Wings of the Morning

Chapter 3

Disclaimers: I don’t own any of the JAG characters; I don’t own any product or label mentioned for the purposes of telling this story. Any similarities to situations or persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

Spoilers: Anything up to and including A Tangled Webb II in season 9. Specific episodes will be referenced, “The Stalker” in season three, “From Russia with Love” and “Gypsy Eyes” from season 4, and “Legacy I and II” from season 5.

A/N: I have taken some artistic license with this story, in that I do not have a working knowledge of the Russian language and, as such, my characters will speak to each other and in their correspondence in English.

A/N: This begins my AU part of the story, especially with the sequence of events in Svischevo. At least, this will address what most of us ‘think’ might have happened in Siberia, a lot of that was left to the imagination. As the story progresses, we will look in on the time Harm Senior spent in Russia and with Pitchta from at least, three different points of view. The first is contained in this chapter.

MANY many thanks to Jaggiegold for her encouragement and proofing.

Sunday evening

May 29, 2003

Sergei’s apartment

Sergei saw that it was a long letter, and it surprised him to see that it was not written by his cousin’s father, but by his uncle, Mikhail Khukov, who had died when Sergei was just a baby. When he asked his cousin Danechka about this, he would only tell him to read the letter and to tell no one of its existence. After Danechka left his apartment, he sat down to read.

<i>I am Mikhail Zhukov and this is a true account of the events that began in the winter of the year 1980 on the Zhukov farm, in the province of Svischevo, Siberia. I write this in the hope that I will somehow honor the bravery of a man who, in the very short time that I knew him earned my deepest respect. He was a man who I came to honor, as a brother.

On the morning after a particularly severe snowstorm, my sister Pitchta came to me, asking my permission to rescue a dog she believed to have been injured in the snowstorm during the night. I told her that if the animal fell during the storm that it was surely dead by now. Pitchta would not be convinced; she swore she saw it move and begged me again to allow her to take the animal into our barn.

I allowed this only because Pitchta had become a quiet and timid creature, and her love of animals seemed to be the only thing that brought her any happiness. Soviet soldiers had come to our farm the summer before and attacked her and since that time, she had become this changed girl. She had no dealings with anyone outside our family; she had reached a marriageable age, but her fear of strangers, especially men, left me without hope she would ever marry. My shame in not defending her from her attackers caused me to give her what she asked, more often than I should have.

I went with my sister out into the field, just outside our property because Pitchta would not leave the small plot that was our farm, alone. As we approached the animal, it was clear that this was not an animal at all, but a man. We both stopped, fearing that one of the men who had attacked her, had tried to return.

I told Pitchta to to go back into the house quickly, that this man was likely dead, that he was probably a criminal who had escaped from prison and that I would bury him. As she started back to our home, the man called out. The sound was difficult to discern, it was not a word…but a terrible sound of despair and desperation. It seemed that Pitchta’s heart broke open at the sound and she started walking toward the man as he opened his eyes.

I told her to go, that I would not allow this man to hurt her. These were brave words from me, a man who could probably have killed the nearly dead man, with a single blow of his fist. My sister seemed drawn to him and as she walked she told me this man was no criminal, that he was hurt and needed our help. I held out my arm to stop her but she evaded me and went to the man, whose eyes still seemed to be pleading with her. When she reached him, she began to speak softly to him as though he were a child, brushing the snow from his face and hair, and then looked back at me in a way I had never seen.

She would not be denied, and at that moment, Pitchta’s timid spirit changed and her will became iron. She said we would not leave this poor man, demanding that I help her bring him back to our home, saying that even though there seemed to be no mercy for the innocent in Scvsichevo, this day, we would have mercy on this man.

My shame, once again, allowed Pitchta to have her way and I brought the man who I would, much later, come to know as Harmon Rabb, into my house.

The man, besides being nearly frozen to death, seemed to have a bad sickness in his chest and from the look of him, was nearly starved. It took over a month for him to regain consciousness and when he did, he did not speak, though he would gesture to Pitchta at times, appearing to be grateful for my sisters help, but he did not utter a sound. They seemed to be two wounded creatures, who had a language all their own. Pitchta had nicknamed him, ‘Tein Tein’, her ‘silent one’. He had a terrible injury to his leg that had caused him to limp. It appeared the bone had been broken many times, and had not healed properly. Pitchta tended to him, day and night, for in the beginning he was too weak to sit up. Weeks passed and Pitchta was able to help him begin to walk again.

After some months, he began to help, as best he could, on our farm. He continued to gain strength and after he understood how we worked the land, he worked like two men, never complaining or asking for anything in return. When the warmer months came, he insisted on a room of his own in the barn, telling Pitchta, in his own way, that he had imposed on them enough.

When he had been with us nearly a year, it was clear he and Pitchta were becoming close to each other. Pitchta loved him, this I knew almost from the beginning. Harmon Rabb cared for my sister, this I also knew, but his eyes did not have the fire that burns in the eyes of a lover. This concerned me for a long time; I knew that my sister would have only him as her husband. If a marriage did take place, I wanted to be sure my sister would have a husband who loved her and have many sons. Then my guilt reminded me that a fire in any man’s eyes would be the last thing that my sister would be able to allow. She had seen much fire, in the eyes of the Soviet soldiers and they had hurt her. And so, this odd pairing of my sister and this quiet stranger may have been Providence and so I did not question it again. I believed Harmon Rabb had come to us, to stay.

Another year passed and we were visited by soldiers from the garrison in our village. They were told of a tall man that was helping me work my farm. Since no one seemed to know where he had come from, the soldiers were sent to investigate. When they came, I explained that this man was a distant cousin, who was badly injured in Afghanistan with leg and head injuries. I told them his injuries had left him lame and unable o speak, and that I was helping my family by allowing him to live with us and help me with the work of the farm. The men walked around Harmon, pushed and taunted him, and he did not retaliate or make a sound. They looked at his injured leg, and though he had healed, the leg was still scarred very badly. Their inspection was aggressive and I am sure he was in pain, but he remained silent. The only time I feared his discovery was when one of the soldiers went near Pitchta. If one of the soldiers, who appeared to be in charge, had not told the dog of a man to stop, I know Harmon Rabb would have been discovered and killed at that moment. The soldiers left soon after, satisfied with what they had seen.

As soon as they were out of sight, Pitchta was afraid; she said she knew they would come back. It was then that she told me Tein Tein’s true name. She told me he was an American who had escaped the camps and that he had to get away or the soldiers would surely come and take him back, or worse. My sister, Harmon Rabb and I made a plan to get them both out of Siberia and eventually, they hoped, out of the country. First, they had to get them to the Trans Siberian Railway.

We left the farm within the hour; I wanted to see them safely to Perm. I would tell the soldiers that I believed my cousin had stolen my sister away. I would explain my absence from the farm by saying that I had spent days searching for them.

We traveled for two days and were in the Uchenskoya forest when four soldiers caught up with us. They saw Pitchta bathing in a stream near our encampment; when they approached her, showing the same evil intentions that they had in the past, she began to scream. When Harmon Rabb heard her cries for help, he went after them like a mad man. When I tried to stop him, saying this had happened before and that we did nothing, they would not kill her, or us. He looked at me with disgust, as though I were the scum of the earth. He broke away from me and killed three of the soldiers before a fourth one, killed him. My shame at my own behavior and the rage I felt toward the soldiers, gave me the strength of ten men. I went after the last of the men who had stolen my sister’s happiness and killed a true friend. I killed the last one with my bare hands.

I buried the dead soldiers and Harmon Rabb, deep in the taiga of Uchenskoya, where I knew Pitchta could not find him. She loved the man so, that I knew she would go to his grave and one visit to that spot that was seen by the wrong person would cost her, her life. The soldiers were sure to have been reported missing and their mission, to find Harmon Rabb, had to be known to someone in the Soviet government.

When Pitchta told me she was with child, I decided that someday, I would tell Pitchta’s son of his father’s bravery and hope that somehow, he would find his American brother and together they would grant their father his dying wish. Harmon Rabb would finally go back to his homeland.

I write this today to ensure that no matter what befalls me, that his sons would know of their father’s bravery and that somehow, they would find each other. I placed this letter in the hands of my cousin, Danil Zhukov, whom I would trust with my life. He has sworn to me that when my nephew Sergei Zhukov comes of age, he will see that the letter reaches him. I pray this letter remains a secret, for no matter how the world changes, the secret police will not. It is my belief that the government would kill many to hide the knowledge of an American prisoner held in the camps of Siberia, no matter how many years pass.

I wish long life and many children to the sons of my dear sister and a man to whom I owe my life.

Mikhail Zhukov<i/>

Sergei placed the letter down on the table except for the last page. The last page was a map to the place in the taiga of Uchenskoya, where Mikhail Zhukov had buried his father. Sergei decided, at that moment, he must try to find this place, immediately. He promised himself that when he knew he had found it, he would tell Harm. Then his uncle’s wish would be fulfilled. Together, he and Harm would somehow see that their father’s body would rest in his own homeland.

1630

Thursday

June 2, 2003

Commander McCool’s office

National Naval Medical Center

Bethesda, Maryland

Mac sat in one of the two comfortable chairs that were situated in front of Commander McCool’s desk.

“I think we’ve made significant progress this week. Colonel, I’m well aware this hasn’t been an easy task, but you’ve borne it well…you should be proud.”

“I don’t feel proud, I feel raw and on the verge of tears all the time; I don’t like that. It’s as though revisiting that part of my life has drained everything out of me and taken my control with it.”

“What you’re feeling isn’t uncommon and in time, your control will come back. Are you having difficulty at work, keeping your emotions under control, I mean?”

“No…not since the incident I told you about at Camp Lejuene. I still don’t understand why it all came back; it isn’t as though I haven’t dealt with situations similar to my own in the past.”

“It might very well have been, your interviews with your client may have been the catalyst that allowed you to get to the bottom of what has been buried in your subconscious for years. Only about 11% of women actively serving in the military have been diagnosed with PTSD. Most of them, as is true with you, have had multiple traumas and in many cases, concurrent emotional and physical trauma, over a period of years.”

Mac looked up at her. “Concurrent? I have been through quite a few difficult situations but I am a Marine and conflict, including the possibility of death… are part of the program.”

“I’m referring to your life long before you came to be a Marine. There are studies that indicate that many women, not all, join the military to escape a disadvantageous environment.”

Mac couldn’t keep from smirking, “Disadvantageous? I suppose you could say that.”

“Your childhood was less than ideal, Colonel.”

“I’m sorry, I know that this is serious, I just never heard it said, quite that way, before. “ She pressed her lips to a thin line, as she decided to address the part of this whole concept that bothered her. “I really have a hard time with people who blame their “terrible childhood” for the stupid things they do, or use it as an excuse to treat people badly. I’ve always been proud that I didn’t do that. I don’t want to start doing that now.”

“I’m not suggesting that, Colonel. Everyone reacts differently to trauma, mental and physical. Since the disorder is slow to show itself, you used your own well established coping mechanisms to handle the trauma. Your experience in Paraguay seems to have been the last straw in your ability to absorb the entire trauma you have endured in your life so far. In our research of PTSD, we’ve been able to learn that in many cases, once a person reaches their so called ‘limit’, the greater the trauma, the greater the chances of symptoms of PTSD being made apparent.”

“So you’re saying that I won’t be able to handle any more difficult situations in my life because I’ve reached my limit? I’m a Marine; as long as I’m serving, the chances of my being exposed to traumatic situations are going to be pretty high.”

“I believe if you will honestly address the problem, then you will be able to recognize the symptoms of the disorder and adjust accordingly. Make no mistake, Colonel Mackenzie, it is difficult, but it is doable…other women have.”

“You’re going to start with the support groups again…aren’t you? I thought you said I was making good progress? I don’t see how a support group is going to help in this situation.”

“I understand your feelings in this matter, Colonel, and I think I’ve come up with a solution for you.” She picked up a book that lay on the top of her desk and handed it to Mac. It was titled “The Battle Within…Women and PTSD.”

“I’ve been doing some reading on my own about PTSD; there’s a lot of information on- line.”

“I’m happy to hear that you’re doing some research online, because I’m not only going to ask that you read. If you’ll look inside the cover of the book, I’ve written a number of website addresses. They aren’t official government sites, but these are women who have had combat experience and who suffer from PTSD, in a mild to moderate form. These sites can, for some, serve as a group therapy session, online.”

Mac opened the book and looked at the list of sites, surprised at the number of sites in existence.

“This may give you the anonymity that you seem to need, while helping you realize that you aren’t the only one suffering from this. I can understand your feelings in the matter, but not talking about it and not addressing this problem can be very isolating. It may take you a while to contribute, but I think as you read many of the posts, you will see that you have more in common with many of these women than you think. Not only that, you may have something to say that will help someone else.”

Mac still felt wary of the whole idea, even online; she didn’t like exposing a part of her past that she had just begun to address with Commander McCool.

“Give it a try Colonel; we’ll talk about it next week.” She looked up at the clock on the wall, signaling the end of the session.

Commander McCool opened the door and said as Mac walked out of her office, “Good session, Colonel Mackenzie.”

Mac nodded and for the first time, agreed with her counselor.

1830

Friday

June 3, 2003

Harm’s Apartment

North of Union Station

Harm and Mac had decided that dinner ‘in’ was the best idea tonight. It had been a trying week for both of them and Harm wanted a chance to talk with Mac about a decision he’d made.

In their session the day before, Captain Miles made a suggestion and Harm decided that he would follow up on it. He suggested he talk to his mother about his counseling and also about the major issues that they had essentially smoothed over during his childhood and adolescence. They had never really talked about his father, not in the way they should have, and when they spoke of Sergei, it was always awkward..

Harm also wanted to go because he would be going to Russia in August for Sergei’s wedding; he wanted to talk to his mother about his father’s letters. He needed them to prove Sergei was his brother. He had approached her on the subject before, but she always said that she wasn’t ready. Captain Miles skepticism about Sergei being his brother, made Harm feel that much more determined to establish Sergei’s, Rabb connection, as a fact.

It would mean he’d be going away early tomorrow morning and returning late Sunday night. He knew he shouldn’t bring Mac along, because this was too personal for his mother. His mother didn’t really know her, yet, though Harm knew that she had wanted to meet her for some time. He hoped that one day soon, that they’d all be together and that someday his family would also include Sergei.

As they finished cleaning up, Mac slipped her arms around him from behind. She playfully peeked around his shoulder and asked, “So…do you want movies……or me?”

Harm pulled her around in front of him. “You….always, you.” He kissed her. “I want to talk to you about something first…okay?”

Mac frowned, a bit puzzled, “Okay.” He sounded entirely too serious, and she didn’t want to be serious, just now. She’d looked forward to this night, all day long. She felt a strong need for a diversion, to leave the intensity of the past week behind her.

“If you promise we don’t have to talk, all evening.” She tucked herself into his arms and squeezed her arms around his waist. “I’m tired of serious…for now, okay?’

He smiled reassuringly at her. “Okay, I promise.”

They sat down together on his couch; Mac sat facing him with her legs tucked beneath her. Harm took her hand.

“Do you remember when I told you that Captain Miles was skeptical about Sergei being my brother?”

Mac nodded as she absent-mindedly followed, with the tip of her forefinger, some of the thick veins on the back of his hand up his arms and then began to stroke the underside of his forearm.

“I’ve been thinking about this…a lot, and its time…. to talk to Mom about it. I’ve been trying to get Dad’s letters for over a year now…”

“For the DNA?” She stopped her ministrations for a moment. If the subject was his brother, he needed her full attention.

Harm nodded, “I need to talk to her about other things too, you know, I think it all ties in….about my Dad…and everything.” He caressed her hand and enclosed it in both of his. “I think I want to go out there, by myself, just for the weekend. I’d be back by Sunday night.”

“I think it’s a great idea. I’m kind of surprised you didn’t do this sooner.”

He looked up at her, his expression full of gratitude. Why had he worried about her reaction? She was still supporting him, all the way.

“I know I’m way overdue for a visit; I don’t even remember when I was in La Jolla last. You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course not, Harm. I’ll miss you, but you need this.” Mac let go of his hand and ran her fingertips through the short soft hair on the side of his head and back to the nape of his neck.

“Will you be here when I get back?”

Mac frowned at him, not quite understanding.

He smiled indulgently, “I mean here, in my apartment.” He leaned in close and kissed her, and then with his lips just a breath away from hers, said, “I’ve always wanted to come home and find you in my bed.”

Mac raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

“Well, maybe not ‘always’ but for a very long time.” He pulled her body closer. “So will you?”

“Of course I will and I can’t say I haven’t had my own…I don’t know, fantasies, about doing that too...”

“Really? You mean you fantasized about me?” His devilish grin was teasing her..

Suddenly embarrassed, knowing he was never going to let her live that one down, Mac started to turn away from him.

“Oh, come on, Mac…tell me.” He gently turned her back around to face him, and pulled her much closer to him, in the process.

“No.” Oh, she loved it and hated it when he teased her. After all they’d been through together; he still had the ability to make her blush.

“Please…, tell me.” He placed his hand over his heart; the laughter in his voice was barely concealed. “I’ll be your slave.”

She stopped and then matched his devilish expression. “Slave?”

“Well, maybe not slave…I have a plane to catch…really early tomorrow. So…I’ll be your slave when I get back.”

“Nope…you said slave; I don’t recall hearing any type of time frame in that offer.”

Harm regained the upper hand. “I said I’d be your slave…if you told me about how you imagined my coming home to you, while you were waiting for me….in my bed.” It never ceased to amaze him, how quickly just the thought of her wanting him, even in the past, left him unbelievably aroused.

Mac reached for the television controls on the coffee table. “So, what movie are we watching?”

Their old sense of competition was still in place, and when it came to this part of their lives, it made their banter sexier and much, much more fun.

“I didn’t say I wanted a movie….I seem to remember being given a choice of you or a movie…and I chose…you” Harm took the TV controls from her hand and tossed them over the couch as he pulled her into his lap.

“Come on, Mac; tell me….when did you start thinking about me…about being in my bed?” His voice took on a deep and seductive tone.

“Harm...” He skimmed his hands up both of her thighs and began to plant warm, open mouthed kisses on her neck. “Hmmm, you’re not playing fair.”

“Haven’t you heard, Mac…all is fair in love and war?” He murmured the words between kisses and he already knew, he was winning this battle…or so he thought.

“Okay.” Mac drew in a deep breath as Harm pulled her more tightly to him. “If I tell you…you have to tell me.”

“Mmmm… sounds good to me….now, tell me.” She would be much too busy to worry about what he had to say, he thought slyly, as he deftly slipped her t-shirt up and over her head.

“I want details.” His eyes were a smoldering blue fire as he looked into her eyes. He traced the edge of the satiny cup of her bra to her shoulder and back down again.

“Uh, oh…kay. The first time…I really thought about it...” Just as she started to finish Harm kissed her chest, just above the swell of her breast. “Oh…if you want me to talk, you have to stop that.”

“What’s the matter, Mackenzie, can’t you take it?” Desire and challenge were interfused in Harm’s eyes. He loved playing with her this way, and he knew…that she loved it too.

Passion flared inside her, as she met his challenge, “Ohhh, I can take it..the first time, was…Russia”

Harm remembered the time and he could just about tell her when she might have felt that way. “Hmm, that was one tough night….I think you wore that white lace gown….just to mess with me.” He traced her back with the tips of his fingers, as he planted warm kisses on her neck and further down….smiling to himself as Mac drew in her breath and tried to continue.

“It was all I could find while we were in Russia…I, oh…told you, I didn’t wear pajamas.”

Harm unhooked her bra. “Yeah…that was really easy to stop thinking about…for months afterward.” Her bra fell from her shoulders, leaving her even more vulnerable to his warm mouth, so he took every advantage.

“Uh… stop it.” Her hands were full of his hair, holding him to her, completely contradicting what she was asking him to do.

Harm’s deep and totally self satisfied laughter rumbled up in his chest. He thought, “Sarah Mackenzie, putty in my hands”….he loved it.

His laughter was his first mistake, because it allowed Mac the few seconds of clarity she needed to decide, that he was not going to have his wicked way with her, yet; it was his turn to tell her ‘his’ story.

First though, it was time to light the flame that would make it as difficult for him to talk, as it had been for her….perhaps more so.

“I was awake most of the night thinking of just how much I wanted you to wake up…and walk over to the bed….and….” Mac stopped at the most critical moment and decided to wait and see how long it would take for him to notice.

Mac was silently enjoying all the work Harm was doing to make her lose her voice, even though he appeared not to be listening for it, just now. After about 32 seconds, he came up for air.

“And….?

“Hmmm… what? I told you…now you have to tell me.”

“Come on…you were just getting to the good stuff…tell me.” He looked at her through a haze of longing, now that all this play was making it hard not to do anything she asked.

“Tell me first.” She narrowed her gaze and placed both of his palms on each of her breasts. Mac arched her back, and heaved a sigh that Harm was sure was full of promise.

“Okay.” Harm was breathing deep and made the fatal mistake of backing away from Mac, for just a moment.

Mac quickly straightened. “Good,” and before Harm knew it, he was on his back.

Mac began to unbutton his shirt as she still sat atop him.

“Okay.” He started to speak, but he couldn’t help wondering about the look in Mac’s eye; she was looking almost ravenous.

Mac seemed to sense his thoughts and said, “Don’t worry, Sailor, I won’t hurt you.”

“Okay…to be honest, the first time…was.” He wanted to talk fast, so he could get back to where he started, he would humor her, he decided. This was fun, and he wanted to see where she wanted to take him.

Mac leaned down and kissed him, a short but sensual kiss. Then she started kissing him, in a way that she knew he loved, she tasted his skin, trailing down the side of his neck to his collar bone. “Mmmmac, this is nice.”

“Yes…it is…now, go on,” she said as she closed her teeth, just slightly, into the open mouthed kiss, on his thickly muscled chest.

“Uh, it was before….Russia.”

“Hmm?”

Mac skimmed her hands down his sides and kissed him again at the middle of his chest. “Uh..Mac..this is…very….nice.”

She raised her head slightly and looked into his eyes. “Thank you….now go on.”

“Um…where was I?” He couldn’t think while all the blood in his brain was rushing south.

“Before Russia?”

“Oh…yeah…well, it was….”

Mac went still lower, to his well defined torso, kissing each of the well defined muscles in his six pack.

Harm drew in a breath and Mac lifted her head enough so that she could see the full-on desire in his face. She had him just where she wanted him. “It was?”

“You are having way too much fun with this.”

“Oh, I am.” Mac grinned at him slyly, “don’t you think it’s my turn?”

Without warning, she unbuckled his belt and she heard Harm say her name, in deep whisper. “Mmmac?”

“Hmmm? Are you asking a question…or making a request, Sailor?

He thought he’d better say something soon, while he could still construct a sentence. “The first time was…when you…when Coster almost…when I took you home…I wanted you to go home with me. You were so beautiful that night.”

His voice started to sound thicker; his story wasn’t quite making sense. “So damn sexy... holding on to me. ….I knew I didn’t have any right, I was still with…” ‘Oh god,’ Harm thought, ‘who was he with then…what was her name? He thought she might have been in the Navy, but he couldn’t be sure, just now. Never mind…full speed ahead’…

“But…I’d never been so physically close to you…you needed me and….”

She undid the clasp of his pants and slowly unzipped them.

Harm watched her through his heavy lidded gaze, his voice had gotten lower, barely a whisper...“Your body...felt… so…good in my arms.”

“Mmm Hmm… tell me more….I like this.”

Mac reached inside the slit of his boxers. Her voice dropped one octave lower, “Tell me, Harm.”

“I laid you down…in your bed and…” Harm sucked in his breath when she slipped her hand back. “Aw…baby, don’t…tease me.”

Mac frowned, feigning confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not playing fair.” He was aching to feel her touch….her body…and she knew it

She leaned down close, so that he could feel her breath on him when she looked up at him; she moistened her lips with her tongue, making his whole body thrum with desire.

“Oh, Harm….I’m not playing….and besides; didn’t you say…..all is fair in love and war?”

It was deep into the night before Harm and Mac called a truce….both parties admitting…after much deliberation…that in the case of this particular battle…

They both won.

0830 (Russia time)

Saturday

June 3, 2003

Deep in the Uchenskoya Forest

Russia

Sergei looked down at the map he had been given by his cousin. He brought no one with him and only Galena knew where he was going, but she did not know the true reason. As much as he loved her, this secret was too dangerous to share with her. He told her that he wanted to visit the burial place of his mother in Svischevo, and that it was something he needed to do alone.

He walked along the path indicated on the map, into the thick green stand of trees that preceded the deeper part of the taiga. Sergei looked around him again, spooked by the feeling that he was being watched, but as he looked, he saw no one. There was nothing to do, but begin. He would find the place his father was buried, and somehow, he and Harm would see that his body was transported back to America. His father would rest in his homeland, he would return to the place he was never able to reach while he was alive.

About 1 km away….

A man wearing camouflage clothing and hidden from plain sight, observed the figure of Sergei Zhukov, through field glasses. He had been shadowing him for sometime, but his surveillance had been increased upon a report that Zuchov might be in possession of evidence that American POW’s had been taken to Russia during the Vietnam War. This information was as dangerous as ever in the wrong hands, perhaps more so than in the past, as Russian and American relations didn’t appear to be as close as was previously thought. The Russian government still adamantly denied any knowledge of Americans being held on Russian soil, but as long as a single Vietnam veteran lived, their word would be held in serious doubt.

He would follow him; he would also see the place where the American was buried. What he had to do was for the good of all. The man set out to find the path on which Sergei walked, so that he could learn the secret that had been kept so long.

Killing Zhukov was an option, but too many people outside Russia knew what he believed; there had to be another way.

This secret that must remain hidden, no matter what the cost, in the short term; too much was at stake....

TBC

A/N: Much of my information came from the Department of Veterans Affairs website and also from articles published in Newsweek and the Chicago Tribune in May 2006.

A/N: The issue of Pitchta being attacked by Soviet soldiers was addressed in ‘Gypsy Eyes’ in the dream that Rusza, the gypsy had. So I made it part of Pitchta and Harm Sr.’s story.

A/N: The word ‘taiga’ is the Russian word for forest.

A/N: The name ‘Tein Tein’ is one I dreamed up on my own. I tried to write it the way I heard Pitchta say it in, ‘Gypsy Eyes’ It is purely subjective, I know, others may have heard it differently. Many months ago I spoke with a poster on one of the JAG boards who thought that the name sounded like a Russian expression for the word silent. So after this exchange my imagination about HR Seniors story has been percolating.

Make of it what you will. (grin)