris was sitting astride his ebony steed, and the next, he was leaning over her father, pinning him to the ground with his knee, his fist forming a choke-hold on the tequila-soaked collar of the older man's shirt.

She could still remember the words, which escaped, like a feral growl into the desert night. "If you ever touch her again, Old Man, I'll kill you." he promised. Then, once again astride his Harley, he had offered Sarah his hand.

Sarah looked at her father lying drunkenly in the dust, and at the handsome young man whose coal-black eyes pierced her very soul... and made her decision. That night, in the desert, with only the stars to bear witness, Sarah gave herself to Chris Ragle, and crossed an expanse that forever claimed the final tatters of her childhood innocence.

That Chris wanted her, came as no surprise. She was a beautiful young woman, and was accustomed to the lecherous stares of the young men with whom she came in contact. But until that moment, she had never felt the trust required to allow sharing this last piece of her body and soul with another human being. Now, at 17, Chris had come into her life, a knight in tattered armor rescuing her from the ravages of her existence, and she knew the time had come. 

Chris had taken her far out into the desert that night, beyond the small sprinkling of buttes that ringed her tiny community, and away to the east where the sand shone red and gold in the fullness of the moon. He'd taken the large, colorful serape he kept bundled on the back of his Harley, and stretched it out on the desert floor. Then, retrieving a bottle of mescal from his saddlebag, he'd lead Sarah across the moonlit expanse, to the edge of the festively decorated blanket.

Silently, he removed the cap from the mescal, and pressed the bottle to his lips, sucking greedily at its contents. Then, wiping the rim on his sleeve, he extended the bottle to Sarah, his eyes bidding her to share in its warmth.

At first she was hesitant. Her experience with alcohol had been limited to the infrequent six-pack that Jimmy occasionally provided. But Chris was a man, not a boy, and the look on his face said that he expected her to act like a woman. 

Silently, Sarah took the bottle from his hand, and poured the burning liquid down her quivering throat, feeling it sear its way into the pit of her stomach. She coughed... gasping for breath as the fiery liquor began to claim her senses.

Ragle took the bottle from her hand, and once again drained a substantial amount before screwing the cap in place and tossing the half filled container down on the sand at his feet. It was then that he directed his attention to the naively alluring young woman before him.

Sarah stood, pale in the moonlight, her hair streaming down her back, almost to the edge of the brief cut-offs that exposed her trembling thighs to the chill night air. Ragle eyed her hungrily as he closed the distance between them, his hands moving impatiently on the black leather of his biker chaps. Wordlessly, within the unyielding grip of his arms, he pressed the rugged planes of his body to hers, and claimed the soft interiors of her mouth.

Sarah tipped her head back, and watched the stars spin crazily out of control. She could feel his lips move greedily down the length of her throat...touching, tasting, demanding.

Then, with a primal growl, he lowered her to the blanket...and Sarah felt the last vestige of her childhood slip silently into the desert night, to be replaced by a woman of hunger and passion.

Slowly Chris untied the drawstring on her muslin peasant blouse, gently enlarging the neckline until it cleared her shoulders and he was able to enjoy the fullness of her naked breasts. He was surprisingly gentle as he ran his hands up under her rib cage, cupping her with his palms, stroking her with his thumbs.

"Sarah...you're so beautiful." he whispered, as his mouth sought her turgid nipple, enflaming its pebbled surface with his tongue. "You make me so hot, Darlin', I think I'm losing my mind."

The prominent bulge at the apex of Chris' chaps had grown alarmingly, pressing, rock-hard against her outer thigh. Her breath quickened. He seemed so huge...the thought frightened her, and yet something inside felt drawn to the physical presence of him.

Sensuously, Chris trailed his fingers down her midriff, his hand descending to the front of her cut-offs. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt him gently "pop" the snap at her waist, slowly lowering the zipper downward toward the juncture of her thighs.

"You're not wearing any underwear, Darlin'...I like that. I like that a lot." he gasped, as his fingers dipped between her thighs and explored the downy triangle between her legs.

His touch was electric. Invasively, he inserted a finger between her moist folds, seeking access to the hot, moist inner recesses of her body.

But something was wrong.

"Sarah...?" He looked puzzled...unsure. "Sarah? Are you...I mean, have you ever had sex with a man before?" he questioned intimately.

Fearful that her answer might displease him, Sarah hesitantly shook her head. "No...not yet, Chris. You'll be the first."

Slowly he got to his knees beside her, and stared at her well-endowed form laying prone in the silvery moonlight. She was untried...and she wanted him. She was his for the taking. No matter what else happened, she would remember this night for the rest of her life. 

Wordlessly, he bent and pulled her blouse off over her head. "Darlin', I don't know how much I can take. I...I'll try to take it easy, but..." He was unable to finish the thought. 

Caressing her leg, he silently removed her soft leather boots and reached for the waistband of her brief denims. His hands trembled as he peeled them down her naked thighs and dropped them on the sand at her feet.

He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, praying for control. Then Chris stood above her, tearing at his own clothing until, finally, he stood naked before her anxious gaze.

Unseen in the pale moonlight, she felt a flush creep upward, engulfing her face. He was enormous! 

Sarah had heard stories from other girls about their "first time", and she felt the initial stirring of apprehension begin to grow and build within the in the pit of her stomach. What if he was too big? What if she was too small? Should she ask him to stop? Should she run?

Shakily, Chris knelt on the blanket between legs, his hands slowly caressing the silken flesh of her inner thighs, working their way upward toward her moist, quivering epicenter. Breathing heavily, he once again paused to regain control over his burgeoning member, then inserted his thumbs between her nether lips and opened her fully to his heated gaze.

She was wet...so very wet. Chris inhaled sharply at the thought of burying himself in her moist, molten center. How long could he hold off? Already his body was screaming for release.

Determined to make her transition to womanhood as painless as possible, Chris hungrily lowered his head and began to taste the sweet moisture which flowed freely and unbidden from the wellspring of her soul.

Sarah gasped as a silken knot began to form in the pit of her stomach, growing, consuming, radiating throughout her body. Her heartbeat quickened, and she pressed her thighs uncontrollably around his face, capturing the object of her pleasure. Then, fully under his spell, felt herself go rigid and a rush of moisture gushed from within her. In a state of shivering abandon, she began to arch her spine, grabbing his hair, pulling him upward, urging him to consummate their union. No longer did she worry about the size of his member, only that it fill her...and immediately.

Chris could wait no longer. Her mute pleas drove him over the edge, beyond the point of reason. Wiping his face on his lower arm, he leaned forward, resting his weight on his forearms, positioning himself to remove the last barrier to nirvana. "Are you sure, Sarah?" he gasped huskily, wondering if he still had enough control to back off. 

"Yes" she breathed. "Now...do it!"

He gazed steadily into her eyes as though to gauge her readiness, her state of arousal... her pain. Then, readying his body for the quick, powerful thrust that he knew they both wanted, he paused. There was a better way. 

He suddenly realized that it was within his power to keep from hurting her. Once more struggling desperately for control, Chris wrapped his arms around her, rolling on his back until she lay above him, her thighs straddling his hips. Then, sliding his hand between them, he again positioned his engorged member within the nest of her saturated curls. 

"Go ahead, Darlin'...you call the shots." he said, praying that she would be quick.

The hand which had aligned their union, now began to pay homage to the feverish nub which strained insanely beneath his experienced touch. Maddeningly, Chris passed his finger across its distended surface, manipulating...arousing... bringing her once again to the very brink of ecstasy. His left hand, now free to roam, pressed insistently against her buttocks, drawing her against his straining manhood, frantically urging her to complete the joining of their bodies before he burst into a million pieces.

Sarah's dug her nails into her palms, her face contorting into something primeval. Moaning deeply, she began to shudder, her climax throwing any thought of hesitation to the wind. Then, hungrily, with a motion born of heated abandon, Sarah thrust herself against his powerful erection, feeling it penetrate her barrier, her body, and finally...her soul. 

If there was pain, she didn't notice. Her only sensation was one of pure, untamed passion as he arched his pelvis, impaling her fully on his distended sex. She paused to adjust to his enormous presence, then thrusting her hips once more, she sought to take him ever deeper within her, feeling him fill her with his pulsating arousal. Feral moans erupted from her throat and were lost in the still desert air as she began to mimic a rhythm as old as time itself. 

Finally, unable to control himself any longer, Chris once again flipped her over on her back and began to thrust mightily within her. She cried out...not in pain, but in an effort to urge him still further.

Chris complied, and as he once again felt her heated juices flood around him, he gave a final, powerful lunge, burying himself ever deeper within her, inundating her very being with his essence.

Chris collapsed at her side, his breath coming in deep, labored gasps as he sought to regain his composure. 

"Darlin', if that was your first time, I can't wait to see what you're like with a little experience under your belt! 

She smiled weakly. The night was young, They had lots of time to find out.

Fall, 1987
Yuma, Arizona

Chris proved to be both an exciting and demanding lover, and it was at his insistence that Sarah left her home with MacKenzie and took up residence in his rented trailer on the outskirts of town. There, in their little hideaway, the alcohol she'd abhorred in her former home, ironically became a frequent visitor in her own.

Eventually, her father grudgingly resigned himself to Chris' dominance in Sarah's life, and began to separate himself from her altogether. 

Chris, himself a drop out, offered little or no support when it came to Sarah's education. It was to Sarah's credit alone that she remained in school, although the influence of his demands, and the alcohol, which he readily supplied her, took a decided toll on her grades.

Life with Chris was not the idyllic existence Sarah had longed for. The fact that he considered her his property went without question. His irresponsibility and domineering nature, however, became a burden she had not expected. If not for the alcohol dependence he had fostered within her, and the terrible fear of retribution, Sarah would have packed a knapsack and vanished, like her mother, on the next Greyhound.

Fall, 1988
Las Vegas, Nevada

Then, on her 18th birthday, Chris drove Sarah north along the interstate to the bright lights of Las Vegas. There, at Chris' insistence, and "high" on tequila "shooters", they became man and wife, forever removing her from any illusion of control that Joe MacKenzie might still harbor.

Their honeymoon was a brief affair, intensely sensual, but dimmed by the alcoholic haze which surrounded it. 

Chris had blown the budget and rented a honeymoon suite at the Tropicana on the famed Las Vegas Strip. Sarah was amazed...never in her life had she seen a room so decadently appointed. 

It was a vision in red and white. White silk curtains opened onto a private balcony overlooking the bright lights of "the strip" below. The pale carpet was thick enough to lose yourself in, and the large, round bed came equipped with an array of built-in remotes that stimulated the imagination. But the focal point of the suite, was the private hot tub for two that sat invitingly in a red- tiled room beyond the bed.


JAG: Sarah Ch. 01



Sarah crossed the scarlet enclosure and dipped her hand into the bubbling water, smelling the aroma of fresh strawberries rising from its depths. It was then she felt Chris close behind her, his hands on her hips, preventing her from turning to face him.

"Do you like it, Darlin'?" he whispered, his tone husky and seductive. "I planned this just for you."

Dropping his shirt to the floor, Chris reached his arms around and cupped her breasts with his hands. "You've got too many clothes on." he rasped, his fingers pulling her sweater up and over her head.

She felt his hair-roughened chest press intimately against her back, pinning her body between his and the raised edge of the hot tub. Slowly, he brought his hands behind her and released the catch of her bra, dropping it to the floor at his feet. His lips explored the bare expanse of her back, and he once more reached around to squeeze her hardened nipples. Sarah flushed, a rash of "goose flesh" spreading across her upper torso. 

Remaining behind her, he silently kneaded her breast with one hand while he insinuated the other beneath the waistband of her skirt and panties, thrusting his fingers into the dampening crevice below.

Aroused, but confused, Sarah attempted to turn and face her husband, but with silken control, he held her fast.

"Not yet." he whispered huskily. "Please...not yet."

Sarah felt his lips descend her spine as he lowered himself to the floor behind her. Then, pressing his lips to the small of her back, he raised her skirt and began to gently tug her panties down her thighs, covering each inch with his tongue as they slowly sank to her ankles.

Trying to conventionalize their actions, Sarah tried a second time to turn and face her husband, but again his pleas held her firmly in place, his hands positioning her naked posterior before him. He had only just begun.

Gently, he lifted her foot, and bypassing her shoe, removed her left ankle from its silken restraint. Waves of passion washed over her, her knees began to tremble. Once more she reached out to support herself on the edge of the hot tub.

Chris pressed his hands between her legs and urged them apart, stroking the silken texture of her inner thighs, again plunging his fingers into her dripping core. She was incredibly wet, aroused beyond belief at his unconventional approach. 

Chris gently nudged her upper torso, causing her to lean forward, and project her creamy globes closer to his questing lips. It was then that Chris slid between her legs on his knees, and positioned himself between her trembling thighs.

Sarah's eyes widened as she felt his warm breath waft across the dark curls between her legs. Then, reaching upward with both hands, he plunged his questing fingers into the heated recesses of her body, causing her to gasp raggedly and press against him. 


Gently opening her delicate folds with his thumbs, he inserted his probing tongue into her vagina, feasting hungrily on the abundant moisture within.

"Chris!" she exclaimed, her voice high and uneven. "W...what are you doing? Oh..." she bit her lip, stifling a moan of passion. "Chris!" she tried to speak, but the words died in her throat. 

Thrusting his tongue maddeningly in and out of her quivering core, Chris began to stimulate the hardened nub before him with the tip of his finger. 

Sarah's knees began to buckle, and a ragged cry tore from her lips. "Chris...Chris...Oh my god..."

She began to sink to the floor beside him, but he stabilized her body with his hands until she once again found support from the hot tub. Then, as her climax rocked the room, he quickly stood up and opened his zipper, plunging his enormous erection deep into her wet and quivering flesh.

Sarah was beside herself. She grabbed the hot tub for support as her senses fled, leaving only animal passion in their wake...an untamed hunger that only his body could satisfy.

Grasping her hips beneath the bundled vestige of her skirt , he pulled her roughly against him, thrusting wildly into her dripping sex as her vaginal muscles greedily sucked his engorged organ. He was hard...he was hot...he was ready.

She felt his lips press hungrily against the side of her throat, his body covering hers... bending her forward... plunging harder...deeper...faster. And then she felt the hot rush of him flood her inner being, carrying her once again in its wake.

Afterward, they lay exhausted, in each other's arms as the warm, scented water swirled around them. Let tomorrow take care of itself, she thought. Tonight is made for love.

Fall, 1988
Yuma, Arizona

As with all good things, honeymoons too come to an end.

When they returned home Chris' possessiveness took on manic proportions. She was his wife now, to him that meant he owned her body and soul. Sarah became more and more unhappy with each passing day.

With a year yet to go in school, Chris grudgingly continued to rent the small trailer on the edge of town, and Sarah attempted to complete her studies. She tried valiantly to create the home she had always wanted, but by now her alcohol abuse was absent only during the six hours each day that she spent in class. At home, Chris' supply seemed to be never ending, and Sarah felt her physical and emotional dependence growing with each passing day.

Occasionally, she would ask Chris how he'd earned the money that paid their growing expenses, but his response was always the same. "Here and there." he'd repeat evasively, his look silencing any further query. Sarah's tumultuous life with Joe MacKenzie had taught her to leave well enough alone, and so she accepted his avoidance in the interests of peace, and self-preservation.

Then, one day the police showed up at the entrance to the small trailer the Ragles shared on N. Sitgrieves Avenue. In their hands they carried a warrant for Chris' arrest...the charge: armed robbery. And Sarah's world once again came crumbling down around her.

Chris was charged with the armed hold-up of a convenience store in the Tucson area, a few hours drive to the east. The evidence against him was conclusive, and the respective lawyers involved soon plea bargained the inevitable charge to a span of three to five years in a state prison. Then, on the day before her 19th birthday, almost as though their lives together had never existed, Chris was gone.

Spring, 1989
Near Yuma, Arizona

It was hard moving back to the bungalow in which she'd been raised, but by then, her father was serving a stiff brig sentence for drunkenly assaulting a female acquaintance, and was no longer present. Sarah found herself truly alone.

The townspeople treated her with contempt. "Chris Ragle's little bitch," they whispered as she passed down the street, "Joe MacKenzies drunken kid!" Then one day a tall, square jawed Marine Colonel had turned up on her doorstep"

"Uncle Matt" Sarah squealed, throwing her arms around her visitor. It was Matt O'Hara, her mother's favorite brother, home from his latest tour on the farthest reaches of some mysterious shore.

" I can't believe that you're really here!"

"I had to come, Sarah. I heard some of the scuttlebutt coming from this one-horse town, and it wasn't good."

Sarah was momentarily subdued. Her neighbors hadn't wasted any time.

"It's not too bad." she lied. "I'm getting along okay." Then her voice brightened. "Uncle Matt! I'll be graduating in two weeks...can you stay?" she asked hopefully.

"Absolutely!" he replied. "I wouldn't miss it for anything.

The next two weeks were the most pleasant that she could remember. Uncle Matt became more than her mother's brother, he became her friend. Even her drinking problem, which had reached astronomical proportions, became more manageable. For the first time in her life, Sarah felt truly connected...genuinely cared for.

It was then that she began to worry about what her world would be like after Uncle Matt resumed his duties, and she was once again alone. Could she bear to revisit the alienation and loneliness that had become the calling cards of her life? Uncle Matt was sure that she was stronger than she gave herself credit for, but in her heart she knew he was wrong.

Then, three days before her graduation, her insecurities won out. Taking a bottle of vodka from her former "stash", Sarah crept out into the desert behind her home and attempted to dim the still, small voice that so plagued her.

She drank until the world became a gray, painless blur, and all of the pieces seemed to fit once again. Then, too compromised to rise to her feet, she closed her eyes and drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

That was how Uncle Matt found her the next morning,

"Sarah...Sarah? Wake up. Have you been out here all night?"

Sarah looked guiltily around her. Her clothing was disheveled, her hair was matted with sand, and the half- empty vodka bottle lay, like a dying soldier at her side.

Remembering her father, Sarah looked warily at Matt O'Hara, and waited for the invectives to assail her senses. But Uncle Matt was nothing like Joseph MacKenzie. Far from the reproach she had expected, his regard was for her welfare alone.

Crouching by her side, his voice was soft and calmative. "Sarah? Are you alright?" he asked, his face masked in concern. "...think maybe you'd like to come inside now?"

It was then that the tears began to flow down her ravaged, dirt-streaked face. "Oh...Uncle Matt. I'm so ashamed. I let you down...you must hate me."

Gently he brushed the tears from her cheeks, turning the tiny rivulets into wide, muddy swaths. "I could never hate you, Sarah. You should know that. As for letting me down...you're the one who's feeling guilty and ashamed right now...maybe the one you really let down is a lot closer to home."

Then, regaining his feet, Matt O'Hara turned back toward the bungalow, attempting to leave his niece some shred of dignity. "Come on in when you're ready, Sarah. I'll put on some coffee and get a little breakfast started." And then he was gone.

Sarah raised her hand to the ravages of her hair, and tried desperately to salvage her clothing. She was amazed. Even at her worst, Uncle Matt still loved her. The knowledge filled her with a warmth she had never known, and with a dread she could not control. What would she do when he was gone? 

The incident in the desert should have helped Sarah gain at least temporary control over her drinking problem, but alcohol had been her comfort and salvation for far too long to abandon it now in her time of insecurity. Instead of fostering moderation, her apprehension over his departure became an excuse to intensify her indulgence. 

Soon, she and her old "drinking buddy" Eddie were once again sipping contraband in the desert, only now they had both graduated to a much higher level of abuse.

Graduation Day
June 25, 1989
Coronado High School

Sarah was drunk when they handed her the diploma she had worked for thirteen years to earn.

She'd been drunk for days. Even the solicitous presence of her Uncle Matt did nothing to diminish her frequent trysts with a vodka bottle. She felt lost and unredemptive, and it was in this physical and emotional state that she and Eddie attended the prom at the school gymnasium that night.

The chaperones, her teachers, had been aware of Sarah's condition for days. It was only because they'd taken pity on her, and because the end was so near, that Sarah had not been expelled. But now, at the dance, they were forced to draw the line.

Quietly separating Sarah and Eddie from the crowd of jubilant seniors, one of Sarah's former teachers escorted the inebriated teenagers outside.

"Sarah...Eddie" Mr. Cummings had begun. "You stay here. I'm going to get my car and take you home. You're in no condition to stay here tonight, and I'm not going to turn you loose on the streets." And with that, he turned and was soon lost among the sea of cars in the parking lot.

Eddie, both drunk and defiant, lost no time in hurrying Sarah from the scene. "Come on!" he'd shouted. "Lets go! My car's just down the street. By the time old Cummings gets back, we'll be long gone. He's not taking THIS dude home!"

Confused and disoriented, Sarah wove erratically down the road on Eddie's arm. They were soon in his battered old Chevy, "burning rubber" down the main street of town.

The speed was exhilarating, and the young couple thrived on the sensations it evoked. Then, just ahead, the light began to turn from green to amber. Eddie, beyond reason and filled with a sense of his own invincibility, decided that he could "make it", and stepped hard on the gas.

It was a mistake.

The cross street was a busy one, and the driver entering the intersection from the left had no chance at all to avoid plowing into the aging vehicle. 

Shattering glass...grinding metal...the cool touch of the windshield upon her face...the hard surface of the pavement beneath her...and then darkness.

When she awoke the next day, Eddie was gone. He had been killed instantly. She herself was in the hospital, swathed from stem to stern with bandages, over 70 stitches holding her ravaged body together, her head pounding unmercifully.

In spite of it all, there sat Uncle Matt, holding her hand, coaxing her back to the world of consciousness.

Groggy and confused, she tried to speak. "Uncle Matt...Eddie is he ..."

"I'm afraid so, Sarah. He didn't stand a chance. The bystanders said you two were going probably 100 miles per hour when you hit that intersection. It's just a miracle that even you made it through the crash alive."

Overcome with grief and pain, Sarah began to sob uncontrollably. "What do I do now, Uncle Matt? There's nothing left. I should have died with Eddie. I don't want to be here."

Matt O'Hara looked sternly at his niece for the first time. "Well, you didn't die, and now you have an even harder task to deal with...you've got to find a way to turn this around and get on with your life." 

She tried to turn away, but he refused to be put off. Taking her hand in his, he continued. "Listen to me, Sarah. Maybe there's a reason that you didn't die out there on Main Street with your friend, maybe not. But the fact remains, you're here, and you're going to have to deal with it!

"I've already called my C.O. and asked for some time off. You'll be out of here in a week, and then we're going to cope with this issue together. I promise you, Sarah...you're not alone. You're stronger than you think. You're going to make it."

August 1, 1989
Red Rock Mesa
Somewhere in northeast Arizona

She and Uncle Matt had been in seclusion for a month, just the two of them, far from civilization in the high desert country near the "four corners" area. They'd "packed in" and set up camp in a large cave near the pinnacle of an escarpment known as "Red Rock Mesa".

It had been a month of recuperation and discovery for Sarah. Uncle Matt was good for her. For the first time in her life she truly had someone to respect...to want to emulate. Uncle Matt was all of that, and more.

Her mother, Matt's sister, had been weak, but Uncle Matt was a "rock". It was from him, during this period of "rebirth" that Sarah learned to take control of her life, and responsibility for her actions. She learned that "intestinal fortitude" is a survivor's creed, and that the pride of accomplishment can mend a damaged spirit. But most importantly, she learned that personal integrity and self-respect are gifts that you give yourself, and are not to be considered lightly.

Matt O'Hara's leave of absence was rapidly drawing to a close. It was their last night on Red Rock Mesa, and both of them dreaded the separation the next day would bring.

As Sarah sat silently contemplating the twinkling stars in the clear night sky, she heard Uncle Matt approach from the mouth of the cave. Wordlessly, he sank down beside her and shared her inner space for one last time.

"You know, Sarah, there's one thing I haven't told you this month, something that I think you ought to know."

"What's that, Uncle Matt?" she questioned, amazed that they still had any secrets to share after their time together.

"Well...I get the feeling that you've sort of got me on a pedestal right now. I just wanted you to know that I don't belong there." he paused. "Sarah...twenty years ago, I was pretty much in the same boat that you were in last month. My life was a wreck, I was drinking more than I should, and my self-esteem was in the toilet. If I hadn't gotten my act together, I know I wouldn't be here talking to you now."

He turned to gauge her reaction, a multitude of stars reflected in the dark pools of her eyes. "Why are you telling me this now, Uncle Matt?"

"I'm telling you this so you'll know that you're never alone. We're the same, you and I, and I know that you're going to come through this, just like I did."

Sarah sat deep in thought, contemplating the incredible man sitting beside her. "Uncle Matt?' she began. "Was someone there for you back then too...back when you hit bottom?"

He smiled, the answer bringing a low chuckle to his lips. "Yeah...I guess you might say that. The Corps got me on my feet, and gave me what I needed to become someone I could live with, someone I could learn to respect. I guess that's why I've stayed all these years...it's been my family."

Sarah digested this information, an idea forming in her mind. "Think those 'few good men' could use a 'few good women' too?" she asked.

"I don't see why not." He smiled again. "But just be sure that if you do decide to join up, you're doing it for yourself...not me. You need to find your own path in life now, Sarah. I don't want you letting me, or anyone else push you in a direction not of your own choosing."

Sarah paused. "I'm going to give it some serious thought, Uncle Matt. Think I'd make a good Marine?" she asked, the question echoing in the stillness.

"Sarah," he replied, sincerity resonating in his voice. "The Marines would be lucky to get you."

They left Red Rock Mesa the next morning, each shouldering their own load as they descended the steep cliffs to the valley floor. Sarah left the insecure girl of her youth behind, like the ashes of their campfire. Instead, a woman of substance and determination accompanied Uncle Matt to the base of the mesa that day, and a new life began.

She owed it all to Matthew O'Hara, and for the first time in her life, she knew that she would never be alone again. 

To Be Continued...



JAG: Sarah Ch. 02



Sarah Ch. 2: The Farrow Years

Disclaimer: JAG and its characters are the property of Donald Bellisario, Paramount and CBS. All other characters are mine and fictional. 

Fall 1987
Futenma Marine Air Station
Okinawa, Japan


She was a lean, mean fighting machine.

Private First Class Sarah "Mac" MacKenzie slowly disembarked the transport at Futenma Marine Air Station, and scanned the tarmac for her ride to Camp Butler.

To say that she was excited would have been a gross understatement. Fresh from "boot camp" at Parris Island, the thought of her first Marine posting filled the stalwart 19-year-old with the promise of things to come...a new life... a chance to start over again. Camp Butler would give her the opportunity to reinvent the Sarah MacKenzie whose youthful lack of judgement had almost cost her everything. It was a new beginning.

Mac turned to her companion and fellow "leatherneck". "Hey PC... see the sign over there?" Mac pointed to the logo, posted prominently above the terminal door. It read simply: "DIE FIRST THEN QUIT - SEMPER FIDELIS"

Slinging his duffel over his shoulder, Mark "PC" Wilberts let out a low chuckle. "Yeah, I guess we're not in Kansas anymore, 'ToTo'. Think that might be our "Limo" over there?"

Mac looked beyond the chain-link fencing and saw a blue and gold bus pulled up at the curb. "That's as good a guess as any, I suppose. Let's get security clearance out of the way, and we'll find out." 

Okinawa was hot...not the dry heat that Mac was used to in Arizona, but an oppressively humid heat that felt like stepping into a subtropical sauna. PC however, a native of South Florida, thrived on this type of climate and appeared to feel right at home.



As she and her lanky friend boarded the bus for Camp Butler, Mac couldn't help but notice how different the area was from Parris Island. 

Briefly, the young female Marine scanned the sea of red-tiled roofs, stretching out as far as the eye could see, some sporting shisas... local rooftop gargoyles. Here and there, she spotted rice paddies and pineapple fields adding to the colorful patchwork that spread before her, and giving her new home a flavor all its own.

While there was a decidedly oriental atmosphere, it was apparent that this was also a city which catered to the many American military bases in the area. MacDonald's and Taco Bell-type franchises abounded as the bus traveled along the wide thoroughfare known as "Gate 2 Street." It was a bustling community, a juxtaposition of cultures...she liked it immediately. 

By comparison, the locale around Parris Island, South Carolina had been sedate and tourist-attractive, illustrating the mellow essence of the South. Its balmy climate and sandy beaches would have been a dream come true, if not for the thirteen rigorous weeks of "Hell" they'd gone through in basic training. 

But they'd survived it, and it was with no small degree of satisfaction that Mac now found herself one of "The Few"... truly able to call herself a United States Marine

As Mac looked past PC at the gently rolling hills of Camp Butler, she couldn't help but remember the first time she'd seen him.

They'd actually been on a bus similar to this one, traveling for the first time to their respective barracks at "basic". A computer addict, PC had carefully placed his "portable" computer in the overhead storage for the ride across the base, and taken the seat next to her. The look he'd given her was a familiar one...one that Mac had gotten from men since the beginning of puberty.

"Back off, recruit!" she'd growled, menacingly. 

He's looked at her, smiling hesitantly. "Mark Wilberts." he said, offering her his hand. "They call me 'PC' back home, 'cause that's where I always am...on my personal computer". 

"Sarah MacKenzie," she'd replied, shaking his hand, realizing the young man hadn't meant anything out of line. "Sorry for jumping on you just then. It's just..."

"Just that you don't need a 'fan' at the moment?" he offered tactfully.

"Yeah...something like that." she replied, the edge leaving her voice.

"Well, then..." he continued, "If I promise to behave myself, could you use a new friend? I know I could."

Sarah Smiled. "I think we could work something out...maybe, one of these days, you could even show me around that pile of circuitry you've got up there," she said, hesitantly.

"Done and done." he'd agreed, and from that moment on they'd been firm and fast pals. 

Although PC still called her "Sarah", somewhere along the line her unit at Parris Island had come to call her "Mac". At first it had been disconcerting, but as the days wore on, it seemed to suit her new "kick-ass" image, and she'd decided to keep it. And so...thirteen weeks after her arrival, "Mac" had left South Carolina a new woman...self-confident, capable and "Marine green" to the core.



0800 HOURS - The next day
Legal Services Office
Headquarters and Service Battalion Building
Camp Butler, Okinawa


The H&S Building was an L-shaped, single-storied affair, embracing a central parking area, and lined with an almost uncountable row of flags fluttering before it in the early morning breeze. It gave the impression, and rightly so, of both military might and unwavering efficiency. In short, it was totally intimidating.

Suck it up, Marine, Sarah thought as she donned her "Mac" facade. Today you carve your niche in the "real" world.

It was going to be a long day...



1200 HOURS
H&S Cafeteria
Camp Butler


Following her arrival at Legal Services, Mac had been shown to a desk in what appeared to be a clerical pool, and had been introduced to some of her coworkers. 

The commanding officer of her unit was a tall, aggressive Judge Advocate named Major Chaffee. Chaffee had introduced himself, and offered to shake her hand...an innocent enough gesture. But the blatant look of impropriety in his eyes was anything but innocent.

He was easy to "read". It was the kind of look one got at the end of a hot date, when the issue of a late-night cup of "coffee" was at hand. It made her uneasy. HE made her uneasy. Given his rank and their relationship in the chain of command, she hoped that Chaffee wasn't going to be a problem.

The morning had been filled with office protocol. Her initial trainer, Lance Corporal Sam Wayne, had been both professional and efficient, and by lunchtime, Mac felt that at least her filing duties would soon be under control.

She was starving. Grateful for the break, Mac queued through the cafeteria line, choosing a burger and chef salad, then searched for a free table at which to rest her whirling consciousness. To her dismay, the cafeteria was full, and most lunch goers were now asking for their meals "to go" and leaving the premises.

Suddenly a familiar voice pierced the din. "Hey, Mac...over here."

She turned, and was relieved to find that the voice belonged to none other than her new trainer, Corporal Wayne.

"Need a place to sit?" he offered. "Here, take this table...I'm almost through, if you don't mind a little company for a few minutes."

Mac was more than glad to comply. Until she knew the ropes her options were limited, and she was too hungry to "pass" on a meal at this point.

"Yes, Sir." she replied. "I'd like that, Sir."

"Listen," the young lance corporal replied, "unless we're in a situation where the form of address would be an issue, why don't you just call me Sam. Everyone else does."

"Do they, Sam? I thought I heard some of the staff calling you 'Duke' this morning."

"Oh. That. It's a nickname...sort of a joke, I guess. You know...Wayne...Duke... Some people are just desperate for a laugh."

Mac looked at her lunch companion. The nickname wasn't due solely to the resemblance of his surname to the famous actor, there was actually somewhat of physical resemblance as well. His easy smile and comfortable manner only made the similarity all the more apparent. Mac knew they were going to get along nicely.

"So where do you hail from, Mac?"

"Arizona, for the most part, Sam. How about you?"

"Actually, I'm sort of a local. I suppose. My dad was a thirty-year man with the Corps, and he spent most of his time stationed here. For all extents and purposes, Okinawa is the only home I've ever known. When my dad retired, we moved stateside, but I couldn't wait to get back...so here I am."

"You sound like a man who'd know his way around this place. Mind if I pick your brain every now and then?"

Sam smiled. "Anytime, lovely lady...anytime."



1900 HOURS
One Week Later
Globe and Anchor Club
Camp Butler


Friday night had come none too soon to suit Mac. It had been a hectic week, and she badly needed to unwind. In seven short days, she had learned, if not mastered most of her duties at Legal Services; signed up for a full load of "distance delivered" undergraduate courses at the Camp Butler Education Center; and gotten her SOFA driver's license. 

Her new roommate, Private First Class Tricia Montrose, had proven to be a real "gem". It had been her idea to have a "ladies night out" at the Globe and Anchor, the local enlisted men's club, and Mac had heartily concurred.

Tricia was a willowy, twenty-year-old blond from the great state of Alaska. She had requested an assignment in Okinawa in order to "thaw out", and meet men without beards and flannel shirts. According to her tall tales and girlish gossip, she had not only thawed out, but was currently melting most of the male population at her current duty station, the base infirmary.

Life, to Tricia, was light and uncomplicated. She loved everyone, and they seemed to love her back. It was rare for Mac to find her "roomie" at home before taps was sounded, and it seemed like notes were constantly being slid under the door with messages directed to the smiling blond from the frozen North.

Mac envied her roommate the open and easy way in which she handled her romantic liaisons. In Tricia's world it seemed like everyone came out a winner, and none, including Tricia, were the worse for wear.

Mac thought of Chris Ragle, the husband she had deliberately omitted on her enlistment papers, and her own angst-ridden life.



Life with Chris had been trying, at best. At seventeen, Chris had been her first lover, and had tapped the wellspring of her youthful sensuality one night under the Arizona sky, bathed by the light of the unseeing moon. He was exciting...ruggedly handsome...hungry for life. 

It was his "Bad Boy" image that had drawn her to him, and the realties of his life that had driven them apart. If only they could have lived life in the confines of each other's arms, they might have made a success of their marriage. But life... real life...required a certain degree of compromise with the conventional world, and Chris was either unable, or unwilling, to cope.

She could still remember their last night together. Chris had pulled his aging, black Harley Softail up to the front of their rented trailer on the outskirts of Yuma, and taken her for a ride beneath the full, Arizona moon. Together they had flown mindlessly across the barren desert landscape, the Softail rumbling sensuously between her thighs, until finally, Chris had pulled up under an ancient cottonwood and dropped, catlike, to the sand.

She wondered at first why Chris had stopped there, the engine running, far beyond the edges of civilization. But the fire in his eyes, and the bulge in his jeans, left little doubt.

Smiling, Sarah had begun to dismount and join him, but placing his hand on the bare expanse of thigh which was exposed by her cut-offs, he'd held her in place.

"No." he'd said simply. "Stay there." 

She'd been confused, a little nervous, but she'd stayed.

Chris reached beneath her and opened his black leather saddlebag, removing an engorged bota bag and aiming a warm stream of wine between his open lips.

"Don't you want to turn off the engine?" she'd questioned, tentatively, but he hadn't replied. Instead, Chris had remounted, facing her this time, guiding her body backwards against the rumbling leather seat, his throbbing erection pressed tightly against the juncture of her thighs.

He reached for her, his lips claiming hers, his tongue probing urgently as his hands fumbled with the buttons of her blouse. 

Silently, Chris peeled the covering from her body and dropped it to the sand at her feet. Then, drawing her to him, he unclasped her bra and added it to the pile.

Sarah leaned back and closed her eyes, arching her neck, losing herself in the wild sensations he evoked. Voraciously, Chris trailed his tongue down the length of her throat, touching, tasting, claiming first one nipple then the other. 

She heard a gentle pop. and felt a sudden release as Chris opened the top of her jeans and slowly lowered the zipper. She shivered in anticipation as his fingers slide sensuously across the firm plane of her abdomen, and came to rest in the downy softness between her legs, advancing, receding then advancing again.

The incessant rumbling of the engine invaded her body as Chris once more dropped to the sand beside his machine. Gently, he raised her hips, tugging her jeans and panties down the length of her supple legs, his eyes feasting hungrily on her naked flesh. 

Then, quickly shedding his own clothing, he mounted once more, and again raised the bota bag to his mouth. Sarah watched as he sucked greedily at the aperture, his Adam's apple rising and falling in the dim light, his engorged manhood pressing insistently between them.

Chris aimed the spout between her lips, and she opened her mouth to accept his offering. The warm, fragrant wine rolled headily down the length of her throat, throwing caution to the wind, lighting a fire deep within her. She brought her legs up behind him, capturing him between her thighs, seeking to draw him deep inside the desperate, rumbling heat of her body. But, once again he pressed her back against the leather seat, and raised the bota bag.

This time, to her surprise, Chris began to dribble minute streams of tepid wine between her breasts and over her nipples. She shivered as the warm liquid ran sensuously down her abdomen, encouraged by the vibration of the engine, and became mixed with the heated juices which flowed uncontrollably between her legs.

She gasped as Chris lowered his head, brusquely lapping the wine from her bare breasts, sucking greedily at her nipples as though to quench an insatiable thirst as old as time. 

Maddeningly, she thrust her hips against him, and felt the hardness of him nudge the opening between her thighs, but still he refrained from consummating their union. A low rumble escaped her throat, in perfect pitch with the harmony of the engine. Now...she thought...now!

Slowly, Chris licked the rivulets that had escaped down her body until he came to the moist, quivering triangle between her legs, Then pushing himself backwards on the seat, he buried his face between her pulsing thighs.

Demandingly, his tongue probed her inner core, devouring the heady mixture pooled heatedly within her, sucking gently on the sensitive nub of her desire. Suddenly, inescapably, she felt the fragile remnants of her composure shatter around her, her voice rending the night air, rising over the low rumble of the engine and piercing the darkness of the night as passion overcame her and shook her very being.

Chris sat erect, and closing his hands around her quivering thighs, he pulled her writhing body forward, straddling his hips, and thrusting the hardened length of him deep into her molten depths. 

Firmly he grasped her buttocks, pulling her against him, plunging over and over again into her heated core, driving her beyond sensation to a place filled only by the joining of their bodies.

Finally, with one last powerful thrust, he buried himself deeply within her, bringing the world tumbling around them, leaving them naked and trembling beneath the inquisitive stars...and the Harley rumbled on.



Chris had been an excellent lover. That, she readily admitted. The problem with Chris, however, was indeed complicated. She didn't know why she hadn't listed him as her spouse in her initial paperwork. Maybe it was because she'd deeply needed to sever herself from his catastrophic influence at the time, maybe not. At any rate, Chris was now serving a 3-5 year sentence for armed robbery at the Florence State Prison in Arizona. To admit her deliberate deception to the Corps at this point, might precipitate a dishonorable discharge, a fate she desperately wanted to avoid. Somewhere, sometime, she'd quietly file for a divorce, but here and now might bring about more repercussions than she was able to handle. And so, she buried her secret in a dark hole within her, making sure that it never saw the light of day.

A country/western band began to warm up, filling the lively meeting place with the rhythmic twang of western-style guitars. It made Mac smile...this was one of the few aspects of "home" that she actually missed. 

"Sarah!" a voice called from across the empty dance floor. "Hey, Sarah! Is that you? I almost didn't recognize you out of uniform." It was PC, and he'd apparently been sampling the local beer for a while.

"PC!" she greeted. "Sit down here, and take a load off. Have I introduced you to my new roommate, Tricia Montrose?"

PC sank into a nearby chair. "Tricia...Tricia...Trish..." he babbled inanely, his eyes never leaving her face. "A sweet, sweet name, for a sweet, sweet lady!"

Mac couldn't help but smile. She'd never seen PC drunk before...it seemed to bring out the idiot in him.

"PC, just how many of those brews have you chugged tonight?" she questioned.

"Too few to hurt me, and too many to care." he said, laughing at his own cleverness. "Hey! I think they're gonna open up the dance floor in a minute, Tricia -Tricia. Can I interest you in a few spins around the room?" 

Tricia glanced over at Mac, looking for her reaction to PC's inebriated pick-up line.

Mac responded by rolling her eyes, sending her roommate a message that read: "Suit yourself...we're just friends."

With an elaborate bow, and the wave of a nonexistent cowboy hat, PC escorted Tricia to the dance floor and began to twirl his partner in ways that no country dancer had ever seen.

Mac sat alone, sipping her root beer, watching her two friends laughing and "carrying on" from one end of the dance floor to the other. She was just beginning to feel the slightest bit sorry for herself, when she felt someone approach her from the rear.

"Mac! Well I see you've found the local watering hole. Are you here all by yourself?" It was Sam Wayne, looking lethal in tight, black jeans and a Force Recon t-shirt. 

Mac was glad to see a friendly face. "Not quite...Do you see the guy doing the Tango to the Two-step music? Well, he's a friend, and the blond he's dipping is my roommate. We're having a 'Ladies Night Out'. Can't you tell?"

"Looks to me like you're at least one lady short, Ma'am. Would you object to company from someone of the opposite gender?"

Mac glanced at her friends. It didn't look like they were returning any time soon.

"Sure. Why not, Sam. Pull up a chair."

"What's that you're drinking?" he asked. " It doesn't look like anything I recognize."

"Root beer." she replied. "I don't drink. It doesn't agree with me."

"Well," he offered gallantly, "Can I buy you another root beer?"

"No thanks." she answered, wanting to beep the relationship on an even keel. "I'm fine...but you go ahead and order."

Sam ordered a local draft, then settled down to enjoy her companionship. 

"So...I hear Chaffee's been giving you problems at the office." he stated without preamble.

Mac was taken aback. How did he know? Was her life already the latest tendril on the "grapevine?".




JAG: Sarah Ch. 02



"Nothing I can't handle." she answered evasively. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh...body language, I guess. That, and the scuttlebutt that his last clerk transferred out to get away from him. Also, I've been around him for a while. He's pretty arrogant...not the type to take 'no' easily."

"Well, he's going to have to take it this time! I have no intention of becoming involved with my commanding officer, or anyone else for that matter."

Sam gave Mac a questioning look. Was that last comment directed at him?

"Well, if it gets too 'hairy'...you know that you can go to Colonel Farrow, the CO of the Headquarters and Service Battalion. He's an 'alright' guy. You don't have to put up with sexual harassment in the Corps anymore."

"I know, Sam. But I'm sure I can handle it. I hate to 'make waves'...but, thanks for being a friend. I can use all of the friends I can get."

Sam got the message. "Friend" seemed to be the operative word here. But...sometimes friendships developed into something more...didn't they? He looked at the alluring woman sitting beside him. One could only hope.

A few moments later Tricia and PC returned to the table. Mac made introductions all around, then noticed that PC was looking a little green around the gills. "PC? Are you okay? You look like you need to head back to the barracks."

PC's "ship" was definitely heading toward the bottom. 

"Listen," Sam offered, taking in the young man's distress. "Why don't I give your friend a ride back to his barracks in my Jeep? It's easier to clean up if he...you know. Then, one of you can follow behind and drop off his car. Afterwards I can give her a lift back to the women's barracks." Sam looked hopefully at Mac.

Mac was attracted to Sam, but her resolve to remain "dateless" was unshakable. She was just starting to get her life together, and initiating a new romance would just complicate things. Besides, even though she and Chris were separated and headed for divorce, she was still a married woman.

"Tricia, " Mac stared at her roommate pointedly, "If you could do me a favor and drive PC's car back, then I'll drive yours to the women's barracks. I'm really tired...I think I need to hit the sack."

Tricia shifted her gaze discreetly between her roommate and the handsome corporal. "Are you sure about that?" she questioned. "I don't mind, but are you sure that's what you want?"

"Positively, Tricia. I'd be really grateful."

The look in Mac's eyes said the rest. A little puzzled, Tricia nodded her head and began to steer PC toward the parking lot.

Sam stayed behind for a moment longer. What he had to say was apparently difficult for him. "I hope you don't think I'm another Chaffee," he said softly. "I'm not, you know. I think you've figured out that I like you...but I CAN take 'no' for an answer. Trust me..." Then, turning, he made a beeline for the door.

Mac waited for a few minutes, then, she too made her way toward the parking area. Pensively, she leaned back in the driver's seat, acclimating herself to its right-side positioning, and breathed a cleansing sigh. Why did life have to be so complicated?

Silently, she turned the key, and aimed the aging Chevy toward home.

Mac had only gone a few miles, when Tricia's auto began to overheat. Smoke (or steam?) began to pour out from under the hood, causing her to pull onto the shoulder and "cut" the engine.

Now What?

Mac knew a little about motorbikes, but cars were a mystery to her. Stressed, Mac popped the hood and stuck her head underneath, hoping that something really obvious would "speak" to her. But in the dark, and without a flashlight, the task was totally futile.

It was then that a Jeep pulled up behind her, and a tall, athletically-built man in his late 30's, dressed in civilian clothing, stepped out and headed in her direction.

"Is there a problem here, Miss?" he asked, projecting a beam of light under the hood.

"Absolutely." she replied. "Thanks for stopping. I have no idea where to begin here." Mac described the problem, and the handsome stranger began to nod.

"Smoke, you say?" He began to smile, and what looked like a condescending grin began to play across his firm, strong features.

"Mind if I check something out?" he asked, reaching for the dipstick.

Mac felt foolish. Oil. That was it. Tricia hadn't been keeping track of her oil levels, and now the reservoir was all but dry.

"You know, Miss, if you're going to drive a car, you ought to learn how to care for it. It's not safe, even here on base, for a pretty girl to be standing out on the road alone at night."

Mac didn't like his tone. "It's not my car." she stated defensively. "It's my roommate's...and people DO make mistakes, you know."

"Yes Ma'am." he smiled. "That they do." The stranger looked at Mac in the soft shimmer of the moonlight, her eyes dark and luminous, and thought he had never seen anyone quite so beautiful.

"I've got some oil in the Jeep. I can lend you a few quarts if you like."

Mac breathed a sigh of relief. "That would be great. I really appreciate it. Are you sure you can spare it?"

"And if I said 'no', what would you do then?"

Mac didn't like the way this conversation was going. "It's only 1137 HOURS", she responded without looking at her watch. "If you can't help me, then I'll just start walking!"

The stranger looked at his watch. She was accurate to the minute. "How did you do that?"

"Some of us have it...some of us don't." she shot tartly. "Now, are you going to help me...or do I start walking?"

The stranger took the hint, and returned to his vehicle to retrieve the oil. Soon, her oil reserves were marginally acceptable, and she was ready to be on her way.

Mac reached for her purse and began to offer her "Good Samaritan" a twenty for his oil, and his time.

Wiping his hands on a rag from his Jeep, the stranger looked at the bill with disdain. "You know...In some parts of the world, people just say 'thank you".

Then, turning his back, he silently returned to his Jeep, and drove off into the darkness.



0600 HOURS
The Next Morning
Female Enlisted Barracks
Camp Butler


Tricia wasn't in her bed the next morning.

Mac paced the floor anxiously. Her roommate had never stayed out all night before, and Mac was beside herself with worry. What could have happened to her? Had she and Sam "hit it off" and gone AWOL for a night? It was an unlikely scenario at best. Could something unimaginable have happened to her...something terrible? Should she call base security, and risk placing her friend in line for a reprimand if the absence was benign? Mac had to know more.

Quickly, Mac looked up the base personnel listings and copied down Sam Wayne's number. Then, sighing deeply, she began to dial.

Sam wasn't at the barracks when she called. Instead, his roommate picked up the phone, and informed her that Sam was out running on one of the many trails that crisscrossed the base, a daily routine that he rarely missed. 

Frustrated, Mac left a message for him to return her call, then started to get ready for work. By 0730 Mac had gotten ready for work, checked the base infirmary to see if Tricia had spent the night there, and stared at the phone for 30 minutes. The only other alternative now, was to call base security.

Slowly she began to dial the extension, then changed her mind and placed the receiver back in its cradle. In exactly 27 minutes, she would be seeing Sam at work. His input could mean all the difference. She decided to wait.



0800 HOURS
Legal Services Office
H&S Building /Camp Butler


Something was wrong.

All eyes turned to her, as she entered the office at Legal Services...some questioning...some pitying...all of them stunned.

Mac stopped in her tracks. What was happening? What had she done?

Finally, Major Chaffee's personal secretary approached the young private and took her aside.

"Mac...Sarah," she began, her voice conciliatory... soothing. "Something terrible's happened, Sarah. It's your roommate. She was found this morning near the base perimeter. I'm sorry...but she's dead."

Mac sank heavily into her chair. Dead? Tricia was dead? It couldn't be possible! What was happening?

But there was more. "Dear," the older woman began again, "Major Chaffee is in with Colonel Farrow at the moment, discussing this terrible tragedy. They want you to join them, ASAP."

Mac was in shock. She felt numb and drained of life.

"They want to talk to me?"

"Yes, Sarah. Come on...I'll walk you there." the secretary offered, unsure from the devastation in her eyes, that Mac could make it on her own.

The Colonel's office was a brief two-minute walk down the north corridor, and soon Mac was progressing, woodenly, through his open doorway. 

Once inside, she found, Major Chaffee, a look of consternation on his face, and a middle-aged Asian man in civilian clothing, sitting in front of the large heavy laden desk. But the one who caught her full attention sat behind the desk. There, in full uniform, sat her Good Samaritan!

Mac snapped to attention.

"Private MacKenzie," the Colonel began, his demeanor giving no hint of recognition, "this is Sgt. Asaki from the homicide division of the Okinawa City Police Department. Have a seat, Private, this may take a while."

Sgt. Asaki now took the floor. "Private, we believe that your roommate was the victim of a serial killer that has been working, sporadically, in the area for the past 5 years. In each case, the victims were Caucasian females, young, attractive, and the bodies was found here on the base."

"Forgive me for interrupting, Sir," Mac interjected, "but how would the murder of a Marine Private, on the base, come under civilian jurisdiction?"

It was a good question, Col. Farrow shifted his gaze as though reassessing the young Private's intelligence and mettle.

"I'm glad you asked, Miss MacKenzie. You see, the first victim was a civilian from Okinawa City who had been visiting on base. That was five years ago. I was assigned to the case at that time. Since then, any subsequent victims of this serial killer have been referred to me."

"Please forgive my ignorance, Sergeant, but how do you know this serial killer was responsible for Tricia's...death?

The sergeant paused, assessing the vulnerability of the woman before him. "Miss MacKenzie...I'm not sure you want to hear this...it's pretty gruesome." 

"Please, go on, Sir. Tricia and I had only known each other for a week, but I considered her a good friend...I'd like to know."

"Very well then...if you insist. All of the victims were murdered in the same way, using a large-bladed knife. Then, portions of their hair were cut off, and apparently saved or removed from the scene by the killer. The M.O. was identical in your friend's case. There is little doubt that we're looking for the same person."

Mac sat, pale and stone-face, digesting the information. How could this have happened?

"Now, Private MacKenzie," Asaki continued, remembering finally to address her by rank, "we need to know anything you can tell us about Private Montrose's activities, her friends, her dates, her agenda last night...anything that might help in our investigation."

Mac, her eyes glazed and troubled, stared past Col. Farrow, through the window at the blue, uncaring sky, and began to recall her memories of last night's visit to the "Globe and Anchor". When she got to the part about Tricia following Sam to the barracks, Col. Farrow reached for the intercom and ordered someone on his staff to retrieve Corporal Sam Wayne, ASAP.

Minutes later, just as Mac was finishing her recollection of the evening's events, Sam appeared at the door. 

"Come in, Corporal." the colonel ordered. "Take a seat. I assume you've been told what this is all about?"

"Yes, Sir." Sam replied, the look on his face strained and shaken.

It was Asaki who continued. "Corporal, it is our understanding that Private Montrose followed you back to the enlisted men's barracks, and that you were to then give her a ride back to her own quarters. Is this true?"

"Yes, Sir. That was the plan, Sir, but that wasn't how it actually played out."

The sergeant's eyes scrutinized the corporal's reaction, apparently searching for signs of guilt. "And how is that, Corporal? What happened then?"

"Well, Sir, after we dropped off Private Wilberts, I started to take Private Montrose home, but she said she wasn't ready to go just yet."

The hush in the room was nearly tangible.

Sam continued. "Actually, there's not much more I can tell you. She wanted to be taken back to the "Globe and Anchor". She said she'd get a ride home from someone else. I...I just did what she asked." Now the guilt in his voice became evident. "...if I'd thought...I should have known...I should have insisted on taking her home last night. If I had, she'd still be alive."

Mac reached out and gently touched his hand. He was devastated with guilt. The colonel, accurately assessing the situation, attempted to mitigate the young man's distress.

"Take it easy on yourself, Corporal. You had no way of knowing. The guilt lies with the killer, not with you, or you either, Private." This last was directed at Mac, who had been voicing similar sentiments. "Not everything is within your control. You need to accept that...cut yourself some slack."

The sergeant and the major rose to leave, Chaffee placing a hand familiarly on Mac's shoulder as he passed. Mac stiffened, and the colonel glanced questioningly at the major.

Colonel Farrow spoke: "That will be all, Corporal...Private. Why don't the two of you take the rest of the day off, I think you could use it." Then, as an afterthought, the colonel once more directed his attention toward Mac. 

"Oh, and Private...you still owe me three quarts of oil."



0600 HOURS
One Month Later
On A Running Path
Camp Butler


So far, Tricia's murder had gone unsolved, and it was feared that this would be another 'open case' to add to the serial killer's file.

While the 'buzz' over the tragedy had begun to die down, the additional security which patrolled the area at night was more than evident.

Over the past month, Mac had tried, unsuccessfully, to bury her feelings under the heavy academic, and professional burdens she was carrying. Finally, drawn to another troubled soul, she had gravitated toward Sam Wayne for comfort.

He'd proven to be good therapy, and true to his word, he did indeed know how to take "no" for an answer. After a few weeks, she'd even taken to sharing his morning run around the base, an activity that had never occurred to her before. She was finding that it cleared her head, and helped her, both physically and emotionally, to prepare for the day to come. There were even times when Mac chose solace over companionship, and ventured the trails alone. It was on one of those solitary runs, that she once again encountered the colonel.

Mac was running through a heavily wooded area in a remote section of the base, when she heard rapid footfalls closing in on her from behind. Always the Marine, she took stock of her surroundings, just in case, then glanced behind her. It was Colonel Farrow!

"Have you given up on cars already, Private?" the colonel joked as he pulled abreast. "At least you won't run out of oil."

"No, Sir!" Mac said as she snapped to attention.

Farrow smiled at her "gung ho" devotion to protocol. "As you were, Private. You can't just stop in the middle of a run..." he said, keeping time beside her.

"Sir. No, Sir." Mac replied, once again picking up the pace.

Mac had hoped that the colonel would rush on by, attending to his own agenda, but instead he matched his stride to hers and followed along behind her on the narrow path.

"Do you often come running alone, Private?" he questioned.

"Sir. No, Sir. The private was just out for some time alone. Sir." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew she'd made a mistake.

Farrow smiled behind her back. "So I'm butting into your 'alone time', am I Private?" he joked.

Mac didn't see the humor. He made her nervous. "Sir. Yes, Sir...I mean NO Sir!"

"Relax, Private. You're the first person I've ever seen who could run at attention! I was only asking because these trails aren't patrolled by security, and you of all people should know that it isn't safe for a woman to be this far out alone right now."

Farrow noticed the slump in her shoulders at his reference to Tricia's murder. He was sorry to have brought it up, but for her own safety, she had to understand.

The trail now emptied out into the parking area where their two vehicles sat, waiting patiently for their owners to arrive. As they finished up their run with a few stretches, the colonel commented on her car. 

"Isn't that the same car you were driving when I first met you?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir. It is." Mac replied, as "relaxed" as she could get. I bought it off of Private Montrose's parents after..."

"I understand." Farrow responded quickly, not wanting to cause her any more discomfort than necessary. "Have you gotten the oil problem fixed yet?"

"No, Sir. But I keep a close eye on the oil gauge, and I carry a six-pack of oil in the trunk, just in case."

"Well, whatever works, I guess, but you really should have it looked after at some time, if you plan on running it for much longer." He could have fixed it for her. He WANTED to fix it for her...but the offer could be easily misconstrued, and that was simply not acceptable. Sometimes it was tough being a C.O..

"Yes, Sir. I'll do that, but repairs are going to have to wait until my financial status catches up my with current bills. Until then...I have the situation under control."

"And about this trail, Private. If you must run alone, try one of the more populated trails. Understood? Or do I have to make that an order?" he smiled.

"Understood, Sir. I'll do that." He was a pretty nice guy...for a colonel, she thought.

Farrow began to climb into his Jeep, still worried that the brash, young private would venture into unsafe territory alone, then paused. Should he offer, he wondered. Would she misunderstand if he did?

He decided to make the gesture. "Private?" he called over to her as he slipped his Jeep into gear. "I hope you won't take this the wrong way...but if this particular trail is in your blood...I run here every day at this time. You're welcome to run along and protect me, if you want." he grinned.

Not waiting for an answer, John Farrow pulled out of the parking lot, leaving Mac speechless for the first time in ages.



Fall, 1988 - One Year Later
Kishaba Towers Apartments
Camp Butler, Okinawa


Lance Corporal Sarah MacKenzie looked around her new apartment. It was nice to finally be getting out of the barracks, and moving into her own space.

Her first year at Camp Butler had been a busy one. Mac had finished her freshman year at the University of Maryland via distance delivered courses at the base Educational Center. Then, at Colonel Farrow's suggestion, Mac had applied for, and been accepted to Officer's Candidate School. The young Marine had just returned from her first 6-week stint in the O.C.S. Platoon Leader Course at Quantico. She had come back to find not only a promotion waiting for her, but an apartment in base housing as well. Life was good.

But, as Mac looked around her new apartment, thoughts of Tricia Montrose once again began to creep into her mind. Her old roommate's murderer had never been caught, and her death had been added to the growing list of unsolved cases attributed to the base serial killer.

Mac had never taken Colonel Farrow up on his offer to have her "protect him" on the trail, but their exchange had made her more comfortable around him. She now found his infrequent presence a pleasure, and actually looked forward to interacting with him at H&S.




JAG: Sarah Ch. 02



Major Chaffee, however, had become more and more of a problem. Both Sam and PC had urged her to file charges with Colonel Farrow and put an end to the major's escalating harassment, but Mac repeatedly rejected the idea and insisted that she could handle the matter herself. As the year wore on, however, she slowly began to doubt the wisdom of her decision.

Chaffee's inappropriate behavior toward her had begun in a variety of ambiguous ways. The major would "accidentally" brush against her chest as he took stacks of files from her; lean against her as he reached for objects that were positioned behind her; and watch her as she bent to file material in the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet.

It had been irritating, to say the least, but nothing that she couldn't deal with.

Then, during her second year under his command, he became emboldened...perhaps by the fact that she hadn't yet filed a complaint documenting his previous behavior. 

His physical contact with her now became more overt, removing any question of his intentions. He began to compliment her on the shade of her stockings, and make private jokes about what might be holding them up. His "accidental" brushes, now became more pronounced and lingering, forcing Mac to retreat from his reach on occasion. He had even cornered her in his office with the door closed, and told her that she was too tense...and that he had just the cure.

As her sophomore year drew to a close, even Colonel Farrow was beginning to notice the stress between the two, and speculate about the cause.

Then, two days before she left for her second, and final, 6-week summer session at O.C.S., Chaffee called her into his office. He told her that there were piles of paperwork that had to be expedited before she could leave, and insisted that she work late. Mac was wary of his motives, but powerless to refuse the assignment, and it was with great relief that she saw the major leave, on time, with the rest of the staff.

Evening grew into night, leaving Mac buried in reams of busywork. Shadows began to fill the empty office, replacing the overhead lights that had been turned off long ago. Mac had barely made a dent in the enormous pile of paperwork before her, when she heard the office door open. Startled, she turned, and found Major Chaffee watching her from across the dimly lit room.

"Still working, Corporal? he leered, his eyes scanning her body suggestively. "I thought you might be hungry, so I brought back a little something for us to share." he said, displaying a small bag of "take-out". " I knew what you wanted, Corporal, I've always known what you wanted."

As the major advanced toward her, Mac began to retreat, positioning a desk between them. 

"Don't be like that, Corporal. I can make things happen for you around here, you know. Just be a little nice to me...is that too much to ask?"

"I need to leave now, Sir." Mac stated, circling around the desk toward the doorway. "I can finish up in the morning."

Mac made a lunge toward the entrance, but Chaffee was quick... deceptively so. Just when she thought she was "home free", Chaffee's ham-like fist closed around her upper arm, drawing her back into the room.

"Come on, Corporal. I'm your superior officer. You're under my command, remember." he spat angrily.

Terrified, Mac slammed her heel down on Chaffee's instep, then, as he bent to tend his throbbing foot, she followed with a knee to his face.

Howling in pain, Chaffee released his grip and Mac raced for the door. She had almost made it to the lobby, when he caught up to her again. 

I'm going to make you sorry, you little..."

"Is everything alright here, Corporal?" Colonel Farrow stepped out of the shadows, and Chaffee froze in place.

"Yes, Sir. Were you working late, Sir?" Mac replied gratefully, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Yes, I was, but I heard the commotion and decided to check it out," he said, still addressing the corporal. 

Farrow's eyes narrowed coldly at Chaffee. Mac could see how he'd earned his reputation in combat. He looked invincible.

"Corporal, it's getting late. I think you'd better call it a night. And take tomorrow off to pack. I'm sure that's what the major wanted to tell you, isn't it Major?"

"Yes, Sir. That was it, Sir." the major grunted, glaring at Mac.

"Then it's settled. You may leave now, Corporal. We'll see you after you get back from Quantico."

"Yes, Sir." Mac replied, the relief evident in her voice.

Mac hurried out to her car, with Farrow keeping a close watch until she was safely inside and on her way home. 

He then closed in on Chaffee, toe to toe, his jaw set and his eyes like ice. Only the restrictions of rank prevented Farrow from physically dismantling the "lowlife" that stood before him. 

"Major, I feel you may have outlived your usefulness to the Corps," Farrow growled. "I expect to see your request for terminal leave on my desk by the end of the week."

Farrow paused, his demeanor daring Chaffee to take him on, wishing the major would give him an excuse to "defend" himself. But it never happened.

"Yes, Sir." Chaffee croaked weakly. "I'll take care of it, Sir," Then, holding his hand over his throbbing nose, the major retreated back to his office.



Fall 1989 - Six Weeks Later
Kishaba Towers Apartments
Camp Butler


There had been another murder.

Sam and PC had both been at the Futenma terminal to welcome newly promoted Second Lieutenant Sarah MacKenzie back to Camp Butler.

"Corporals Wilberts and Wayne, reporting for duty," they'd saluted as she disembarked the transport, her gold bars gleaming in the tropical sun.

"Oh you two," she'd laughed, taking a jab at PC's shoulder. "You sound like a comedy team. You know that my OCS promotion could never come between us!"

Laughing, Sam grabbed her extra bags and the three headed for Sam's car. It was then that PC's attitude became somber. "Sarah, " he began softly, "We wanted to tell you ourselves, before you heard it from someone else. There's been another murder on base while you were gone. It happened the night after you left..."

Mac was shaken. Visions of Tricia flooded through her mind, filling her once again with an unconquerable sense of guilt.

"Who...who was it this time?" Mac asked, dreading the reply.

"Diana James," Sam offered reluctantly, "Farrow's administrative assistant. Apparently she had a date that Friday night, and never returned home. It was actually the Colonel himself who found her, out by one of the running trails on the edge of the base."



Mac thought of the perky redhead who'd always been so kind to her, and of the caring man who had been Diana's C.O.. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. Would this killer never be caught?

As they neared the Kishaba Towers, Mac tried to shake off the depression that consumed her. "Hey! Why don't you two bring over a couple of six-packs tonight... mineral water for me...and I'll throw on a few steaks for dinner? You can fill me in on all the scuttlebutt before I go in to work tomorrow.

"Oh man, I'd love to, Sarah," PC began, "but I've got duty tonight. We have to upgrade the mainframe at the Requisitions Office, and we have to do it at night when the computer system's not in use. Sorry...can't make it."

"I'm free." Sam grinned, doing his best W.C. Fields imitation. "What time should I be there?"

"How about 1800?" Mac calculated. "That'll give me time to unpack and have a long, hot bath before you arrive. That sound okay?"

"It's a date, beautiful." Sam joked semiseriously. "I'll be there."

Quickly, they helped Mac up to her apartment with her luggage, then headed out for parts unknown. Once alone, Mac dug a couple of T-bones out of her freezer, and placed them on the kitchen counter to defrost. Then, filling her tub with an aromatic mixture of hot water and bath oil, she settled down for a relaxing soak.



Sam arrived at precisely 1800 HOURS. With him he carried a small grocery sack, and a bouquet of colorful, tropical lily's.

Mac looked at the flowers with mixed feelings. "Sam. You really shouldn't have..." It was a trite phrase, but an apt one. Mac knew that Sam still harbored romantic feelings for her after all this time, but she had done everything she could to let him know that their relationship had to remain on a platonic basis.

"I know...I know. I just wanted to do something special to congratulate you on your promotion. Maybe I'll apply for O.C.S. one of these days. I can't let you outrank me now, can I?"

You've got a college degree, Sam. It wouldn't take much for you to complete O.C.S., just a 10-week summer session in the Officer's Candidate course, and you'd be done. I had to spread it out because I was an undergrad, but you wouldn't have to wait that long.

Sam shrugged, only mildly interested. "Maybe, maybe not. Now that I have my paralegal training in tow, I'm pretty satisfied with my lot in life. You're the one with the silver stars in her eyes, not me."

"Right now I'm more concerned with gold oak leaves. I'm worried about handling Chaffee tomorrow... after that run-in we had before I left. You know, I hate to make waves, but I may actually have to resort to official channels after all."

Sam grinned. "Not necessary." he offered gladly. "Chaffee's gone. He left the Wednesday after you did. He actually resigned his commission! It took weeks for the gossip to die down!"

"Really..." Mac questioned hesitantly. "What were they saying?"

"Well, the gist of it was that Farrow gave him a choice, either tender his resignation, or he'd be court martialed. No one in Farrow's office would say why, but I think everyone sort of guessed."

It was easy for Mac to guess as well. Chaffee had received his "walking papers" because of her. She needed to talk to Colonel Farrow.

Oh, Sam. Do you really think so? That makes me awfully uncomfortable...everyone talking about Chaffee and me...it's humiliating. I hope they don't think I encouraged him!"

"Naw, not a chance. They'd been around the old lecher too long not to know better. You weren't the only one he'd ever 'hit on' you know, just the latest."

Mac was relieved, but she still felt that a trip to Farrow's office was appropriate. Well, she'd deal with that tomorrow.

Sam's conversation was animated as they ate their dinner and chatted about the things she'd missed over the past six weeks. It didn't take long for Mac to be up to speed on all of the latest grapevine material.

After supper, Mac and Sam settled on the sofa for coffee and companionship. It felt good to be home and near her friends once again, but, from the looks he'd been giving her all evening, she feared that Sam might be taking their platonic get-together a little too seriously.

She tried to make light of the situation, hoping to preserve the friendship she had come to treasure so highly, but she had to make sure Sam understood that their relationship could never be more. It was when Sam leaned over and gently pressed his lips to hers that the situation came to a head.

"Sam...please...I can't."

"Mac...Sarah...why not? We're good together. We spend all of our free time with each other...we confide in each other...would one more step be so disastrous? I know you'd feel differently, if you'd just give us a chance."

Pleadingly, his hand caressed her face, hoping for the answer that would put him out of his misery. But, with tears in her eyes, Sarah knew their friendship was over.

"I can't, Sam. There are things you just don't understand. I can't get involved with you, or anyone else for that matter. I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. You know how much I care for you.... only not in the same way.

The pain in his eyes was palpable. Sarah knew she'd hurt him deeply, but the situation was beyond her control.

Silently, Sam rose from the sofa and walked to the door, his face a mask of tortured resignation. Turning, he said simply, "Good-bye, Sarah." and closed the door softly behind him.



0800 HOURS / The next morning
Legal Services Offices
H&S Building
Camp Butler


With the removal of Major Chaffee, the office was a totally different place to work. For once, Mac could dig in and get the job done without having to be constantly on guard.

Uneasily, Mac noticed that Sam had taken a personal day, and hadn't come in to work that morning. She didn't know how she'd face him when he did. How could they continue to work together with last night's revelation standing between them?

Desperate to distract herself from the problem, Mac cleared away the most immediate of her back mail, then decided it was time to get the visit to the colonel's office behind her.

The first thing she noticed upon entering the H&S office suite, was the absence of the colonel's administrative assistant. Diane James would be sorely missed by everyone, she thought. The serial killer of Camp Butler needed to be caught, and soon!

"Lieutenant! Come on it!" a cheery voice called. "I heard you were back. Congratulations on your promotion. You worked hard for your gold bars...you earned them."

Mac snapped to attention. "Thank you. Sir. It's good to be back."

"As you were, Lieutenant. Relax...have a seat. So how was your stay at Quantico?"

"Long, Sir. I guess I've sort of adopted Okinawa as my home. I missed it here."

"I enjoy it here myself." he agreed. "But every once in a while, something happens that puts a pall on things..."

Mac knew what he was talking about. "I'm sorry to hear about Lieutenant James' death, Sir. I'm sure it came as a great blow to everyone."

"Diane was a very special person. She'll be hard to replace, personally and professionally. Which brings me to the next topic of conversation."

The colonel leaned back in his seat. "If you hadn't come in this morning, I was going to send for you. I'm in need of a new administrative assistant. Your rank and experience would make you a perfect candidate. Are you interested?"

Mac was overwhelmed. It was a dream assignment. She'd be crazy to turn it down.

"Yes, Sir! I'd like that very much! Thank you for thinking of me, Sir."

"You were an obvious choice, Lieutenant. A 'short list' of one. Why don't you tie up any loose ends you might have over at Legal Services, before you get involved with any new projects, then start work here tomorrow. I've needed someone for...a while now."

"Yes, Sir...can do, Sir." Mac rose to take her leave, then remembered why she'd come to the colonel's office. "Sir?" she said, settling back into her seat. "I almost forgot. There's something I need to talk to you about, Sir."

"And what's that, Lieutenant?" he said, anticipating her next words.

"Sir, about Major Chaffee. Word has it that I was the cause of his being forced to take terminal leave. Is that accurate, Sir?"

"No...not accurate at all. The major, himself, was the cause of his removal. I just gave him the option of doing so under his own steam. Except for the fact that you obviously didn't want to pursue the matter along official lines, I wouldn't have given him that choice."

"I...I don't know what to say, Sir. I hope you know that I never encouraged the major..."

"That thought never entered my mind, Lieutenant. Men like Chaffee don't need encouragement. They have no place in the Marines, or anywhere else. If I'd left him in place, he would have just continued to harass either you or someone else. There are some men who just don't 'get it'. Unfortunately, even the Marines have a few. Well, the fewer the better. This wasn't your fault...it was his. Put it behind you."

"Yes, Sir." Mac responded, the relief evident in her voice. "Thank you, Sir. I'll be reporting for duty tomorrow morning, Sir."

"Dismissed, Lieutenant. Oh, and by the way...we're going to be around each other at least eight hours a day. If you insist on saluting me every time you see me, you're going to end up in rehab.. I think we can relax the protocol between us a little without bringing down the Corps., don't you think?"

Mac smiled. She was going to like her new assignment. "Yes, Sir. I'll work on it, Sir." And with a final salute, she turned and headed back to Legal Services.



0600 HOURS
Summer, 1990 - One Year Later
A Remote Running Path
Camp Butler




It had been a great year.

For Mac, her new job was a dream come true. Being the colonel's administrative assistant was both interesting, and challenging. She had access to almost every aspect of Marine life on Camp Butler, and found her privileged status stimulating.

She and Sam had eventually reached an understanding, and while the friendship they'd once had was now a thing of the past, they could at least find a cordial word to share when they bumped into each other in the halls. According to the grapevine, Sam was now seeing a local girl from Okinawa City, and the relationship looked serious. Mac was truly happy for him.

With the loss of her daily running companion, however, and the Camp Butler Killer still at large, Mac had finally taken the colonel up on his long-ago offer to share in his daily run. She now met him each morning at 0600 at his favorite trailhead, and they were fast becoming close friends, opting during off-duty moments to calling each other by their first names. 

Mac smiled. John Farrow was becoming a very dear part of her life. Too bad their relationship had gone as far as it could go.



1100 HOURS
June 4, 1991
H&S Building


Mac was delighted. After four long, hard years, she had finally completed her pre-law studies and was the proud holder of a B.S. degree from the University of Maryland.

John, wonder that he was, had secretly arranged a party at the office to celebrate her achievement. Mac was overwhelmed!

In his zeal, John had phoned caterers from the local community to bring a variety of both local and American delicacies. Pizza, submarine sandwiches, cake and andagi (Okinawan donuts) abounded. He'd even broken the rules and ordered enough Champagne for everyone to share a toast (for Mac a non-alcoholic variety).

It was then that Colonel Farrow had produced her new rank insignias and announced to everyone that Mac was now FIRST Lieutenant Sarah MacKenzie. Could life get any better?

The high point of the party arrived when John took her aside and told her that he had recommended the Marines fund her way through law school next year. It was a dream come true.

Still glowing from her good fortune, Mac arrived at work the next morning in high spirits. What awaited her, however, would have crushed even the brightest of moments.

The next victim had been found in the brush behind the Headquarters and Service Battalion Building. It was the body of an attractive young private, new to Okinawa and Camp Butler. She had been assigned to the building's maintenance staff only two weeks ago, and had been working the day shift, as had all female staff, pending the capture of the Camp Butler serial killer. Apparently, she had traded shifts last night, and had somehow become his latest target.

Mac could tell that John was taking her death personally. He had spent the morning in his office with the door closed, ruminating over mundane tasks that normally would have taken him minutes.

Earlier that day, Colonel Farrow had received another visit from Sargeant Asaki, O.C.P.D.. During the visit, Farrow had stressed the importance of escalating the investigation into the killings, and pledged an unlimited amount of manpower and resources to realize that end. He had been told by Asaki, however, that everything possible was already being done. Patience would win out in the end.

Patience, at this point, was something the colonel had in short supply. Too much time, and too many lives had already fallen victim to the sergeant's policy of passivity. Farrow was a man of action...and it was time to bring the situation to an end.




JAG: Sarah Ch. 02



It was early that afternoon when PC poked his head around the corner of her office door.

"Hi there pretty lady. You busy tonight?"

"PC! What are you doing here. Aren't you suppose to be working on a computer somewhere-or-other right now?"

"Yup. Right here, right now. Your colonel called in a few favors and got his request moved to the top of the list."

"MY colonel? The system here is working just fine. I'm glad to see you...but I really don't need you, if you know what I mean."

"Ouch!" PC grabbed his chest as though in pain. "I'm wounded. You've broken my heart!" Forever the comic, PC was in his final death throes when Farrow opened his door and spoiled the finale.

"If 'Hamlet' will get off the floor, Lieutenant. I need to see him in my office."

PC leaped to his feet and snapped to attention. "At ease, corporal. Do you have what I requested?"

"Sir. Yes Sir." PC answered emphatically. "It's on a cart in the entryway, Sir"

"Well then, corporal, I think you'd better bring it in, don't you?"

"Sir. Yes Sir!"

PC hurried to the doorway, and began transporting a computer terminal, printer, and a flat bed scanner into the colonel's office. An hour went by with PC busier than Mac had ever seen him. Finally, after making sure the terminal was properly connected to the mainframe, and all systems were functional, PC said his farewells and vanished from the office. 

Mac was overcome with curiosity. As far as she knew, John had no idea how to run a computer. Why would he want a terminal?

Mac walked through the open doorway to his office. "So, you finally decided to join the 20th century, I see." she teased, hoping he'd fill her in on the mystery.

"Only minimally, Lieutenant. I think it's time the Corps took matters into its own hands where this maniac is concerned. I have some data coming in soon, and I want to be able to process it as efficiently and privately as possible. This is the best way to do it."

Mac looked skeptically at the shiny new terminal, still sitting on its portable cart, waiting for his touch.

"And you know how to do this?" she asked innocently.

"How hard could it be? I see kids around here doing it all the time. It may take me a few hours to master the thing, but it shouldn't be too difficult."

Mac smiled. It was going to be a long afternoon.



1700 HOURS came, and people began to file out toward the parking lot. The door to Farrow's office had remained shut for the past four hours, and Mac was beginning to worry.

Finally, overcome by curiosity, she tapped softly on his door, and waited for a reply.

"ENTER!" he fairly shouted. "This had better be important!" he said bruskly, his voice laden with frustration.

"Mastered it yet, Colonel?" Mac said sweetly.

"This is not a time for levity, Lieutenant. I have material coming soon that has to be returned ASAP, and this spawn from Hell WILL NOT COOPERATE!" he shouted, kicking the cart with his booted foot.

"Colonel! Trust me, brute force won't prevail in the computer arena. Maybe I can help. What is it you want to do?"

Well, okay. I guess I'll have to tell you all the sordid details. I've called in about a million favors today, and a friend of a friend is going to 'borrow' Asaki's files for me tonight so I can scan them into this piece of junk." He cocked his foot for another swipe, but Mac quickly placed herself between him and the computer cart.

Briefly, Farrow outlined the project he had in mind. It was huge...far beyond his current capabilities.

"Well, I'm not sure if I can teach you all you need to know in a few hours, but I can stay and help. I wouldn't mind."

She could tell that the colonel didn't want to get her involved, but he was a pragmatic man, and realized that he had no other option.

"All right, Lieutenant...Mac, but you should know, if we get caught with these 'borrowed' files, there's going to be Hell to pay. I don't know if either one of us would come out of it with our careers intact."

"I think it's worth the risk, John. But I'm not sure we have the right programs for what you need."

"Programs? What do you mean, programs? You just type the info. in, and the computer does the rest, right?"

Mac hoped he was joking, but the look on his face said that he was dead serious.

"John, let me call PC, the corporal that was here this afternoon. Maybe he can help us out. I promise, he'll be discreet."

Mac called PC on the office phone, and gave him the parameters of the project. Her friend told her that what she needed was difficult to get, but that he could have it in a couple of hours. He promised to deliver it to the office as soon as it arrived. 

It was well past suppertime, and given the situation, John suggested that they order in. "Well, never let it be said that I don't feed my prisoners the best. What do you like on your pizza, Ma'am?" John asked as he dialed the number for Anthony's Pizza in Okinawa City.

"Everything," she replied, "including anchovies. Deep dish...with extra cheese."

"Yes Ma'am. But I refuse to put fish on a perfectly good pizza. You'll have to live without that anchovies.

Time passed quickly. Soon most of the pizza was history, and PC was tapping gently at the office door.

Mac answered swiftly, and motioned for PC to enter the colonel's office.

"Well, I got it." he smiled, as though he'd just broken into Fort Knox. "It's in the hard drive on my portable. Just give me a few minutes, and it's all yours."

"PC," Mac asked, "this isn't the computer you brought to Okinawa, is it?"

"Nope. That one was a dinosaur ten minutes after we got off the plane. This one's my own design. Small enough to be REALLY portable, but with all the bells and whistles of the full sized machines. It's got a modem and hard drive that make..."

"Can you get on with this?" Mac interrupted. "We're going to need it up and running in less than an hour. Can you make it?"

"Not a problem." PC replied. "This is what I live for."

PC finished in less than thirty minutes, then, grabbing a congealed slab of pizza, he happily trotted on home to resume his affair with the real love of his life...his personal computer.

The operation was completed none too soon. Barely ten minutes later the phone rang. "We're downstairs in the parking lot." a voice said. "If you want this stuff, you better get down here quick."



It was 0300 HOURS when they finished scanning Asaki's files into PC's database. Exhausted, they reloaded the file boxes and hauled them down to the parking lot, where their transportation anxiously awaited their arrival.

"Well. I am really tired, boss. Any chance I can sleep in a little later tomorrow?"

"I won't look for you until noon, Mac. But, right now, I'm going to tail you home and see you safely to your door."

Mac began to protest, but then she remembered some of the case material she'd just scanned, and realized that this was no time to play macho.

"Okay," she conceded. "Whatever you say, John. "But let's go...I'm exhausted!"

Fifteen minutes later they pulled up in the parking lot at Kishaba Towers. Against her objections, John insisted on walking Mac to her door.

"I won't take 'no' for an answer." He insisted. "I'm not kidding around. I mean it!"

As they approached her door, she suddenly felt awkward and unsure of herself. Should she ask him in for coffee? Would he consider an invitation into her apartment too familiar? She decided to let it go for now.

John was feeling the same degree of discomfort. It had been many years since he'd walked a woman to her door without intending to stay the night. What would Mac think if she knew what was going on inside of his head?

Mac inserted the key into the lock. and the door swung inward, silently welcoming her home.

"Well, I'm here. Thanks for walking me up. It was..." Mac couldn't finish. Somehow his nearness, here, in her apartment door, was evocative beyond words. She wanted more than ever to invite him inside, but knew that her reaction was the very reason why she shouldn't.

Silently, the two stood in the doorway, each unsure of the next move, each struggling with their own reasons why he should leave. Mac looked into his eyes, and saw a reflection of her own need. It would be so easy to just...

She shook the idea out of her mind. No, this was wrong. They needed to retain some semblance of professionality, she was in his chain of command... and, she was still a married woman...



December 23, 1991
H&S Building
Camp Butler


Christmas was right around the corner.

It had been a frustrating six months. John and Mac had slaved over the data in the computer, but no matter how they looked at it, a clear suspect never seemed to arise. It was becoming apparent that the material before them was inadequate, and that more information was needed desperately. But what?

It was at the staff Christmas party that Mac thought of another angle on the case.

A hour later, John scanned the sea of faces at the party and found hers missing. Concerned, he began to search the complex for his administrative assistant, and found her hard at work on the computer in his office. 

"Mac! What are you doing here? Let it go for one day and join the party!"

"John! I just thought of something, and I wanted to try it out. Listen...we've been excluding anyone who's left handed because of the direction of the slash wounds, but what if the killer attacked from behind?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like this..." Mac stood and circled around her commanding officer, pressing her body tightly to his back. 

"What if the killer was left handed, but approached his victim from behind? He would have brought his left arm around her throat...like this..." Mac demonstrated, " and brought the knife across her body from the right to the left, giving the ILLUSION of someone who was right handed."

The nearness of her body, pressed tightly against him, left John Farrow speechless. Her theory was brilliant, but the significance of it was lost on him as he struggled to control the visceral reaction he experienced to her touch.

As though of one mind, Mac became suddenly silent. This felt so good, so right. How could it be so wrong?

Silently John turned, and looking deeply into her eyes, read the message that neither could put into words.

As though fighting for control of his emotions, John placed his hands on her shoulders, intending to create a physical space between them. But his actions had just the opposite effect. Gently, tenderly, his lips descended upon hers, tasting her sweet essence, sharing the very breath which kept her alive.

"Sarah...Mac...I'm sorry." he said, attempting to distance himself from her. "I know this is wrong. I..."

"Shhhh" she whispered, her fingers tracing a delicate pattern across his lower lip. "There must be some mistletoe somewhere..."

Lost in the moment, John pulled her close to him...his lips once again exploring her own, his arms circling tightly around her waist, drawing her against his firm, unyielding body.

Mac's senses reeled as she inhaled the warm, masculine scent of him, her noble resolutions vanishing on a tide of emotion.

Gently, as though guiding her across the dance floor to a tune that only they could hear, John closed the distance between the terminal and his heavy oaken desk. Mac felt its rigid edge pressed firmly against her buttocks as John deepened his kiss, insinuating his tongue between her teeth and exploring the soft recesses of her mouth.

She could feel the hardened contours of his manhood pressing intimately against her as he gazed into her eyes, searching for a sign that her need was mutual. 

She wanted to remain wrapped in the arms of this wonderful man forever, but as quickly as it began...it was over. The voices of party revelers floated gaily through the outer office, and John hastily released his grip on her trembling body. Their moment was gone.

Their relationship, over the next few days, was awkward at best. But before long, as though by tacit agreement, John and Mac put their mutual attraction far away in distant corners of their hearts, and got on with the business at hand.

Mac's revelation had indeed reaped a harvest of possibilities. A new suspect list had materialized, and they painstakingly went about checking the locations and activities of each and every one.

Months went by, and the list began to dwindle. Soon, only a few names remained...one of which was Sam Wayne.

"It can't be him." Mac protested. "We can eliminate him right now. I know him too well...it wouldn't be possible."

"Are you sure, Mac? Look at his profile. He was the last person to see Tricia alive...he knew Diana from here at the office, and he had access to the building at night when the last victim was working. Plus, he's been a resident in the area most of his life...he was here during the other murders. We can't just exclude him on a hunch, no matter how well you know him. Even Manson had a mother who... loved him!"

"I didn't say I loved him." she said softly, seeing the pain in his eyes. "He was a friend...a close friend. We just drifted apart after a while. But I never loved him."

John was silent. Words seemed to elude him. The thought of Sarah with another man left an ache deep within him.

"Mac...Sarah, maybe we should talk about this finally. It's been hanging there between us long enough. It might be better if we got it out in the open."

"Maybe..." Mac replied, uncertainly. "Are you sure? Some things are better left unsaid."

John hated being indecisive about anything, but her words left him confused and unsure. It was already late March... Sarah was now in the process of rotating out, on her way to Duke University and law school. Life's experiences had taught him that the taste of regret was bitter and lasting, he didn't want this to be another hard lesson to accept.

"I think we should, Sarah. We...I need to talk. What about tonight? Maybe I can drop by your place...we'll order a pizza, and..."

"Pizza! That's it! Why didn't I think of this sooner! The list of suspects...we've always just assumed that the killer was someone from the base because of the security checkpoints. But what about civilians who have business here...you know, deliveries and such. It could be someone totally unconnected to the military." 

Her enthusiasm was contagious. It would be easy enough to check. John called the security office, and requested that copies of civilian admissions to the base for the specified dates be delivered to him within the hour.

Then, turning to Mac he said: "I think you may have just hit on something. All we have to do is scan the material into the computer, correlate a list of all civilians actually on base during ALL of the killings, then check their alibis. How many could there be? 

Forty-five minutes later the information was hand-delivered from the security office. It took another hour to scan the material into the computer before they could begin, but at last they began to see results.

The computer had narrowed the list down to only two names: one, a pizza delivery man from Okinawa City; and the other...they stared at the name...was Sargeant Asaki.



1300 HOURS
Gate 2 Street
Okinawa City


In no time at all John and Mac were driving along the main thoroughfare to the base, heading for Arturo's Pizza Palace.

"Why don't we split up and get this done in half the time?" Mac suggested.

John thought it was a terrible idea. Send Mac to interview a killer alone? Not a chance! But trying to talk the youthful Lieutenant out of something once she'd made up her mind, was next to impossible.

Instead, he suggested that she take Sargeant Asaki, and leave the delivery person to him. He already knew the sergeant, and found it incomprehensible that the gentle man could be the killer. Besides, Mac would be in the middle of a police station. What could be safer?

John nodded in agreement, and divided the work according to plan. Then, dropping Mac off at the police station, he continued on to Arturo's.

Mac entered the bustling station and approached the information desk. 

"Haisai (Hello). I'd like to see Sergeant Asaki, please. Tell him Lieutenant MacKenzie is here. I need to talk to him about the murders at Camp Butler." 

Moments later, Mac was escorted down the green tiled hallway, and into the sergeant's office.

"May I come in?" she asked, in keeping with local protocol.

Sir, I need to talk to you about an aspect of the killings that only recently came to light. Do you have a minute?"

Asaki looked uneasy. "Yes, yes, of course. Sit. Make yourself comfortable and tell me what has happened."

I was just checking to see if any locals were on the base at the time of each of the killings. Sir...I hate to ask you this, but your name was on the list. Why were you on base during those periods?"

"Lieutenant, I am frequently on base. I investigated those killings, remember. Wouldn't it be logical that I would have to enter the base to do so?" He paused. "Have you spoken with anyone else about this? A man's reputation is his most prized possession here on Okinawa. I would hate to see mine sullied merely on speculation, Lieutenant."

"No, Sir. Of course not, I have been extremely discreet. You have nothing to worry about."

His alibi was an obvious one. Mac felt foolish for not having thought of it herself. She began to apologize, when Asakai continued.

"Lieutenant. I keep a detailed journal of my activities at home. If you would like, you may accompany me there now, and read it for yourself."

"Oh...that's not necessary, Sergeant. I've made a terrible mistake. Please, forgive me."

"Not necessary, Lieutenant? I believe it is necessary. Please, you must allow me to clear my name to my own satisfaction. This is most upsetting...I believe I deserve this much. Don't you? It will only take half of an hour or so. My car is waiting just outside the door. Will you humor me, Lieutenant?"

She couldn't say "no". Asakai had already been insulted enough. In the interest of community relations, she had to accept.

Asakai could have driven a taxi in New York City. His expertise at the wheel quickly circumvented even the most stubborn of traffic tangles, and soon Mac found herself at the entrance to his home on the outskirts of Okinawa City.

His, was a very traditional looking home, with a carefully tended garden and shisas glancing benignly down from the red-tiled rooftop.

Slipping off her outdoor shoes, as is the custom, Mac entered his home and followed him to an office at the back of the structure.

She glanced appreciatively around the room. Delicate sumi paintings decorated one wall, countered by a display of ancient masks and samuri swords on the next. "You have a beautiful home, Sergeant. Is there a Mrs, Asaki?"

The sergeant was silent. Mac turned and looked at him questioningly. "Am I being too personal, Sir? I didn't mean to be."

It was then the truth of the situation assaulted her. Asakai hadn't been on the base merely AFTER each murder...according to the security information, he had been on the base BEFORE each murder as well!

"No." the sergeant replied, his voice taking on a guttural quality. "There is no 'Mrs. Asakai', and there never will be. Not as long as there are Americans on Okinawa! You people... you think you can just take anything you want!"

"The last 'Mrs. Asakai' was my ayaa (mother)." he continued, his voice rising, his hand snatching an ornamental samuri sword from the wall. "On May 21, 1945, your Marines landed on what you call Sugarloaf Hill. They were ruthless, murderers...all of them. They saw my mother ... an innocent young girl all alone in her home, and they abused her. I was the result of their abuse. My mother was shamed. She...killed herself shortly after my birth."

"You're the one." Mac gasped. "It was you all the time..."




JAG: Sarah Ch. 02



John's visit to Arturo's proved to be a study in misdirection. It turned out that the delivery truck had a set of identification papers in the glove compartment that had been used uniformly by all of the drivers delivering on the base. It was an expedient measure for Arturo's, but it thereby gave the false impression that the same person had been present during each instance.

Well, it had been a good thought, he reflected as he entered the police station to locate Mac. They'd just have to keep trying.

Farrow checked in with the desk sergeant in the lobby. "I'd like to speak with Sergeant Asakai, please. Tell him Colonel Farrow is here to see him."

"No can do, colonel. The sarge just left with a pretty lieutenant in tow. Do you want to leave a message?"

Farrow's instincts were immediately on red alert. "Did the lieutenant leave any message for me?"

"Let me check." He looked under a blotter on his desk. "Nope. Not a word. I can't help you."

"Well, can you tell me where they were heading?"

"He didn't say, colonel." He turned and called to a younger man who apparently clerked in the building. Hey, Jushi! Did you hear Asaki say where he was going?"

"Yeah, I think so. I think I heard him tell that Marine Lady he was heading for home."

"I need his home address...NOW!" Farrow demanded.

"Hey listen. We don't..."

"I said quick! Now give me the address or I'll rip you AND your files apart and get it myself!"

"Okay, okay...Don't get nervous. I suppose it doesn't matter. It's right in the phone book anyway."

John Farrow grabbed the slip of paper from the sergeant's hand and raced for the door, leaving a stunned and angry police station in his wake.



The phone began to ring, temporarily distracting Asakai from his objective.

"People know where I went today, Asakai. You can't get away with this." Mac asserted bravely. 

"Only God knows the term of one's life. Knowing where you are will only help them find your body, I'm afraid. I can't let you go...you know too much. I can't take the risk that you'll tell someone else."

"But others DO know, Asakai, many others. My death won't keep you safe. It will only add one more meaningless death to your guilt. The men who raped your mother...not all Marines are like that. Most aren't...the people you killed were innocent victims, like your mother. How can you live with their deaths on your soul? Is this what your mother would want, Asakai?"

"I don't believe you." Asakai hesitated, just enough for Mac to grab a small tea table to use as a shield.

Asakai swung the blade, embedding the edge deeply into the wooden table.

Angrily, he braced one foot against the table and attempted to wrench the sword free. It was then that Mac gave a tremendous shove, toppling Asakai to his knees. 

The sergeant wrenched the blade free from the table once more. Age may have been on Mac's side, but the sword evened the playing field. Quickly, Mac lunged for the door, throwing it open, and rushing headlong... into the arms of John Farrow.

Realizing that all was lost, Asakai ran from the immediate area, and locked himself in what appeared to be a bathroom. By the time the colonel had kicked the door free, it was all over. Asakai was dead, the final victim of his own insanity.



2200 HOURS
Kishaba Tower Apartments
Camp Butler 


The worst was over.

After an endless police interrogation, Mac and John had finally been allowed to leave. It was with profound gratitude that Mac finally sank exhaustedly into her overstuffed sofa and kicked off her shoes.

"If you were a drinking woman, I'd make you a stiff one right about now, Sarah."

Sarah just smiled, and leaned her head back against the arm of the sofa. "This is all the intoxication I need, John. And after today, I don't think I'll need any extra stimulation for a long, long while."

"That's too bad." he smiled. "I was just going to massage your feet...but if you'd rather I..."

"No...no, go right ahead! Please!" she laughed. "A girl can never get too many foot rubs! Indulge me!"

John came to rest on the sofa beside her, her legs laying limply across his firm thighs. His stroke was gentle, hypnotic, and Sarah felt the stress of the day melt within his hands.

She tilted her head back, her eyes closed, lost in the nearness of him, the touch of his firm hands upon her skin, the erotic timbre of his voice. She could give it all up for this man, she thought...everything...the Corps...law school...all of it.

"Sarah...I love you." he whispered so softly that she was afraid she'd imagined it.

Could it be true? She opened her eyes and gazed in wonderment at the emotion radiating from his very soul.

"I love you, Sarah." he repeated again, the silken promise of his words filling the silence of the room.

"John..."

"I know...it's wrong. It won't work, but right now I don't care. I love you, and I want to be with you. If I'm off base...then tell me so. You won't have to worry about me ever again. But if you feel the way I do...the way I'm hoping you do, then let me stay tonight. Let me love you..."

Sarah was breathless. Tentatively, she reached out her hand and stroked the firm line of his jaw, her hand circling behind his neck, ever so gently drawing him down to her, losing herself in his eyes.

Greedily, his lips claimed hers, obliterating the world and all it contained. His scent, his touch, the firm planes of his body were more intoxicating that she could have ever imagined. 

Easily, John Farrow lifted her in his arms, and carried her into the bedroom, laying her gently upon the pale candlewick bedspread. Silently, he gazed at her as though trying to decide where to begin, then slowly removed his shirt and lay down beside her.



He had a muscular body, the kind that a life of hard living gives naturally to those who live it. Sarah ran her hands over the hard, rolling contours of his arms as his fingers peeled away the shell of her clothing, covering her heated flesh with his lips.

"Tell me what you like, Sarah." he whispered in the darkness. "Show me what you want, and it's yours"

Sarah blushed, unseen in the night, unsure of her next move. What should she say? What should she do? No one had ever asked her a question like that before. To her, intimacy had always been a passive issue, dictated by the needs of her lover.

John pressed his lips to the pulse point at the base of her throat, his hands gently kneading her breasts, stroking her nipples to rigid attention.

"Tell me, Sarah..." he whispered again. "Show me..."

Slowly, Sarah ran her palms down the firm lines of his body, stopping at the belt to his trousers. "Take off your clothes," she instructed, amazed at the sound of her own voice. "I want to see you."

Silently, Sarah reached over in the darkness and switched on a nightlight. John's penetrating gaze sent delicious shivers down her spine as he undid his pants and dropped them in the pile with his shirt.

He was magnificent! She'd seen men in their natural state before, but never one so...so heavily... she flushed again.

Gently, John lowered himself between her knees. "Tell me..." he whispered a third time, his massive erection pressing firmly between her trembling thighs.

"Lay on your back," she directed, her voice a husky rasp in the stillness of the room "I want to touch you."

John looked at her for a moment, a heartbeat of uncertainty passing across his firm features, then silently rolled onto his back, his hand softly stoking her inner thigh. "Like this?" he questioned. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." she replied, positioning herself between the rock-hard perimeters of his thighs. Gently, tentatively, she reached out her fingers and touched his throbbing organ, standing erect in the dim light, feeling it pulse beneath her touch.

It was beautiful, she thought, her hand gently stroking the silken smoothness of its engorged tip. John groaned, struggling to maintain control. "Sarah...I can't..." he paused, panting shallowly. "I didn't think you'd want..."

Softly, Sarah lowered her head and took the tip into her mouth, tasting the salty essence of him, feeling the smooth texture slide between her lips, as she ran her tongue across its silken surface.

"Oh, God, Sarah! You've got to stop!" John ordered frantically. "You don't know what you're doing to me!"

Reaching down between his legs, he placed his hands under Sarah's arms and lifted her astride his chest.

"You're incredible," he rasped. "but you have to stop, or this will all be over in no time. Now let me do something for you..."

Firmly, he placed his hands beneath her rounded buttocks, and urged her forward until her thighs rested on either side of his head, his breath playing heatedly among her moist, downy curls. His hands stroked the tender flesh on the insides of her quivering thighs, and she grabbed the headboard for support.

Then, using his thumbs, he hungrily parted the final barrier which shielded her from his questing tongue, probing deeply into her intimate recesses, stroking her straining nub with the tips of his fingers.

Wordlessly, her voice pierced the stillness of the room. Her body began to shake uncontrollably, her knees refusing to support her weight. She felt a mad rush of fluid between her trembling thighs, and knew that she wanted him deep inside of her.

Quickly, desperately, she straddled his hips, plunging his enormous length far into her core. She gasped. He was immense! She paused momentarily to accommodate her body to the extraordinary size of his presence, then quickly adopted a frantic rhythm dictated by a million years of experience.

John, driven beyond the brink, began to arch his hips, driving his member still deeper into her narrow passage, causing her to cry out for more, climax building upon climax.

Finally, with nothing left but adrenaline, John rolled her over on her back, and thrust mindlessly between her thighs, deep into her belly. Then, his chest heaving, he threw his head back, filling her with his essence, carrying her with him on a voyage of no return.

Later, tucked into the warmth of his arms, Sarah lay in the afterglow of their lovemaking. The smile on her lips spoke of contentment...complete fulfillment.

"Sarah," John whispered, the concern in his voice evident. "Are you alright? Did I hurt you?" he asked, inhaling the fragrance of her hair, stroking the fullness of her breast. "I've never lost control like that before..."

"Shhh," she said, seeking to allay his fears, "we were a perfect fit...like a hand in a glove. You make love like an angel...and a demon. I wouldn't have it any other way, my love."

Then, tired and sated, she fell into a deep, restful slumber...safe and secure in his sheltering embrace.

John studied the sleeping features of the woman in his arms, feeling the warmth of her breath on his chest, and whispered the words he found so difficult to say in the light of day.

"I love you Sarah MacKenzie...more than any woman I've ever known. I'll love you until the day I die. How can I ever let you go..." 

Then, gently, he touched his lips to her closed eyelids, like a feather in a dream, and joined her in a land far away.



0600 HOURS
Kishaba Tower Apartments
Camp Butler, Okinawa


It was the most glorious morning Sarah had ever seen.

Behind her, his arm draped gently around her waist, John's even breathing played like a song to her ears. She flushed at the memory of last night, all they'd said...all they'd shared. She felt her body begin to grow warmer, and wished she could live it all over again... a thousand days and a thousand nights in John Farrow's embrace.

John began to stir, his arms tightening around her body, his lips tracing warm, erotic pathways down the side of her throat. "Did you get enough sleep last night?" he asked lazily.

"You should know." she whispered, huskily. "Or have you forgotten already?"

Gently, he rolled her over onto her back, and looked deeply into her eyes. "I could never forget." he said, seriously. "But, you still look drained. Yesterday was a rough one. I want you to take the day off. Stay home. Stay in bed. Rest."

"John. Just because I'm sleeping with the boss, doesn't mean I'm going to ask for special privileges. I have a job to do. I need to get to work!"

John propped himself up on one elbow, and gazed lustily down at her exhausted features.

"First of all...'sleeping with the boss' sounds like something nasty...it doesn't apply. I love you. We were 'making love." he said, his thumb gently stroking her dusky nipple.

"Secondly, you just solved a ten-year-old murder case, and almost got yourself killed in the process. Even if I'd never met you, I'd vote to give you AT LEAST a day off to pull yourself together."

"Then, last of all...I'm only your boss on a technicality. You're rotating out. Actually, you're between assignments, you just haven't gotten on the plane yet."

"Which brings me to a forth point...Sarah, you've got two weeks before you have to report to college. Let's spend them together. I have enough personal days left to take at least ten years off...okay, well maybe not quite that much, but a lot. We could head up to the northern end of the island, up along the coast near Hedo. We could make like tourists, snap a few pictures, sleep 'til noon...make love all night until the sun comes up. What do you think?"

"But, what if someone sees us, John. It could mean trouble. I don't want to hurt you in any way."

"Hado is a long ways away from here. There's a northern training area up there, but it's only for maneuvers...the troops stay right on the base, then go back 'home'. We have nothing to worry about."

"You know, Sarah...except for it costing you so much, I wouldn't care if someone saw us. I've got my time in. I can take my pension and experience anywhere and name my price. But you've got your whole life ahead of you, and I love you too much risk taking it away from you."

"But John, I..."

"No, don't say it. I know what's in your mind right now. But this is one of those 'been there-done that' type of things. You'd resent me later, Sarah, maybe even come to hate me. I couldn't live with that." 

As though to dull the hurt he knew his words had brought her, he smiled, and whispered in her ear: "So, stay home, darling Sarah, rest up, and I'll bring take-out back with me tonight after work. Maybe we can find a new use for chop sticks." he laughed, making her blush. Think about the trip to Hado, Sarah, will you? Let me know tonight, okay?"



0530 HOURS
Two weeks later
Cape Hado, Okinawa


Their time together had been glorious. John had secured the use of a traditional Japanese cottage, on a cliff high above the pounding surf of the East China Sea. There, they had passed fourteen idyllic days, wrapped in each other's arms, dreading the moment when it would be time to say good-bye.

It was their last morning together.

John and Sarah watched the sun rise out of the eastern sea, a ball of crimson, setting the world afire. Below them, on the rocky shore of Cape Hado, the tide surged restlessly against the shore, whispering that it was time to go.

Their two weeks in the cottage atop the cliff had been magical, the stuff dreams were made of, but now, like a dream, it had come to an end. It was time for Sarah to return to the real world, and the life she'd left behind.

They had spent their final night savoring each minute, knowing that it would be their last. There, on the windswept cliff with only the stars to bear mute witness, they had made love to the rhythm of the timeless sea, memorizing each heartbeat as a hedge against the cold days to come, preserving them to last until the end of forever.

Now, with the harsh glare of morning, they knew it was time to go. Silently, wordlessly, John drove her to the airport, neither of them daring to share a glance, a smile, lest the world fall to pieces around their feet.

The pain in his eyes was unbearable, and it was only after a brief clasp of hands on the runway, a final salute, that Sarah boarded the plane and let the tears flow unheeded down her cheeks. It was then, she remembered the poem that had been mounted on the wall of their cottage in Hado. Translated, it read:

Even after we part,
Should fate have it so,
We will be like flowers
Linked together, never to
be torn apart.

"Good-bye, my love," she whispered, "until we meet again."

THE END



JAG: Sarah Ch. 03



Disclaimer: JAG and its characters are the property of Donald Bellisario, Paramount and CBS. All other characters are mine and fictional.

Sarah MacKenzie
Central Campus Apts.
Duke University 
September 30, 1992

Dearest John,

This has to have been the longest month of my life. I thought that if I waited to write to you, the pain of our separation would have diminished... but it hasn't.

Each night, as I sit alone in my apartment and remember our last days in the cottage on the cliff in Hado, I long to feel you near me once again... touching me, holding me...whispering my name in the moonlight. My love...how I miss you.

Oh, John, why don't you write? Why don't you call? Have you fallen out of love so quickly? I'm not sure I could bear your answer, my dearest, because our time apart has only made me love you more.

You fill my thoughts...you fill my dreams...I only wish you were here to fill my life.

Please write, my love, Your Sarah 

1800 HOURS
Sarah's Apartment
Duke University Campus
Durham, North Carolina

It had been another rough day.

Sarah returned home heavy laden with books from her first year law classes in "Torts" and "Criminal Law". It looked like it was going to be another long night...weren't law students allowed to sleep?

"Barb," she said, turning to her friend and study partner," maybe I'm just not cut out for this."

"Oh, Mac," Barb smiled, "You know you don't mean that. You're depressed over John, you're having to adjust to a whole new world full of civilians...you're just on 'overload'"

Mac knew she was right. Barb usually was. It never ceased to amaze her how close the two of them had become in just four weeks.

She'd met Barbara Dannon on her first day in "Constitutional Law". The professor, determined to 'weed out' all but the most devoted, had given the class an unattainable reading schedule to manage. She and Barb had commiserated over the unfairness of it all, until they had decided to split the material, then share their notes. It had worked, and they'd been good friends ever since.

Briefly she scanned the small kitchen in her small one-bedroom apartment for something "quick" to fix for supper. There wasn't much...a paper that had been due in "Civil Procedure" had taken up all of her shopping time over the last two weeks.

Finally, sharing a can of "Dinty Moore's Stew", and a couple of stale rolls, they settled down to another evening deep in study.

It had been four, long weeks since she'd left John at the Futenma Air Terminal on Okinawa...it didn't seem possible. There were times when she could still feel his gentle touch upon her face, and hear his voice in the dead of night. It was hard to study, when so much of her longed to be somewhere else.

The fact that he hadn't tried to contact her during that time, had only served to make matters worse. How could she concentrate when a part of her was missing?

"If you're going to be this miserable, then you need to contact him." Barb had said. "Don't just wait for something that might never happen...talk to him. Find out what's wrong, and then deal with it. Either way, you'll get to move on."

Finally, in desperation, she decided to use some of her precious study time, breaking the barrier of silence, and writing to John instead.

What if he didn't answer?

The thought was too much to bear. Angry with herself for once again deviating from the task at hand, Sarah dropped the finished letter in her pack, grabbed her "Criminal Law" text, and began to study for tomorrow's quiz. She had to get beyond this...she just had to...

John Farrow
H&S Div.
Camp Butler, Okinawa
October, 7, 1992

My Sweet Sarah,

Not a day has gone by that I haven't picked up the phone and begun to dial your number, but I felt, deep in my heart, that giving you space and time to away from our relationship was the kindest gift I could offer. How could you even imagine that I no longer loved you?

Being C.O. of a "paper" battalion has lost all interest for me. With you gone, I need more to occupy my body and mind. I've decided to apply for a transfer to a Marine Expeditionary Unit. Maybe an M.E.U. will give me something to fill my days.

My precious Sarah, that brings me to something we should talk about. I've been offered a position at Twenty-nine Palms in California, and another one at Quantico. But there is a third...as C.O. of the 24th MEU at Camp Lejeune in North Carolina, about 100 miles from you. What do you think?

Sarah...I have to tell you that I have reservations about Camp Lejeune. We parted for good and valid reasons...ones that still hold true. I still refuse to stand in the way of your career or the bright future ahead of you, but this last month apart has mellowed my perspective considerably. I miss you more than I can say, and I'm desperate to see if we can work something out.

Write to me soon, dear Sarah. I love you...I miss you... I need to hear from you.

All my love, John 

1600 HOURS
October 12, 1992
Sarah MacKenzie's apartment
Duke University

It was a dream come true! John still loved her! He was transferring to Camp Lejeune. Could life get any better!

Sarah grabbed for the phone and immediately began to dial his bungalow at Camp Butler. She had to talk to him...hear his voice...share his thoughts.

"Farrow here" a decidedly male voice answered. "What can I do for you?"

"John? It's me...Sarah."

A pause.

"Sarah? I can't believe it's you! Hearing your voice..."

Sarah felt the tears begin to well up behind her eyelids. "Oh John, I got your letter...I had to call. It's been so hard..."

"I know Sarah...I know. I feel it too. So I'm guessing Camp Lejeune is a 'yes'" he laughed. "I don't know what I would have done if you'd told me to go somewhere else!"

"Oh John...Oh John...just keep talking." she pleaded, as the tears overcame her. "I...I..." she sobbed, uncontrollably. "I need to hear your voice." she rasped. "Say anything...anything."

And so a minute turned into an hour...and an hour into two. John insisted on paying her phone bill...it would be astronomical, but worth every penny. They would be together again...the feeling it gave her was priceless.

Time seemed to crawl as Sarah counted the minutes, then days, then weeks since their one and only phone call. Already, her demeanor had changed with the promise of his transfer, and life began to take on new meaning. There was now a spring in her step and a ready smile on her lips that had not been there before. 

Sarah fairly glowed with anticipation. 

John was coming. She was happy. She was alive. She was in love.

Sarah MacKenzie
Apt. 716
Central Campus Apartments
Duke University

October 20, 1992

Dearest John,

Only two more weeks and I'll have you with me again! I think of you constantly, my love. You're my first thought in the morning, and my last thought at night. Is there any wonder why I have a perpetual smile on my face?

My studies are extremely difficult, but they're going well. So far I've received either an 'A' or 'B' on just about everything. Are you proud of me?

My Darling...I want so much to call you...to hear your voice once again, but after the length of our last long distance call, I know it probably isn't a good idea. I'll have to content myself with rereading your letters over and over again instead.

I'm placing my hand on this page, my love...touching you...feeling the beat of your heart. It's a poor substitute, but it's all that I have for now...

Forever,
Sarah 

0900 HOURS
November 7, 1992
Marine Corps Air Station - New River
Camp Lejeune, North Carolina

It was Saturday morning...the day John was to land at the New River Air Station.

Sarah grinned giddily as she drove her antiquated Marine surplus Jeep through the MAS gate at Camp Lejeune. It felt good to be dressed in "Marine Green" once again, a measure she'd felt would ease her admission onto the base. John's transport was due in at 1000 HOURS, and she wanted to be early.

John would have to report for duty on Monday morning, but until then, he was all hers. A flush crossed her features as she anticipated all that would entail...oh God, how she'd missed him! 

Reminding herself again of the requirements of protocol, Sarah watched as his flight disembarked on the tarmac.

Sara's heart pounded in her throat as John passed through the gate into the waiting area, his jaw firm, his presence strong and competent. 

Together they stood, each frozen in place, their eyes saying the words denied them by the protocol of rank.

Shakily, Sarah raised her hand in a salute ("I want to touch you, John.")

Returning her acknowledgement ("Soon, my love...soon."), John asked: "Lieutenant, are you in charge of my ground transportation?"

"Yes Sir. That I am, Sir."

"Very well then. Proceed."

Silently, they climbed aboard Mac's Jeep, and headed for the colonel's housing on Front Street in Courthouse Bay, overlooking New River.

"How far is it to my billet?" he asked impatiently, his fingers caressing her hand on the gear shift knob.

"According to the map I got at the main gate, it isn't far now," she sighed, her hand warming to his touch. 

"I can't believe you're actually here, John. You don't know how much I've been anticipating this...seeing you again...having you with me."

John looked at Sarah, his eyes filled with emotion, as he gently stroked her thigh. "How could I not know, Sarah...how could I not know?"

John's "billet" was a red brick colonial house with a view of the river. They were met at the door by a Marine corporal who delivered John's official vehicle and gave him the keys that would allow him access to his new life.

"Is there anything else the colonel needs, Sir?"

"No thank you, corporal. That will be all." John said, anxiously dismissing the young man. "I think I can take it from here."

With a parting salute, the corporal turned and was gone.

Briefly, the two wandered from room to room, sizing up his new living quarters. John's moving cartons, sent on ahead more than a week ago, were already in place throughout the house. Sarah was impressed.

"It must be nice to be a colonel." she said, her voice softening as they entered the master bedroom.

Sarah felt his warmth against her back as he pressed his body against her, his arms encircling her waist.

"Sometimes...sometimes not." he whispered into her hair. "There are times when the protocol can be a pain in the..."

"Shhhh." she hushed, turning into his embrace, her fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw.

"Kiss me, John?" she asked, her body arching against his. "Let me know you're really here...that this isn't just another dream."

"Sarah..." he said, his voice rasping with unfulfilled passion. "I've waited so long..."

Gently, he covered her lips with his, feeling the silky softness of her permeate his bones.

Sarah twined her arms around his neck and held him to her, unwilling to relinquish his firm body, inhaling the masculine scent of his after shave.

John's hands began to explore the gentle curves hidden beneath her jacket as he claimed her lips once more...probing the sweet depths of her mouth, feeling her heart pound against his chest.

A soft moan escaped her lips as he cupped her buttocks through her skirt, pressing her against his burgeoning erection, her deliverance so near and yet so far.

She felt the moisture build between her thighs as she gazed into the lean, hungry look of his eyes...a reflection of her own?

Slowly, John removed her jacket and began to free the buttons of her blouse, his fingers trembling with anticipation.

"It's all right, John...I'm not going anywhere." she soothed, her own urgency evident in her voice as she began to stroke the hardened prominence between his legs.

"Oh, Sarah...don't!" he gasped, his words ragged and guttural. "It's been so long...I want you so much..."

Reluctantly, she removed her hand as he caressed the bare line of her back, releasing the catch of her bra, and adding it to the growing pile on the packing cartons.

Quickly, her pulse pounding in her ears, Sarah opened the waistband of her skirt and dropped it to the floor.

John was overcome, his straining arousal pressing tightly against his uniform, his eyes clouding with passion.

Gently, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bare bed, his gait staggered and unsteady.

Then, tenderly, he began to peel the last of her clothing down her hips, greeting each new territory with his lips as it emerged before his gaze.

"Oh...John..." she breathed, fighting to touch him beneath his clothing. "I want to feel you in my hands, my love... Hurry...please!"

With a motion born of urgency, John rose and began to tear at his clothing, an endangered button bouncing across the bare, hardwood flooring.

Mesmerized, Sarah caressed his body with her eyes as he lowered the final barrier between them and stood before her, his engorged member standing proudly erect, drawing her irresistibly forward.

"Sarah..." he warned, as she slipped from the bed and dropped to her knees between his feet. "You know what this does to me...this is not a good time..." he gasped as she enclosed his enormous shaft between her palms and began to caress the smooth, hard tip of his maleness with her tongue.

Hungrily, she drew the massive head between her lips, feeling it fill her mouth with its enormity, suckling the minute drops that escaped unbidden from its pulsating length. 

"Sarah!" he moaned. "Stop! I can't take any more! You're completely destroying my control!"

In one fluid motion, he placed his hands on her hips, and lifted her atop a pile of packing cartons.

"John?" she began, uncertainly "What..."

Stroking her inner thighs, John, inserted his fingers within her, parting her, baring her to his gaze...his probing tongue...

Sarah was overcome with the nearness of him... the feel of him within her...with the gentle caress of his fingers against her tender nub. 

Frantically, she clutched at his hair as her climax swept over her, her legs wrapping tightly around his broad shoulders, her cries echoing through the barren room.

"John! Please...please!"

Wiping his face on his discarded t-shirt, John parted her thighs once again and drove his hardened length deep within her, filling her, sending her ever beyond the brink.

Briefly, he paused to allow her body to adjust to his intimate invasion, then clasping her hips firmly between his hands, he pulled her against him, impaling her once more on his massive erection.

Unstable at best, the cartons beneath her started to shift under her impassioned response. As they began to slide and topple to the floor, John placed his hands beneath her buttocks, lifting her against him...plunging deeper into her body...carrying her... mounting her against the wall.

Sarah wrapped her legs tightly around his lunging hips, feeling his powerful thrusts over and over again deep within her core, his lips feeding hungrily against her throat.

Again she cried out in completion, moisture flooding between her thighs, her body responding to his massive coupling as he filled her with the moist heat of his passion, and joined her fall over the brink of sanity.

Gasping, he held her in his arms, supporting her weight, impaling her against the wall like a butterfly on a pin. Then, finally, taking a deep cleansing breath, he carried her in his arms to the bed.

Gently, he lay down beside her, covering her body with his shirt, brushing her hair away from her moist forehead.

"Sarah...Darling...did I hurt you? I tried to hold back...to give you more of a chance to adjust to my...well...you know...size." he said, a slight flush spreading across his cheeks. "I just can't seem to control myself around you. I can lead an entire unit into battle without breaking a sweat, but a look...a touch from you and I lose my mind."

Sarah's eyes were closed, her mind bathing in the afterglow of his love...his passion.

"Sarah?" he spoke, concern tingeing his voice. "Are you all right? Talk to me!"

Limply, Sarah opened her eyes and tried to focus on her lover's face, then, giving up, she rolled toward him and spread his shirt over both of their bodies. "Never change, my love." she sighed contentedly. "You're perfect just as you are."

Then finally, their bodies intimately entwined, they fell into a deep, restful sleep...each content in the knowledge that they would awake in each other's embrace...a dream no longer.

Sarah MacKenzie's Apartment
Duke University

And so the months had passed, with Sarah spending her weekdays deep in her studies, and her weekends in John Farrow's arms.

Then Christmas came, and for the first time in her life she had someone of her own with whom to spend the season.

John and Sarah had taken a Saturday drive into the snow-covered mountains and cut a tree to decorate at his home in Courthouse Bay. Sarah had strung popcorn and cranberries, while John had watched her delight unfold, childlike, with each passing day.

She spent her holiday break at John's home on base, filling her days preparing for next semester's classes, and her nights making slow, sweet love to the man who filled her dreams.

By the time New Year's had arrived, Sarah had begun to file her lifetime of loneliness away in a solitary place within her, replacing it instead with a deep, abiding love for the man who had given her the gift of life.

With John's arrival, Sarah's law school academic capabilities had suddenly begun to blossom. No longer playing "catch up", Sarah had become a prominent and sought after study partner, and was frequently referred to by her professors as not only a top student, but as a formidable lawyer-to-be.

Then, as 1993 began its slow progression, John began to get word of a potential deployment of the 24th MEU to Somalia, in support of the United Nations "Operation Restore Hope"

As February gave way to March, the rumor became a certainty. John would be shipping out with his troops within the week in an attempt to keep the Somalian clan warlords at bay and provide humanitarian relief to the beleaguered people of that oppressed country.

Sarah was crushed. As the CO of a "paper battalion" in Okinawa, John had been safe and secure. But now, commanding a Marine Expeditionary Unit, he would be on the front lines, the vanguard of all combat units deployed in the skirmish. There was a very real possibility that he might never return home to her.

While Mac, a Marine herself, was proud of John's role in securing the peace, Sarah...the woman within...was terrified at the thought of losing her lover in the throes of battle. Finally, torn and distraught, Sarah had Barb cover her classes while she spent the last few days with John in Courthouse Bay.

Busy readying his men for deployment, John had very little time to spend with Sarah during that last week, but being a Marine, she understood. Instead, she was grateful for each moment they were privileged to share...cherishing their time together as though it would have to last until the end of her days.

The night before his departure, she had lain in John's strong arms in Courthouse Bay while he stroked the tension from her body, softly touching...caressing, as though to take the memory of her passion with him in the months to come.

Sarah had wanted to forego her birth control pills that last week, the thought of a child...John's child... a consolation in her time of need. But John was adamant.

"I can't do that, Sarah. I can't do that to you...and I could never leave my child behind without a father... if anything should happen to me. Promise me that you won't consider it, Sarah. Sweetheart...I need to hear you say it."

And so, with tears in her eyes, she'd given her word...her sacred vow, and though it broke her heart...she had honored his request.




JAG: Sarah Ch. 03



Finally, it was time for him to go. Dressed in fatigues, his duffel slung firmly over his shoulder, John left before dawn the next morning...taking her happiness with him. 

The light gone from her eyes, Sarah watched as his Humvee disappear down Front Street, knowing that if he failed to return...she would never allow herself to love again.

Sarah MacKenzie
Central Campus Apts., #716
Duke University
Durham, N.C.

March 17, 1993

Dearest John,

I realize that you may never get this letter...war is hell on correspondence too. But for my own piece of mind, I've decided to write anyway.

John...I wish I could be there with you...holding you...shielding you...keeping you from harm. You're probably laughing at the thought...ME protecting YOU... but you have no idea what lengths a woman will go through to safeguard those she loves.

My Darling...I took your pillow the morning after you left. I keep it by me each night as I wonder where you are, and what you're doing. I only wish it could talk to me, and reassure me that you're safe and well.

Please, my love...don't take any unnecessary risks. I know you have a job to do...your duty...and that as a Marine, I should understand. But, it's the woman who loves you and not the Marine who's writing this letter.

I need you safe...I need you home...I need you mine.

I'll be waiting,
Your Darling, Sarah 

1600 HOURS
April 2, 1993
Sarah's Apartment

"Hey! Where are you this time?" Barb scolded, frustrated at her friend's lack of application. "This paper isn't going to write itself, you know!" 

"I know...I know..." Sarah said for the third time in an hour, but did you see the CNN footage on Somalia this morning? They were sending Marines home in body bags...Marines from the 24th MEU! That "war lord" up in the hills has hostages! What if they've taken John?

"He's safe, Sarah. Until you hear differently, you have to believe that! You can't sleep...you're not eating...your studies are going to hell. You've got to snap out of this! At this rate, you'll be a basket case by the time he gets home!"

"Besides, he's an officer, isn't he? He's not apt to be out in the jungle crawling through the underbrush with a sniperscope, or whatever. He's the head of an MEU, for crying out loud!"

"By the way...what's an MEU, anyway?"

Sarah smiled. Barb was a good friend...she always knew the right thing to say."

"It stands for 'Marine Expeditionary Unit'. It's a self-contained battalion of about 2200 Marines. They're trained for ground and air combat, you know...hand-to hand , tanks, helicopters, amphibious vehicles and the like. They carry their own support personnel, provisions, the whole works. They're completely self-contained...they can deploy anywhere at any time."

"And your guy is the 'head honcho?'"

"Uh huh. He's the commanding officer...the colonel in charge of the 24th MEU."

"Wow...You didn't tell me you were sleeping with 'Rambo'!"

Sarah tried to smile...the humor never reaching her eyes. "What if he doesn't come home, Barb? What if I never see him again? What will I do with the rest of my life..."

April 14, 1993

Darling Sarah,

Sweetheart, I got your letter...how could you ever doubt Marine efficiency?

I can't tell you much about the situation here...even the toilet paper is classified...but there are news people all over the place, so you probably know as much as I do anyway.

Sarah...Sweetheart...you worry too much! I'm fine! I know it's not much consolation to the families of the men who have been shipped home...but we've actually sustained very few casualties. My men are well trained...and you have no idea how much we're needed here."

I do have some good news that I can share with you. The 22nd MEU has arrived, and they're going relieve my unit in a short while. As soon as we can expedite a smooth transition, we'll be on our way home!

I can't wait to see you, Sweetheart. You're in my every thought...you fill my dreams. The memory of you in my arms is what keeps me going. It won't be long now...so don't worry!

PS...Don't worry about the pillow. We're even...I took your scarf.

Love,
John 

1700 HOURS
April 30, 1993
John Farrow's Home
Courthouse Bay

Sarah paced nervously across the floor. John's unit had landed hours ago...where was he?

Again, she pulled back the curtains and searched Front Street for a sign of his arrival, but saw nothing. She knew John would have had an extensive debriefing to go through as soon as he arrived, but enough was enough!

Exasperated, she rambled into the kitchen to get a glass of iced tea.

It was then she heard his key in the lock, and ran back toward the front room. 

"Sarah?" he called. "Sarah...are you here?"

She tried to call, but words seemed to fail her. Instead, she ran across the room and threw her arms around his neck...her face pressed tightly against his body...her tears dampening his shirt.

"It's okay...it's okay." he crooned, as though consoling a child. Gently, he nestled her beneath his chin, his hands stroking her trembling form.

"Oh John...I didn't mean to do that. Some Marine I am!"

Breathing deeply, she looked up into his eyes, her hands caressing the stubble on his chin. Then, rising on her tip-toes, she pressed her lips to his, exploring his dark recesses with her tongue.

John responded eagerly, running his hands over the curved softness of her breasts, cupping her buttocks, drawing her intimately against his hard body. 

But then he pulled away. "Sweetheart...I'm really foul. I need a shower in the worst way...and this face! I haven't seen a razor in days. Give me a little time to clean up. I smell like a horse stable!"

Planting a kiss on her forehead, he grabbed his duffel and headed for the bedroom. Within minutes, Sarah heard the shower running. In her mind's eye, she pictured him naked, lost in the steam, his soapy hands touching the very spots she longed to touch...and she knew where she wanted to be.

Quietly, she slipped out of her clothing and slid into the shower behind him.

John turned, his eyes stroking her naked form, his body responding to her nearness.

"Sarah..." he began, his mouth suddenly dry.

Silently, Sarah took the soap from his hand and began to massage the hair on his naked chest.

John closed his eyes, his breath becoming labored as her hands dipped below his waist and began to lather his distended erection.

"Oh, Sarah," he groaned, his reserve sliding down the drain amid the soap bubbles. "This is not how I planned our first time together...I wanted to do this right..."

"This IS right." she breathed, her body pressed to his, her leg curling against his hip.

"It sure feels that way..."

Mindlessly, John lifted her, bracing her back against the warm shower wall, his lips drawing her tender nipples deep within his mouth.

Sarah pressed her hips against him, her legs twining tightly around his waist, urging him to complete their union.

"John...I've waited so long...I want to feel you inside of me...now. Hurry..." she moaned, her hips undulating against him. "Hurry..."

Suddenly there was only heat...her voice...her body. Beyond control, John plunged mindlessly between her thighs...thrusting again and again, her cries of passion echoing in the small enclosure. And then he exploded within her, filling her, taking her to the edge...almost.

"You didn't come." he whispered raggedly, his body fighting for control.

"Yes...I did." she lied, but his look said that he knew better.

"We're not done yet." he whispered into her hair. "Give me five minutes to finish and shave," he said, indicating the pinkness around her nipple where his beard had abraded her tender flesh. "Wait for me..."'

Quickly, John finished up in the shower, then shaved the stubble from his face. Five minutes later, he walked into the bedroom, a towel draped low on his hips.

Sarah lay on the brass bed, her body wrapped loosely in a bath towel, awaiting his arrival. She felt a shiver of anticipation course through her body as he approached the bed, and dropped his covering to the floor.

To her amazement, he was already hard...his arousal looming before him, proud and determined.

Sarah wet her lips and began to slide toward him, her towel scrunching up between her legs, but John had other ideas.

"Not this time, Sweetheart. This time, I'm in charge."

Slowly, as John pressed her back against the bed, Sarah began once more to explore the firm contours of his body. But John was adamant...he would not be hurried again.

Softly, he imprisoned her wrists in his massive hands, and raised them above her head. "Grab the headboard, Sweetheart." he directed. "This one is for you...and I plan to take my time..." 

Aroused, Sarah clasped the brass railing above her head with her fists, goose flesh rising between her breasts.

Slowly, John opened her towel, exposing her moist body to his searching gaze. She was beautiful. He wanted her again...now...but his needs would have to wait. This time, Sarah came first.

Parting her thighs with his hands, John began stroking their pale interiors, positioning his knees between them. Then, resting his weight on his elbows, he stretched out on top of her, his sex lightly probing the moist vortex of her passion.

He began, as he had planned a million times over the last two months... at the top...pressing his lips hungrily against hers, plunging deeply into the soft sweetness of her mouth...stealing her breath and giving her his own.

His hands framing her tender breasts, he lowered his lips to the pulse point at the base of her throat...inhaling her scent...tasting her moans as she arched her neck in passion, her nipples stiffening in anticipation.

Then, trailing a line of tiny kisses across her chest, John continued his decent, pausing to nuzzle first one breast, and then the other...his tongue teasing them to attention...his lips drawing them deep into the hot, wet interiors of his mouth.

Aroused beyond belief, Sarah writhed beneath him, moisture building between her thighs, her fingers releasing the headboard and combing madly through his hair.

John paused, once again raising her hands above her head. "Not yet, Sweetheart...just hang on..."

His own body shivered in anticipation, as he once again began his trek downward, across the dewy plains of her abdomen, tasting her flesh, dipping maddeningly into her naval, then descending still further.

Forcefully, Sarah gripped the headboard, her knuckles white against the pink flesh of her hands, her breath coming in ragged gasps as her throat arched in passion. 

Then, John drew back, and raising her legs, he coaxed her knees apart, opening her fully...exposing her throbbing core to his hungry gaze.

Gently, John inserted his thumbs, parting her moist folds, massaging the tender bud of her desire with his fingers.

Sarah whimpered, her hips arching against him, her biceps rock hard as she grasped the headboard.

"Oh...John!" she cried into the stillness as he thrust his tongue deep inside her, pantomiming the act she so desired.

"John!" she fairly screamed, her body shaking, her climax erasing her last vestige of control. "Oh, God ... now...please!"

Wiping his face on her towel, John positioned his massive arousal between her quaking thighs, and plunged deeply inside of her. Beyond recall, Sarah moaned loudly, her hips rising to meet his maddening thrusts, her fingers...free at last...grasping his hair...directing his lips against her straining nipples.

John raised his head and watched as passion once again seized her features...her lips opening wide in a silent scream...her eyes closed tightly against the intrusion of the world.

It was then, and only then, that he allowed himself the release his body cried out so desperately to achieve. Throwing his head back, he plunged himself totally within her...again and again...her pleas for more an aphrodisiac to his ears, until finally he found his own release and flooded her with the moist heat from within him.

And then she collapsed, her body sated and gasping, her nipples still pebbled as she lay, like warm Jello upon the bed beside him.

Gently, John nudged the bedspread from beneath her, and covered her still, limp form. Then, sliding in behind her, he drew her within the warmth of his embrace, his arms wrapped protectively around her, his lips nuzzling her hairline.

My Darling Sarah, he thought, memorizing the curve of her lips. Nothing could keep me from returning home...as long as you're here waiting for me.

She awoke, hours later, still surrounded by his warmth...his scent...the touch of his body against her. She opened her eyes and gloried in the presence of him. Not "Rambo", she thought... John Farrow...a definite upgrade.

Silently. softly, she threaded her fingers through his hair. She'd never seen it this long before. Two months away from the base barber had made a big difference. Gone was the short Marine cut she was accustomed to seeing, replaced instead by a length of wavy mane that reached almost to his collar...she liked it.

Then her fingers came in contact with something odd. A raised area...rough...raw against his scalp, hidden beneath his hairline.

John awoke with a start, grabbing her wrist as though to ward off a blow.

"John? What's that I feel...on your head? It feels like a scar or something. It wasn't there before you left...I'd have noticed."

Realizing he still had her wrist in his grip, John released her, kissing the reddened imprint of his hand on her flesh.

"It's not anything," he began. "just a scratch. I was out with a Cobra crew, trying to get a lead on a recon team that had vanished, and some Bozo took a potshot at me. Hey," he smiled, noting the panicked look in her eyes, "Really...it wasn't anything at all!"

"Not anything? Not anything! How can you say that! A Somalian gunman shoots you in the head while you're out doing SOMEONE ELSE'S job on helicopter reconnaissance, and you want me to just shrug it off?"

"John, you have trained Marines to do that ...you don't have to be out in the field yourself. It's not your job. You weren't even going to tell me, were you?"

John sat upright, his eyes stern...his jaw set and intractable.

"First of all," he began, "it IS my job. Everything having to do with that Unit is my job! I had men out there...I can't expect my troops to follow a leader who'd just abandon them in a situation like that. They wouldn't respect me...I wouldn't respect myself."

"Secondly...I wasn't shot...I was 'grazed'. My medic took a couple of stitches and slapped a Band-Aid on it. I was back in the field ten minutes later. It was NOTHING. And, no, I wasn't going to tell you about it. There's nothing to tell...it was the equivalent of a paper cut."

"John," she said, her voice small and strained, "another millimeter, and you would have gone home in a body bag. That isn't 'nothing'. I asked you not to take any unnecessary risks...and instead you put yourself in the line of fire. I can't understand this!"

"Sweetheart...another millimeter, and he would have missed me entirely, and we wouldn't be having this conversation!" 

He paused, gauging the words he was about to say. "Sarah...I'm a soldier. It's what I do...it's what I am. You're a Marine. I thought you could understand that."

"I have to get back to the office. I have two months worth of paperwork waiting for me."

Silently, John dressed in his office uniform, his eyes averted...each afraid to break the silence and risk saying something that could destroy the love between them.

Finally, dressed and ready to leave, John settled on the side of the bed and took her hand in his. "Sarah...I love you...more than I've ever loved anyone in my life...but you have to understand. I can't change. This is who I am. This is my life."

Wordlessly, she watched him rise and leave the room, the sound of the front door echoing in the empty house.

Her eyes began to fill with unshed tears. Curling into a ball, she stared into the emptiness of the room. "John...I thought I was your life." she whispered softly.

May 14, 1993
Sarah's Apartment
Duke Univ. Campus

Things had been strained between them. The weekends had come and gone, but each time either one or the other had come up with an excuse to forego their time together.

Summer break had finally arrived.

The Corps had assigned Mac to paralegal duty at Quantico, 300 miles to the north, until classes resumed in the fall.

One month before, Sarah would have taken this separation as a crushing blow...hard to cope with, and harder still to live with. But after the past month...it offered a blessed relief from the stress of their dying relationship.

And so, cordially, almost formally, Sarah had bidden good-bye to John and headed her ancient Jeep toward Virginia, leaving her lover, and taking only the pain of their loss with her on the journey north.

June 30, 1993
Marine Corps Judge Advocate Division
Marine Base Quantico
Quantico, Virginia

Quantico was exciting!

Just minutes south of Washington D.C., it served both as the primary headquarters for the Marine Corps, and the F.B.I. training grounds as well.

Mac's role, while minor, placed her squarely in the center of the busy whirl that seasoned the atmosphere on the enormous Marine Base. At first it seemed easy to bury the stress of her failing relationship with John beneath the demands of her new job. But as the novelty began to wear off, she found the core of her discontent just as dark and painful as it had been the day John had returned from Somalia. 

They'd written sporadically over the four weeks since her departure, but neither had dared to pick up the phone and call...fearful that their last words might indeed be their last.

Their correspondence, while not confrontational, was impersonal and lacking the luster of lovers in a loving relationship. 

As Sarah reread them over and over again, searching for some sign that he had understood the fear that separated them, she realized, sadly, that they could have been written by a distant cousin rather that the man she was suppose to love...who was supposed to love her.

And so, as June wore on into July, and July approached August, John and Sarah continued to drift farther and farther apart...each day more irretrievable than the last.

It was on a rainy day, early in August that Mac looked up to find a young man in civilian clothing, dripping by her desk in the outer office.

"May I help you, Sir?" she asked, her official facade in place.

"Well...I don't know. What did you have in mind?" he joked, obviously appreciating the view.

"Something along legal lines Mr...Mr..."

"Muldar...Fox Muldar."

"Well, Mr. Muldar, what can the Judge Advocate's Office do for you this afternoon?" she smiled, grateful for a friendly face when her life was feeling so empty.

"Well, I came by to see Colonel Sheridan, but maybe you'd better take care of him first...he looks like he needs it more."

Sarah turned her head, her breath suspended within her. There, standing in the doorway, soaked to the skin, stood John Farrow.

Shakily, Sarah saluted her superior officer, but John didn't return the gesture.

"John...Colonel...I'm surprised to see you here. How is everything at Camp Lejeune?" she said, attempting a weak try at the appropriate protocol.

"Sarah...we need to talk. When do you get off?" he asked without preamble.

"I can leave for lunch right now...Sir." she replied nervously, noting that they were not alone.

"Oh hey, don't mind me...I can find my own way back to Sheridan's office." Muldar said, backing down the hall, a smirk on his face. "Boy...talk about the 'new Marines'," he muttered as he vanished down a corridor on the left.

Sarah grabbed her purse and an umbrella, and the two made their way out into the storm toward his car, which was waiting at the curb.




JAG: Sarah Ch. 03



"John," she began "I only have an hour for lunch, and I'm not really hungry. Can't we just find somewhere to talk?"

"That sounds good to me, Sarah. I'd like that."

Silently, he drove along Fuller Road, turning south on Potomic Ave, and again along River Road toward the town of Quantico. There, on a promontory overlooking the river, he brought his car to a halt and sat staring at the rain sheeting down the windshield.

"Sarah...I need to know...is it over between us? Is what I do so terrible, that what we had is finished? I can't keep waiting for the other shoe to fall. I need to know..." he repeated again, "I can't go on this way."

"Oh John..." she rasped, her voice hoarse and strained, "I worried so much when you were gone. I've had so much pain in my life...I just couldn't take any more. So, I tried to put some distance between us...to push the hurt away. But it didn't work. It's still there...stronger than ever...and I'm the cause."

She swallowed hard, her voice failing, her eyes haunted and pleading.

"John...I'm sorry. I know that you did what you had to do, and that as a Marine I should understand, but loving someone as much as I love you is like giving hostages to fate...in the space of a heartbeat it can all be over. I could lose you, and spend the rest of my life in mourning. I couldn't live with that."

John tensed, sure that her next words would spell the end of them...the end of everything.

Gently, Sarah took his hand in hers. "But I can't live without you either. Without you I'm not really alive. I love you, John...I need you."

Closing his eyes, John breathed a ragged sigh of relief. "Thank God, Sarah...thank God." 

Then hesitantly, as though for the first time, John pressed his lips to hers, tasting first one corner, then the other, his hand coming to rest on the curve of her hip.

John...John, I've missed you so." she cried. "Hold me...hold me."

Obediently, John placed her atop his lap, pressed snugly between his body and the steering wheel.

Sarah inhaled the masculinity of him, stroking his face as she once more sought his lips, her touch becoming more frenzied with each moment.

"Sarah...we can't...not here. Let me pick you up after work. We'll have the whole night to catch up on lost time," he gasped, feeling his arousal pressing heatedly against her bottom.

"Touch me, John. Please...I've wanted to feel your hands touching me again for so long. Please...touch me now. Don't make me wait..." she breathed.

John groaned. This was reckless...impossible...but his hands longed for the touch of her flesh as well, and he knew that it had to be.

Tenderly, his right hand began to stroke the satiny length of her thigh beneath her skirt, caressing her buttocks, pulling her underwear and pantyhose past her hips, and down the length of her legs. Then, dropping her shoes to the floor, he added her undergarments to the tiny pile and began once again to stroke beneath her skirt.

John leaned her back on his left arm, his lips claiming hers, his tongue thrusting intimately, demandingly within her.

Breathlessly, Sarah felt his right hand slide between her thighs, working its way maddeningly upward, his fingers probing between her wet curls, caressing the slippery nub of her passion.

Sarah closed her eyes as the tension built within her, the proof of her arousal flowing heatedly between her thighs.

And then she gasped...her body quaking under his intimate exploration, her head thrown back as she filled the small enclosure with wordless acclaim. 

"Oh John...I've missed you so much!"

"Sweetheart..." he breathed "you have no idea...".

Fall 1993
Durham, North Carolina

Summer passed blissfully for John and Sarah.

When the fall semester rolled around, Sarah once again resumed her studies as a second-year law student at Duke, augmenting her basic studies with individualized coursework involving the Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ) - the official written guideline for legal jurisprudence within the military.

Sarah was enjoying her independent study course immensely, and opted to write a comprehensive report outlining suggestions for the remediation of gender bias and sexual harassment within the military. 

As summer became just another memory, the rolling hills of North Carolina began to shed their garb of green and take on the colors of autumn. Sarah, tired of her forced isolation in the world of academia, felt the urge to get out into the countryside and take in the wonders of nature before the snow began to fall. And so, on a glorious weekend in October, John and Sarah drove out to Rougemont and rented a pair of saddle horses for an overnight trip into the blazing foothills of Appalachia.

The air was crisp as they set out along the trail, their saddlebags filled, and their warm, down sleeping bag stowed behind Sarah's back. Northward they rode, exploring the creeks and inlets along the shores of Falls Lake, stopping periodically to stretch and rest the horses.

At long last they came to a small clearing beside a clear spring flowing lazily into the lake. There, with the autumn sun setting in the west, they made camp and settled themselves in for the night.

While John tethered the horses by the stream, Sarah gathered firewood and began to lay the ground cloth upon which their double sleeping bag would rest.

John had offered to pack the provisions for the trip, but Sarah, knowing that military MREs (Meals Ready to Eat) would be the order of the day, had tactfully suggested that she be in charge of that department. And so, when John returned from tending the horses, he found Sarah kneeling before a blazing fire, a pan of bannock bread sizzling before her, and two chubby baking potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil nestled among the coals.

"Mmmm, looks good," he smiled, his eyes following the curve of her buttocks as she tended the fire.

"John..." she warned, "I know that tone. This isn't a microwave, you know. I can't just come back to it later. I have to keep my eye on it, or we'll have 'burnt offerings' for supper."

"Well, lets see here," he mused, kneeling behind her, his arms encircling her waist. "These potatoes will probably take another hour..." he assessed, his lips descending the line of her neck. "And this bannock..." he tapped a finger against the crusty surface of a patty, will do nicely all banked up right over here." He reached between her thighs and grasped the handle of the cast iron skillet, moving it to the side. "And...what's this?" he asked, raising a silvery packet from the rocks before her.

"Freeze dried t-bones." she offered, her pulse skipping a beat. "I thought..."

"I like my meat rare," he whispered into the stillness of the early dusk. "I think we could put these off on the side of the pit, and let nature take its course."

Nature indeed, she thought, feeling the warmth of the fire between her thighs, and the heat of his body pressed intimately against her backside.

Silently, John guided her across the clearing, his hands stripping her blouse and bra, freeing her breasts in the crisp mountain air...her nipples puckering under the chilled assault.

"Now I'm really hungry," he whispered huskily, his fingers caressing her hardened peaks.

She heard a "pop" as the snap of her jeans give way, and felt the warmth of his hands below her waistband, lowering her pants, kneading the firm roundness of her buttocks.

Sarah pressed her hips against him, feeling the prominence of his manhood prodding intimately against her abdomen.

"Oh John," she breathed, her words muffled as he slid his tongue between her lips. "Take off your clothes...I want to feel you against me..."

Swiftly, John pulled his shirt over his head and reached for the buckle of his belt. In no time at all, his pants were piled on the mossy ground, his full erection wrapped in the last rays of the day.

Sarah dropped to her knees atop the sleeping bag, hungrily eyeing his massive offering.

"My love..." she whispered into the darkness...what about appetizers?" 

As the glow of the flames cast their soft shadow across the earth, John lowered himself onto their sylvan bed and rolled invitingly onto his back.

"John...?" Sarah asked questioningly.

Saying not a word, her lover claimed her hand and drew her down atop of his eager body, spreading her legs as though mounting her steed once again.

Then, nudging her forward, he positioned her intimately above his questing lips.

"John!" she flushed, withdrawing slightly, unsure of her response. "I'm so 'out here'...what if someone sees us?"

"Let 'em get their own girl." he grinned wickedly. "You're taken."

Sarah gasped as his tongue began its silken invasion deep within her wet folds, his hands cupping her buttocks, holding her intimately against his hungering lips.

Sarah's felt the strength ebb from her thighs, her body losing control...losing balance.

Then John's strong hands were around her rib cage... supporting her...stroking her nipples with his work-roughened thumbs.

Sarah felt a familiar tightness growing deep inside of her, he breath becoming shallow...ragged. A wave of sexual electricity sweep over her, consuming her, turning her bones to jelly. If not for the support of his strong, competent hands, she would have fallen to the ground... helpless at his touch.

Lifting her once again, John placed her astride his massive erection, waiting for her to engulf his turgid member. But Sarah had other thoughts.

"Not this time, Colonel...I intend to be fed." she grinned, lowering her head to his massive organ, her tongue stroking its full, rigid head...her lips tugging him deep inside her.

Now it was John's turn to gasp. "Sweetheart...if you keep that up, you'll most certainly get your wish!"

Unable to find enough room to accommodate his impressive member, Sarah trailed her hands along his distended shaft, feeling it pulse uncontrollably beneath her fingertips, hearing his erratic breathing deepen and fill the stillness.

"Sarah," he groaned, as she tasted the first salty drops upon her tongue. "Sarah!...Stop!...Red Light! I want to come inside of you...not this way"

Quickly, John reached between his legs and lifted her once again above his throbbing erection. Then, grasping her hips firmly between his hands, he began to thrust upward, driving deep inside her belly.

Sarah felt him fill her, his massive tool plunging harder, deeper than ever before. Like putty in his hands, she leaned forward, bringing the delicate bud of her desire into contact with his thrusting hardness, feeling her own release once again building within her.

Lost in the whirlwind, Sarah threw back her head in wild abandon, her cries of passion carrying in the chill mountain breeze. She felt his moist heat fill her core as his body shuddered and he followed her to a private world, formed by the union of their bodies.

"You're a wild man!" she gasped, her body laying sated upon him. "You take my breath away, my love..."

"Sweetheart...you ARE my breath...and my heartbeat...and my life. I don't know how I could live without you...I'm not sure I could."

"Say," she asked, her pulse finally slowing to a manageable level. "What was that 'red light' thing about?"

"I don't know...I wasn't thinking. I just wanted to warn you to stop. It just popped out, I guess." he responded sheepishly. "Silly, huh?"

"No...I like it. Maybe I can use it in my paper on gender bias and sexual harassment in the military." 

"Of course, then there's always 'green light'," she smiled, licking his flat, hard nipples, "and 'yellow light' has some really exciting possibilities..."

"Oh, Sarah...you're insatiable..."

January, 1994
John's home, Courthouse Bay
Camp Lejeune, N.C.

John got word of his new deployment just after the first of the year. In support of United Nations "Operation Continue Hope", he and his men had been ordered back to Somalia.

Determined not to let this come between them again, Sarah pasted a pleasant facade upon her face when her lover was present, and saved her fearful tears for the loneliness of the night.

Once again, she watched as his Humvee vanished down the length of Front Street, taking the love of her life far away, into the arms of danger.

Silently holding the tears at bay, she closed up his Courthouse Bay home and drove away in her Jeep...his pillow tucked into the seat beside her. She had to be strong for both of them...she needed to be a Marine... and Marines didn't cry. 

And so, her throat aching for want of him, her eyes filled with unshed tears, she returned to Durham and her studies...and the long, tortuous wait ahead.

Sarah MacKenzie
#716, Central Campus Apts.
Duke University
Durham, N.C.

Feb. 14, 1994

My Dearest John,

Happy Valentine's Day!

How I long to hold you in my arms, to taste your lips, ... to feel you inside of me. 

I know that you would never write about classified matters, but CNN shows footage of the horrors that surround you almost daily. I'm so proud of you...your bravery and compassion fill my soul. Because of you and your troops, the people of Somalia will have a chance at a decent life. You're my hero.

I had some good news this week. The person writing this letter is now officially "CAPTAIN" Sarah MacKenzie! My paper on "Sexual Harassment and Gender Bias in the Military" really caused a stir at the Pentagon...can you believe it! You'll be hearing "red light" all over the place when you get back...but not from me, my Darling. Where you're concerned, I'm strictly a "green light" woman...a concept that I plan to explore thoroughly when you get back.

Please be safe, my Love. I long to have you beside me once again when this insanity is over and the peace is won. Until then...you hold my heart in your hands...please take good care of it...

Your loving Sarah 

April 30, 1994
John Farrow's Home
Courthouse Bay

John was finally home!

Sarah was exuberant. Anxiously she awaited his arrival home, all of his favorite foods stocked in the pantry and 'fridge...his particular brand of scotch...candlelight... a romantic evening in the works.

At long last they were together. The wait was over, and the world was complete once more.

They spent the night lying in each other's arms, touching and being touched, making long, slow love to beat of their hearts.

Morning found them twined together like tendrils of ivy, their bodies as one, their breathing deep and undisturbed.

Finally, warmed by the light of day, John and Sarah reached for each other once more, and again celebrated the joys of life in each other's arms.

John chose that moment, as she lay sated and content in his embrace, to give her the bad news.

"Sweetheart...I've got something to tell you. You're not going to like it...but I have no choice here."

"John...what is it?" she asked, rising from her lethargy. "Oh, John...you weren't hurt again, were you?" 

"No, Sweetheart...that's not it. It's just...well...it's just that we're not staying. I have only this week, then my unit is shipping out again for the Adriatic...to a place called Bosnia. United Nations troops are being deployed into the region to stop an internal massacre of civilians in what the Bosnian Serbs call "ethnic cleansing". We're going to lend support to an international NATO force in operations "Provide Promise", and "Deny Flight". 

Sarah was thunderstruck. He was leaving in only one week? The thought was incomprehensible!

"John...I don't know what to say..." she rasped, misery and despair overwhelming her.

She swallowed her tears, a hard lump sticking in her throat.

"I didn't want to tell you last night, Sweetheart. I wanted us to have one night together before I had to start getting ready to leave again."

"Tell me you understand..." he said softly, his lips pressed against the curve of her throat. "Sarah...leaving you hurts worse than anything that could ever happen in battle...please tell me you understand. I have to go. I have no choice." 

She couldn't speak...couldn't breath. She wouldn't allow herself to cry. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging silently to the precious moments left in her care...and let the tears flow in her heart.

October 30, 1994
Marine Base Quantico
Quantico, Virginia

Sarah was in the middle of her legal internship at Quantico. 

Six months had passed. The small pile of letters she'd collected in her nightstand drawer had grown, and now lay in a bundled sheaf, gathered within the confines of a large old jewelry box. She'd reread them over and over again, until the creases had grown frail, and the paper had begun to tear and fall apart. Their one-dimensional relationship was no longer enough. Even his pillow had forgotten his scent.

And then the wait was over.

After a six month deployment in Bosnia, John was finally returning home. Surely the 24th MEU would be allowed some "down" time after two consecutive assignments?

Smiling, Sarah thought of the months to come... Thanksgiving...Christmas...the New Year, all in the arms of the man she loved.

She had only six months left school, maybe they could begin to make plans for the future...their future...together.

Upon their return, John had given his battalion a week's 'leave' to become reacquainted with their loved ones, and reaffirm the values that they were giving their last measure to preserve throughout the world.

John, himself, paused only long enough to shower, shave and repack, the climbed gratefully into his Humvee and turned northward toward Quantico.

"John!"

Sarah was beside herself with joy. He was here...he was FINALLY here!

Ignoring the dictates of protocol, the two stood in the middle of the Marine JAG office, holding each other as though eternity had come to an end...each lost in the 'oneness' that had finally come to pass.

"John...You're really here." she smiled, tracing the small wrinkles that had grown at the corners of his eyes. "I can't believe it. It's been so long..."

"Sarah...can we go somewhere...away from the base, for a while? Any chance you could get the rest of the day off?"

"Give me a minute." she grinned happily. "I'll see what I can do."

Quickly, Sarah paid a visit to her C.O.'s office. She returned moments later, wreathed in pure joy, and grabbed her purse from behind her desk.

"I have the rest of the week off, John. What exactly did the colonel have in mind?"

Six days...that was as long as he had.

"Let's head back down to Courthouse Bay, Sweetheart. But first, there's something I have to talk to you about. We need to go out to my Humvee and talk." 

Wordlessly, John drove to their spot overlooking the river, and set the emergency brake.

Sarah's eyes were dark with worry, her expression somber and puzzled.

"John...what is it? You're scaring me..."

John rested his left hand on the steering wheel, his right hand massaging the bridge of his nose.

"Sarah...I know how hard this has been on you. It may not seem that way...but I do. I just...love you so much. But I can't stand to see you hurt anymore, particularly by me."

"John? What are you saying? Why are you telling me this?"

"Sarah...we're leaving again in a week. The 24th is being deployed to Haiti."

She closed her eyes, her mind reeling from the blow. How could he be leaving her again?

"Sweetheart...I don't want you to wait for me this time," he said.

Sarah's chin sagged, her mouth hanging slack and useless. In the course of a sentence, John had stolen the air and sunshine from her life.

She tried to speak, but words failed her. She tried to breathe, but her body refused to cooperate. She tried not to cry, but the tears began to flow in mindless runnels down the pale ravages of her face.

"Sarah," he continued, realizing that he had driven her beyond the ability to respond. "Sweetheart...my Darling, this is what I mean. I can't let you go on living like this...waiting forever, and then having me turn around and leave...never knowing when we'll be together again, or for how long."




JAG: Sarah Ch. 03



Sarah began to puff gently between her lips...small quick breaths...trying desperately to regain control of her body and mind.

She had to tell him that even though it was hard...she couldn't live without him. That the brief times they were able to share were worth more than most people had in a lifetime. She needed to let him know that no matter where he went, or for how long...she would always be waiting. Like him...she had no choice...he was her life.

She wanted to say so much...needed to say so much...but the words refused to come.

In desperation, she pressed her lips to his, hoping against hope that her unspoken message was clear, that he indeed heard the words she was unable to say.

"Sarah...my sweet Sarah," he breathed, his voice trembling with emotion. "How could I have lived without you..."

He'd heard.

Same Day
John's Home in Courthouse Bay
Later that afternoon.

Silently, Sarah looked at the small packet of birth control pills in her hand...20 pink...7 blue...1 empty...all that stood between her and the child she so desperately wanted. She gazed again at the small pink tablet in her palm, hating the very touch of it. Angrily, she threw it into the sink and washed it from her view. It was time to talk to John.

Her heart pounding, she walked back into the bedroom at Courthouse Bay and slid into bed beside her lover.

Warm in the afterglow of their lovemaking...the first in six months... John tugged her against him, enfolding her in his arms. Gently, as though to reassure himself that she was really there, he began to stroke the softness of her shoulders, the bare line of her back. Tenderly, he reached down and took her hand in his, attempting to raise her palm to his lips...but it was already filled.

"What's this?" he questioned, a dim wariness growing in the pit of his stomach.

Sarah opened her hand and let the small packet drop to the firm planes of his chest.

"What do you have here," he asked, knowing full well what her answer would be. "birth control pills?"

"John, please...can't we talk about this?" she pleaded. "I know how YOU feel, but I need to make you understand how I feel..."

"Sarah..."

"No, John. Let me talk." she said, touching her fingertip to his lips. "I have to say this. I have to make you hear me."

The look in her eyes was more than he could bear. This was no idle request...it came from deep within her being.

Mutely, he cupped her chin in his hand, his thumb stroking the soft contours of her cheek, and waited for her to continue.

"John...I want a baby."

There. She's said it. The words that had once filled her mind were now free to find a home in the great world beyond...free to blossom and grow in her lover's heart, or die an unanswered death in the silence of the room.

"I know how you feel, my love. I know that you don't want to leave me and your child alone while you put your life on the line half way around the world...but I can't agree."

Silently, she placed his hand on her abdomen. "John...I want to feel you here. I want to know that part of you is growing inside of me. I want to know that no matter what happens, there will always be this bond between us, linking us...connecting us...even though we're thousands of miles apart. I want to give you a gift that no other woman could ever give you...our child."

John felt her body, warm against his palm, and stared deeply into her eyes.

"This means that much to you, Sarah?"

She nodded, pressing his palm once more against her womb.

Hesitantly, John removed his hand and picked up the small packet that still lay on his chest, his eyes misting with an emotional intensity that filled his soul.

"Are you sure about this, Sarah? Are you very sure?"

Again, she nodded.

"Then so am I, my love."

And so, flexing his wrist, he sent the small packet sailing through the air, deep into the waste basket on the other side of the room.

"Let's make a baby, my love..."

November 7, 1994
Bachelor Officer's Quarters
Marine Corps Base Quantico

She was alone again.

As though trapped in a never-ending cycle, John had once more slung his duffel over his shoulder and headed for the New River Air Station for his current deployment.

This time, however, he had left Sarah with new hope, a bright shining promise of new life...the possibility of a child.

Their passion had taken on a new intensity during the previous week. The thought that each coupling of their bodies could spell the beginning of a new life, made each joining magical and unique. Each time they made love...each time she felt him deep inside of her, she wondered..."will this be the time?"

Pensively, she stroked her stomach. "Let it be," she prayed..."Let it be."

But fate was against it. Two weeks later, Sarah felt the onset of her monthly cycle, and knew that her brief romance with motherhood was over.

Alone in her apartment...alone in her life, Sarah sobbed into the emptiness until there were no more tears to shed, and the ache within her had settled into a familiar pattern.

How could she tell John?

Once he'd embraced the idea, he'd become positively obsessed with the thought of becoming a father. He'd begun watching her with a strange little half-smile on his face, as though wondering what their child would look like. Would he have her dark, bedroom eyes? Would she be blond, as he had been in his youth. Would he have to fend the lotharios off of his porch to keep his precious daughter from falling under the spell of some itchy little Marine private? They'd talked about so much...shared so much...and now she would have to tell him that it had all come to naught.

My poor, sweet John, she thought...it was hard enough on her, but he would have to endure the loss far from home, under fire in the sweltering jungles of Haiti.

It would be an impossible letter to write, but it had to be done.

Cpt. Sarah MacKenzie
#213 BOQ
MCB Quantico
Quantico, Virginia

Nov. 23, 1994

My Dearest Love,

I wish I could think of another way to tell you my news. I wish I could be there to hold you and whisper it in your ear, to kiss the frown that I know will form between your eyes, and lay your head upon my breast as we console one another. But we have become two more casualties of this revolution, and I can't be with you at this moment.

My Darling, it seems that we were not meant to have a child at this time.

Maybe it was foolish of me to plan one now, with you so far away, and me still finishing law school. But the heart is not a bastion of reasonable thought, and it appears that powers greater than us have had to take the decision out of our hands.

I am consoled by the thought that neither this revolution nor law school will last forever. The thought of our creating a new life still fills me with hope, and as always, I long for your safe return.

Be brave, my love...be safe...come home.

All my love, Sarah 

January 22, 1995
Central Campus Apts.
Duke University

The holidays had been painful.

All around her she felt the warmth of the season...the glow of familial love...but not for her.

Sarah had spent her Christmas alone in her apartment on campus, her internship completed, and the apartment complex empty as thousands of students traveled home for the holidays.

Though she'd written to John every day, nothing could compensate for his absence, and the loneliness she felt became a haunting projection of him, far away in the brutal jungles of a foreign land.

It was with great relief that she once again resumed her studies on campus. At long last, her final semester was at hand. Customizing her coursework toward military application, Sarah was taking an Individualized Course, focussing this time on the area of international jurisdictional disputes in the prosecution of American military personal abroad. With so much strife in the world, she felt that this was a critical area of legal study for a military lawyer.

Then, on February 17, two letters arrived in the mail. The first, a letter from John, she opened immediately. Memorizing each word, she began to devour its contents.

He was coming home!

The 22nd MEU was to relieve John's unit on the 20th of February, and they would be home soon after.

The second envelope lay forgotten on the countertop, as Sarah read John's letter again and again, the words filling her eyes with tears, and her heart with joy.

Then, finally placing it aside, she noticed the last of her mail lying on the counter.

Her breath caught in her throat. It had an official Marine Corps seal. Could something have happened to John?

Trembling, she carefully slit the top and removed the single sheet from within. It wasn't about John. It was about her. She had just received her post-graduation assignment. 

As of April 30, 1995, Sarah would be posted as the legal officer to the 29th Marine Fighter Attack Squadron, in Aviano, Italy...a unit assigned to aerial reconnaissance over Bosnia..

March 5, 1995
John Farrow's Home
Courthouse Bay
Camp Lejeune, N.C.

John was home at last.

Though her final semester was rapidly coming to a close, and "moot court" was just around the corner, Sarah had packed her books and was waiting as usual when her lover walked through the door.

He looked tired, the gleam in his bright, blue eyes dulled by fatigue. The holocaust of war was taking its toll...he needed rest.

Their love-making, hurried and aggressive during past reunions, was now gentle and prolonged, as though to make each moment last an eternity.

Affected by the memory of the atrocities he'd witnessed in Bosnia and Haiti, John wrapped his arms protectively around his beloved, drawing her close to his body, shielding her from the horrors that still claimed his consciousness. 

"I see you brought your books along this time." he observed, glancing at her book-bag lying on the dresser. "Less than two months now, Sarah, and you'll be done. You must be excited."

"I am, John. Of course I am, but there's something we should talk about."

"Is it about the baby? If it is...you won't have to convince me again...I want a baby as much as you do. After what I've seen in Bosnia and Haiti...maybe more. There has to be an affirmation of life somewhere. I'd like it to start with us."

"John...that's just it...we can't start a baby now."

He looked puzzled. Had she given up on them finally?

"John...I just received my orders. I've been assigned to join the 29th Marine Aircraft Wing as their legal liaison on April 30th. 

John bolted upright, his face stern, his body tense.

"That's a Bosnian reconnaissance unit, Sarah! It may be in Italy, but their active deployment area is the no-fly zone over Bosnia! You can't go!"

It wasn't a request...it was an order...and it didn't sit well.

"What do you mean...I 'can't go'. You said it yourself a dozen times over...this isn't a choice. I didn't ask for this assignment, but now that it's been made, I HAVE to go."

"Sarah...you don't. I can fix it. I have connections... important people 'owe' me. I could have you reassigned to Lejeune...or Quantico if you like, but not Bosnia!"

"John," she began, knowing full well what he was going through, "you never used your connections to keep YOURSELF out of harm's way. I can't let you 'pull strings' for me either. The Corps has given me everything...a new life...I have obligations just like you do. How can you tell me not to go?"

Frantically, John pulled on his pants and began to pace the floor.

"Sarah..." he began, desperately searching for the words that would dissuade her. "You don't know what you're saying! I know that as 'support personnel' you won't be in the line of fire, but sometimes things happen...people end up where they're not supposed to be. I can't risk that. You don't know what it's like over there..."

"John...I know as much as any other Marine assigned to combat duty. There's no difference...unless you think that sleeping with an MEU Colonel makes me exempt!"

It was a low blow...and it hurt. But she was right. She was going to make a great lawyer...she'd already won THIS case.

John sank into a chair on the far side of the room, his eyes glued to her determined features. Futilely, he searched for an argument that would keep her home...keep her safe. But there was none. As the life-blood drained from his face, he accepted defeat. Sarah was going to war.

May 1, 1995
Aviano Air Base, Italy

Sarah stepped off of the transport beneath the bright, blue skies of northern Italy. All around her she could see the F-18 "Hornets" gearing up for their daily runs into the "no-fly" zone of Bosnia. She was truly here. This was war.

A young Marine corporal met her at the gate.

"Captain MacKenzie, Ma'am?" he saluted. "I'm corporal Simpson, Ma'am. I've been assigned to help get you 'squared away, and deliver you to Colonel Clemens' office ASAP, Ma'am."

Mac returned the salute, then allowed the corporal to stow her gear in the back of his Jeep for the ride to her quarters.

The airstrip at Aviano was similar to the one at New River, and probably similar to American military airstrips everywhere. Silently, Sarah gazed at the departure gate, remembering her parting moments with John at the New River terminal at Camp Lejeune.

He'd been upset, but that was predictable. He'd been hurt, but that was understandable. He'd been desperate...but that wasn't like him.

John had spent the better part of their last few weeks together trying to find new ways to undermine her resolve. The issue had become insurmountable...they'd quarreled often and loudly, but Sarah had remained strong. She'd had to adjust to John's deployments...and now it was his turn. She had a job to do, and she was going to do it. They'd parted badly.

Now, thousands of miles from home, Sarah wished he could be there to drown her insecurities in the deep, liquid blue of his eyes, the warm security of his embrace. But it was time to stand on her own two feet.

Quickly, she dropped her gear off at the BOQ and was driven to headquarters to meet her new commanding officer, Colonel Josh Clemens.

Firmly she tapped on the outer door to Colonel Clemens' office.

"Enter." responded the voice from within.

"Captain MacKenzie, reporting for duty, Sir!" Mac saluted.

"At ease, Captain. Take a seat."

"Yes Sir, thank you, Sir."

Colonel Josh Clemens was a trim, vigorous-looking man in his mid-forties. Though his smile was contagious, he was obviously a man who knew how to command.

Mac lowered herself into a nearby chair, her initial assessment of her new C.O. a positive one.

"Captain, I wanted to let you know what our legal requirements are, for you, right off the bat. We've needed a new legal officer for quite a while, so you'll have your work cut out for you."

"Yes Sir," Mac replied. I'm more than ready to go, Sir."

"First off, did you know that I requested you specifically for this assignment, Captain?"

"No Sir, I wasn't aware of that, Sir." Mac replied, puzzled.

"Well, I did, Captain. Your recent work on international jurisdictional disputes is sorely needed here. I felt you were the best 'man' for the job. Was I right?"

"Yes Sir! I'll do my best, Sir." she replied, confused that he should feel it necessary to confirm her devotion to duty.

"The reason I ask, Captain, is because I received a personal communiqué from an old friend this morning...Colonel John Farrow. I assume you're familiar with him?"

Mac frowned, her voice strained and distraught. "Yes, Sir. I know Colonel Farrow."

"Yes...well, Colonel Farrow apparently has some reservations about you're being here. He asked that I take personal responsibility for your welfare while in my chain of command."

Mac sat silently, her demeanor tense and stricken.

"Captain...let me be blunt. I'm not in the habit of treating my Marines like children. Is there something that I should be aware of here?"

"Colonel. May I speak freely, Sir?"

"Proceed, by all means, Captain."

"Sir, With all due respect, Colonel Farrow was out of line in requesting special treatment in my case. I neither expect nor require it, Sir. You would be doing me a great service if you would disregard that communiqué, Sir."

Wordlessly, Clemens assessed his new legal officer. So that was it, he rightly concluded. After all this time, John Farrow had finally met a woman he couldn't let go of, and it was eating him up.

"Consider it done, Captain." he replied, satisfied with her response. "Now...on to more important matters. You're aware that our current mission is reconnaissance over the no-fly zone in Bosnia?"

"Yes Sir, I know that, Sir."

Clemens nodded, handing her a large stack of dossiers. "Many of these, Captain, involve supposedly civilian complaints from Bosnian Serbs concerning altercations with Marine military within the boundaries of Bosnia. I suspect that most of them are nothing more than a legal effort to undermine our intervention in this war, but that's what I need you to find out."

Mac scanned the folders in her hands. "But Sir, some of this is written in Serbian. My exposure to that language is extremely limited. Is there someone on base who would be able to translate?"

"Yes, we have a number of translators and language instructors who can be of service initially. But since you may be required to enter secured areas within Bosnia to gather information and speak to witnesses, in the long run your effectiveness will be limited unless you yourself become acquainted with the language." 

"I understand that you currently speak Russian, Farsi and Japanese." 

"Yes Sir, that's correct, Sir,"

"Your obvious language facility was another reason for my request. That's why I've assigned a tutor to work with you. He assures me, that with your background you should be able to master the rudiments in short order, Captain. Do you agree."

"Yes sir, I'll do my best, Sir."

"Very well, then. Is there anything you need, Captain...any word you'd like me to pass along to Colonel Farrow?"

"No Sir," she replied, "None."

"Good. You're dismissed. Keep me informed of your progress."

"Yes Sir!" Mac saluted. Then, gathering her massive case load in her arms, she retreated to her quarters to begin sorting through the stack.

May 5, 1995
John Farrow's Office
Camp Lejeune, N.C.

"Colonel Farrow here."

"Hello. John? It's Josh Clemens...returning your call."

"Josh! It's about time! How is everything?"

"If you mean 'how is Sarah MacKenzie', she's fine."

John paused. "Yeah...I guess that IS what I mean. How's she doing, Josh?"

"According to my reports, she doing very well. She's already begun on a number of English-language-based cases, and her tutor tells me that he's never seen anyone pick up Serbian as quickly. She's a real asset."

"Serbian? Why do you have her studying Serbian?" You're in Italy!"

"John...most of these jurisdictional disputes occurred in Bosnia. She can't stay in Italy forever. Eventually, she's going to have to go on in."

"You're sending her into Bosnia!!"

"Hey...hey, calm down. As a non-combatant, she'll only be allowed into secured areas. You know that."

The phone remained silent as John digested this latest bit of information.

"John?" Clemens prodded, "you still there?"

"Yeah...I'm here."

"I think you need to 'lighten up', John. This woman is a Marine Captain, and she appears to be a good one. All she wants is a chance to do her job. I plan to let her do just that."

"Yeah...I know." he affirmed, his voice flat and impassive.

"And John...just so you know...I told her about your communiqué. She wasn't pleased. She said that she neither 'expects not requires' special treatment. That's from the horse's mouth, John. I think maybe you underestimate her."

"Maybe, Josh, maybe. To be honest, I'm not sure who I'm trying to protect more...her or me."




JAG: Sarah Ch. 03



June 2, 1995
Colonel Josh Clemens' Office
Marine Air Station
Aviano, Italy

"She's not here, John."

"What do you mean, 'she's not here'?" I leave my troops in Bosnia, and hop a transport to Italy to see Sarah, and you tell me that she's not here? Where is she?"

"Well, right now she's supposed to be in Sarajevo, collecting affidavits for a supposed rape case. She should be moving on to Ggornji Vakuf in a few days to investigate allegations of an assault on a civilian there. She won't be back for at least a week, John. She's out there doing her job! Where's the 24th been deployed this time?"

We're near Tuzla. Might as well be a million miles away."

"Right in the middle of it, huh?"

"Yeah...things have lightened up for a day or two though. The Serbs blew up a bridge over the Drina, right in our path...there's nothing we can do until the 586th brings in a temporary bridge to get my tanks and artillery across. So we wait." 

"Yeah...I'm aware of that situation. I have air recon surveying that area right now. We should have some news of Serb troop deployment in a few hours. Can you wait? I've got a bottle of that scotch you like...maybe we can talk."

"Sounds like a plan to me, Josh. Bring it on."

Two hours passed, and the warm glow of Josh's good scotch had made both men mellow and talkative.

They'd discussed a lot of things during their wait...caught up on 'old times', but the main topic of conversation had been Sarah.

"I never thought she would end up over here, Josh. If I had, I would have started pulling strings long ago. Now it's too late...she won't let me help."

"Maybe she doesn't want you to help, John, at least not in that way."

"What do you mean?"

"How many times have you deployed during your relationship with Mac?"

"Five...including this one...why?"

"And what was her reaction."

"She hated it. We almost broke up over it the first time."

"But she's still with you. Why do you think that is?"

"Because I told her..." he paused, "It's not the same thing, damn it!"

"Isn't it, John? You know, we're both old 'war horses'... we've been at this game a long time. Wherever you've been, I've been there too, so I'm speaking from experience. This is not some little 'hostess' you picked up on furlough. This is one incredible gal...and even though I personally don't understand what she sees in you... it sounds like you've got a good thing going. Don't blow it. Treat her like some mindless Bimbo, and you'll lose her."

"And what makes you such an expert on women? I've never seen a ring on your finger."

Josh smiled. "I couldn't deal with the 'rules of engagement'. Anyway, I may not know women, John, but I know Marines...and she's a good one. She deserves your respect...don't undermine her. Let her do her job."

The reconnaissance photos were in. As John had suspected, Serbian troops were massing on the eastern side of the Drina, waiting for the 24th to make its move.

There had been a further complication, however. One of Clemens' F-18s had been shot down behind the build-up of enemy troops, to the east, near the town of Broko on the Serbian border.

Lieutenant Charles 'Chuck' O'Day had apparently been able to activate his homing beacon, but while high altitude aerial photographs of the crash site were available, air rescue was not possible at that location due to the positioning of enemy deployments. 

He would prpbably head west, toward Tuzla, so that a force recon team from the 24th could implement a 'tactical recovery' from the area. But how was he to know where his 'pick-up' point would be, or that a westward deployment would take him squarely into the massing Serb strike force that awaited the 24th on the eastern side of the Drina?

He needed information...his life depended on it.

June 3, 1995
Marine Command Headquarters
Sarajevo, Bosnia

"I'm the best person for the job, Sir." Mac asserted.

"I speak the language...my coloring blends in anywhere...and no one would suspect a woman of a lone recon mission behind enemy lines. I AM the best you've got at the moment...if you don't let me go in, then Chuck O'Day is as good as dead."

"It's precisely because you ARE a woman, Captain, that I won't send you in."

Clemens watched as Mac began to build toward the inevitable explosion.

"Now before you have me up on charges...let me clarify my position. This has nothing to do with your capabilities. As a Marine, I have the utmost respect to your competence, but in this case...being a woman puts you at additional risk. I'm sure you're aware of the atrocities that have gone on where women are concerned, Captain. I'd hate to think what would happen to you if you were captured."

"Sir, Marines put their lives on the line every day. I'm aware of the additional risks involved, and believe me, I've given this careful consideration...but the fact remains...I'm still the best person for the job. I speak the language, I've been fully briefed, and I can be at the Drina, ready for deployment within two hours. I can do this, Colonel. Do you have anyone else with those qualifications?

"No, Captain." he said, tension etched across his brow. "I don't." The Colonel sighed. Why had he ever wanted this job anyway? 

"Captain, you'd better be right...I have no idea what I could say to a senate investigating committee if this goes sour..." 

"All right, then...pick up your gear. You'll need a homing device to find him...some local civilian wear...emergency rations and medical supplies...and transportation to the front. When you reach O'Day, you can use a two-way radio to notify the recon team, but until then you'll have to maintain radio silence...the Serbs can triangulate on your signal. You won't last long once that 'make' you. I'll have someone get everything you need."

"Yes Sir." Mac answered, unsure that she hadn't just bitten off more than she could chew.

"Oh...and Captain..."

"Yes Sir?"

"You'll be contacting the 24th EMU at the Drina for a means of insertion...John Farrow's unit...can you handle it?"

"Yes Sir." she said, her tone a facade, "I can handle it, Sir."

"Carry on then, Captain, and good luck."

"Yes Sir!"

As Mac left to 'gear up', Clemens reached for the phone to alert the 24th MEU. John was going to hate this, he thought. John was going to hate him.

June 2, 1995
224th MEU Encampment
On the Banks of the Drina
Bosnia

John was waiting when she arrived...and he wasn't happy.

"This is crazy, Sarah! You don't have any idea what you're getting yourself into! I'm not letting you go!"

"John...you don't have any choice. I'm no longer in your command, remember? I have my orders. You can't stop me!"

"Like hell I can't! I don't care if I spend the rest of my life in Levenworth. I don't care if you hate me for the rest of YOUR life...you're not going in! I won't allow it!"

He meant it. She'd never seen him like this. He was a rock...hard and unmovable. Something had to be done.

"John...there's a man out there whose life depends on me getting to him. O'Day will die unless he gets help, and I'm the best person to give it to him. Can you do it? Do you speak Serbian?"

He was unwavering.

"Well, I do, John. Maybe you can live with abandoning him...but I can't. You have 2200 Marines under your command...would you leave one of your men behind?"

He still stood in her path, physically blocking her exit from his command tent, but she could tell she was getting to him.

"John, I've stood by you so many times...when you were deployed to Somalia, Haiti... here. I tried to understand, even when I knew that my acceptance could mean the end of everything. How can you stand there and tell me that you won't do the same thing for me? I HAVE to do this, John...and you have to stand out of my way."

"Sarah..." he coaxed softly, desperately, "don't do this, please. You don't know what you're doing to me."

"Yes I do, John."' she replied, her voice a whisper. "Who could know better?"

Night fell, and Sarah made her way downstream to where the black, rubber Zodiac waited to ferry her across to the eastern shore of the Drina.

Her pack, a small cloth satchel which added to the illusion of her local origins, was slung over her shoulder. Carefully, she dropped it into the bottom of the boat as its navigator began to help her aboard.

"John? What are you doing here?" she asked, startled to find John Farrow at the 'helm', dressed in local garb.

"If you won't give this up...then I'm going with you!" he asserted, leaving no room for argument. "I've been back and forth over this terrain half a dozen times in the last year. I know the lay of the land...you don't. I also know where the minefields are. Without me, you're just throwing your life away. One wrong step, and you and O'Day are both gone."

"Minefields? John, I have maps to get me past the minefields."

"Maps are next to useless where mines are concerned. There are three clusters between here and Broko alone. I'll bet that map of yours only has one. I've been there...I have field experience...you need me. Now either get in, or I'm leaving without you." he ordered brusquely.

Sarah was stunned. He was adamant. Already he was preparing to push off from the shore. She could now see where John had gotten his reputation in combat. 

"Wait! I'm coming." she replied, slipping into the prow. "And John..."

"What?"

"Thank you."

June 4, 1995
Somewhere Behind Enemy Lines
Bosnia

For the next 48 hours they traveled mostly at night, avoiding the main roadways, and keeping well off the beaten path. 

Serbian troops were everywhere. More than once Sarah's facility with the local language had come in handy in translating much needed information gleaned from local farmers, helping them to avoid confrontations with the military.

By the morning of the third day, they were approaching the outskirts of the town of Broko. Safely maneuvering an unmarked minefield, John and Sarah took refuge in an abandoned barn, tucked within the surrounding forest, to wait until nightfall. 

According to John's homing device, O'Day was near...they anticipated making contact late that evening, if in fact the young aviator was still alive.

In the meantime, John created a hiding place in the loft, and the two of them settled down to rest...and wait.

Exhausted from their ordeal, Sarah curled up in John's strong arms, seeking the warmth and security of his embrace.

"You know, Sarah. If O'Day makes it...he'll have you to thank for it. I couldn't have gotten this far alone."

"And I'd have been in a million pieces by now, John. I wouldn't call that insignificant!"

Holding her close, John spoke softly..."You're tougher than I thought, Sarah. I'm not so sure you couldn't have done it alone after all...but I still wish you weren't here."

"I wish none of us had to be here, John...not us, not NATO, not even the civilians that this war is destroying. But we can't just wish it away...all we can do is take one battle at a time, and get through it."

Softly, he brushed the hair from her forehead. "You know, even after two days without a shower, you still smell terrific." 

"John! I can't tell if that's a compliment or not!"

"Believe me, Sweetheart," he said, smelling his own clothing, "it is...the best."

Cautiously, Sarah sniffed his shirtfront. "John! Where did you get that shirt?" she asked, her nose turning up in disgust.

"Off a Serb prisoner...I didn't have a lot of choices. He got the best of the deal...he's wearing my 'camos' now."

"Any chance I could get you out of it for a while?" she asked, her fingers tracing his stubble-roughened jaw.

"Here? Now? You must be kidding..." he said, the look in his eyes saying something entirely different.

"On the other hand..." he wavered, releasing the drawstring of her peasant blouse. "Marines are supposed to be prepared...I'm sure we could work something out." he smiled, exposing the dusky surface of her hardened nipples.

"John..."

"What Sweetheart?"

"Get rid of the shirt first..."

John was glad to oblige. Tossing the shirt aside, he added his pants to the pile, his arousal evident, even in the dim light of the hay loft.

"Sarah," he whispered in the softly filtering light, "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever known."

"Oh John," she said, her tone a hush in the silence of the barn, "you're incredible, my love."

Silently, John lowered his head to her breast, his lips drawing her nipple deeply into his mouth, his hand beginning a slow exploration upward beneath the fullness of her gathered skirt.

Tentatively he probed his way around the elastic of her plain, cotton panties, tugging them downward, releasing her body from their confines.

"My love..." she sighed anxiously, feeling the moisture building between her thighs, "I want you inside of me..."

"You mean here?" he whispered, his fingers penetrating her moist curls, pressing deeply within her, massaging the small hardened core of her passion. 

Silently he watched as passion transformed her features, her movements becoming animated...aggressive.

"John! Please!" she said, as her body began to shudder, overcome with the shattering intensity of her release.

Entering her, John placed his lips over hers, inhaling the sounds of her release as he deployed himself between her thighs, thrusting powerfully, deeply within her intimate recesses, his massive erection filling her over and over again.

She felt her climax crest once more, her cries becoming more pronounced, his lips again muffling the sounds of her passion. 

Deeply he plunged... harder... faster, his body lost in the wonder of her, caution abandoned in the wake of his thundering orgasm. At long last, they met on the brink, their heated fluids commingling, sanity crashing around them.

Unable to move, he lay nestled between her thighs, his weight resting on his elbows, his manhood still imbedded deeply within her warm, wet core.

It was then that they heard the sound from down below.

Quietly, John slipped back into his pants and crept to the edge of the hayloft, peering into the dust motes beneath them.

His face was grim.

'Stay here', he gestured, wordlessly. Then, taking a long piece of baling wire, he crept down the ladder toward the floor below.

Ten minutes later, John returned, the muscles of his arms bulging with exertion.

"Get your stuff," he ordered, his voice hushed and insistent. "We need to move...there's a Serb unit coming down the road. We have to get out of here."

Thirty seconds later, Sarah descended the ladder, John's shirt, and both of their packs in hand. Briefly, she watched as John dragged the second of two bodies behind a mound of bales and hastily covered them beneath a layer of hay, two M-16s lying abandoned on the dusty floor.

"Lets go." he directed, grabbing the rifles and leading her out of the back door of the barn. "If we can make the woods, we've got a chance."

They were being hunted.

Their disguise abandoned, John slipped the M-16 sling over his shoulder, and handed the other one to Mac.

"We need to find O'Day... fast... and radio for the recovery team." he said, hurriedly taking command of the situation. "If we can make it, there's a small strip along the Croatian border that's still under Federation control. They can give us artillery support until my men can get to us."

"Your men?"

"Of course, Sweetheart. You don't think I would have come on this joyride without a plan, do you? I've had three "Cobras" on standby ever since we left. I thought you knew. Didn't Clemens tell you ANYTHING?"

"I don't think HE knew, John. I think he figured that I wouldn't get past you anyway."

"Well, he's right on that count...that's something he and I are going to discuss when we get back."

"John..."

"Not now, Sweetheart. We can fight about it later. Right now, lets go find O'Day and get the hell out of here."

Silently, they crept through the forest, following the electronic signal that would lead them to Charles O'Day.

Finally, as they came upon a small stream, the homing device indicated that they had arrived.

"O'Day..." John rasped into the stillness. "Show yourself...it's John Farrow from the 24th. Come on out!"

Slowly, a pile of rotting leaves beneath a gnarled old tree began to move, revealing the location of the young aviator.

"Oh, Man...am I glad to see you guys! They've been all over the place looking for me. One guy almost stepped on me!"

"How you doing, leatherneck...can you make it?" John asked, his concern evident.

"I'm not sure, Sir. I think I broke my leg when I landed. It doesn't seem to work anymore."

Quickly, John assessed the wound. It looked bad. O'Day's makeshift splint had caused complications, and his leg looked dark and diseased.

"Well Chuck...I don't think we're going to have time for rehab right now."

Quickly, John slipped the young man four tablets from his pack... two antibiotics, and two Demerol tablets to dull the pain.

"I gotta lift you now. Chuck, can you take it?"

"Anything, Sir...just get me outta here!"

Bending low, John braced the young flier across his shoulders, lifting him as he rose.

"Sarah...we need the compass, map, rifles and the radio. Leave everything else behind. We need to move fast and light. If this doesn't work, we won't need the rest anyway."

Quickly, Mac grabbed all of the necessary gear, and followed John deep into the forest.

"Keep an eye on the compass, Sarah. We need to be heading due north. With any luck, we should be there in a few hours."

Mac rechecked their heading. "We need to keep heading that way." she said, pointing to the right. "Keep that peak straight ahead, and it'll keep our trajectory in line."

With that, John charged ahead, setting a grueling pace, plowing tank-like through the underbrush, with Mac keeping watch from behind, her M-16 ever in ready position.

Finally, three hours later they broke into a clearing, the silence filled with the droning of flies, and the sound of faraway artillery fire.

"I think this is it." Mac said, scanning the map. "The terrain checks out. Are you going to call it in?"

John lay O'Day in a pile of leaves, his body limp and losing consciousness. "I guess it's now or never..." he said, taking the radio from her outstretched hand.

Quickly, John located the correct frequency and began to transmit.

"Cobra leader...Cobra leader...this is Eagle Rescue...do you read me? I repeat...do you read me?"

The radio crackled for a second, and then a distorted voice broke the stillness of the clearing.

Eagle Rescue...This is Cobra Leader. I read you loud and clear. Where do you want us, Eagle Rescue?"

John checked the map. "I need you at coordinate delta-delta-seven, like about an hour ago. Can you get to us?"

"Roger that, Eagle Rescue. These birds are on their way. Keep your head down, John...we're coming in."

Then the radio went dead, and the tired trio settled back into the shadows to wait.

Barely twenty minutes had passed when they heard the rhythmic pulse of the three Cobras entering the area, followed by the heavy staccato of rifle fire from the woods behind. 

As one of the Cobras dropped to the ground, the two others remained aloft returning fire, keeping the enemy at bay while John loaded O'Day, aboard. Then, making sure Sarah was secure, he dove into the helicopter himself, and they lifted off.

June 7, 1995
Marine Headquarters
Sarajevo, Bosnia

It had been three days since their rescue. O'Day had been immediately flown on to Aviano, and was recovering nicely. John, while his men had awaited completion of the bridge on the Drina, had allowed himself to spend these last few days in Sarajevo with Sarah, but their time had run out. 

It was time to go.

Together they sat in John's Humvee, each unwilling to speak the words that would send him on his way.