Summary: After the plane crashes at the end of A Tangled Webb I; what next

Late Afternoon May 22, 2003 Unknown Location near Rio Verde Paraguayan Jungle

The late afternoon sun danced through the jungle canopy, reflecting off the scattered remains of a small biplane. The bulk of the wreckage was firmly cradled among the trunks and boughs of several large trees. Both occupants of the small plane were hunched and unconscious. The seemingly pregnant woman in the front seat had obviously borne the brunt of the impact as her left arm was bent at an unnatural angle across her padded stomach. The simple break was not the least of her injuries: her hair was matted with partially coagulated blood from at least one cut on her head, and it was possible to see the partially healed scabs from some previous injuries to her cheek. Several broken branches were wedged around her body in the cockpit. It was impossible to tell whether any had inflicted or contributed to her injuries, or whether they were simply her companions on the last of the roller coaster ride that the broken and damaged plane had taken before its journey had come to an abrupt end.

The woman’s companion, a tall dark-haired man, was also unconscious, although his wounds were superficial – a couple of small cuts on his face as well as some small contusions. He would have an impressive array of bruises in the next few hours, and he looked a bit absurd with all the leaves and twigs strewn through his short hair and scattered across his clothes.

As the true residents of the trees began to come home to roost, their evensong brought the man to a state of awareness. Groaning, he gingerly raised his head and began to take stock of himself and his surroundings. As awareness flooded his being, Harm urgently cried to his companion, “Mac? Mac can you hear me?” Receiving no response, he began to lean toward her, checking her condition. Unnervingly, the branches holding the plane in place began to creak, and he heard an ominous crack. Immediately freezing his movements, he very carefully peered over the side of the plane, immediately realizing that they were held precariously above the ground – how high he wasn’t certain. He couldn’t quite see far enough, and wasn’t willing to risk the movement yet.

‘How long have we been unconscious?’ he wondered. Noting the amber quality of the sunlight, he correctly deduced that it had been several hours since they had crashed, and he knew that if they didn’t get out of the plane soon, they would have to spend the night there. But, more immediately, he needed to find out how badly Mac was hurt. He could see her hair glistening in the waning light, ‘Is that blood or water?’ he worried.

Reaching out, he could just touch one of the branches nestled against her body. Harm gently grabbed hold of the branch and nudged it in an effort to rouse Mac from insensibility. No response. He tried again, a little more firmly. Still, no response. “Mac. Mac, wake up,” he called more urgently than before. Nothing.

Fighting his rising panic -- ‘God, she can’t be dead’ -- he knew that he had to do something. He had to move. She had gotten to him in Russia when he was woozy and hanging from a parachute after punching out of the MIG. He could do no less for this woman who was so integral to his well-being.

Carefully, Harm raised himself directly up from his sitting position – hoping that the movement wouldn’t cause the remains of the plane to plummet to the jungle floor. Unfortunately, his luck had run out. He had exhausted it in her rescue and the subsequent successful detonation of the Stinger missiles. The sudden, loud crack of breaking branches served as warning, and Harm, feeling the sickening jolt, tucked himself in a ball in order to prevent any more damage. He felt and heard the rending and shrieking sounds of scraping, tearing metal as the plane plummeted the remainder of the way to the jungle floor. Harm swore loudly and with great passion as the plane impacted against the inflexible ground below.

Other than a jarring of his already screaming muscles, and adding a further note to the increasing throbbing in his head, Harm’s injuries were not exacerbated by the rough landing. ‘Mac will really never fly with me again’ he thought in a brief moment of levity ‘C’mon Rabb, get it in gear and check on your Marine,’ he thought a bit grimly. She hadn’t exhibited any signs of consciousness, even after the fall. The stillness of her form scared him. He had lost so many people who mattered to him in his life that he had always held himself back from her – held back from taking the last irrevocable step toward intimacy. It was his fatal flaw. He couldn’t commit. Even to her. He also couldn’t let her go, allowing her to move on with her life. Now it looked like he might not have a choice. She might already be gone. Forever.

Galvanized into action by this thought, Harm scrambled from the battered remains of the biplane’s cockpit. With great trepidation, he gently began to pull the loose branches and boughs away from Mac’s limp body in an attempt to reach her still, quiet form. A small heap of wood now lay on the ground around them as he reached for the next branch. This one didn’t move easily. And he noticed that as he pulled, Mac’s body moved correspondingly. He realized that the two were connected. Clambering closer to her, he looked over the side to see that the branch had skewered her left thigh to the seat. “My God! Mac. Can you hear me, Mac? I’m going to get you out of this.” In the waning light of day, Harm further assessed Mac’s position and he quickly removed the remainder of the branches and boughs. He could tell that the left side of her body had taken the most damage. It appeared that her broken arm and impaled thigh were the worst injuries. Well, aside from the head wound. The wound in her thigh was oozing only slightly, the branch preventing much leakage – if he removed it he knew he would have to deal with significant blood loss. Given their current unknown location and Mac’s other injuries, the likelihood of their survival would be significantly and negatively impacted if he removed the branch prematurely.

Harm knew that he couldn’t move her until daylight. She was actually safer where they were for tonight at least. It gave him some time to think. To think about what to do and how to save her. As he fashioned a makeshift bandage for her head from one of his shirt sleeves, Harm reflected on the bitter irony of his recent actions. He had resigned his commission to come and save Mac – and now he had quite possibly been the instrument of her death. ‘Well, we’ve been in tough spots before and made it. We will again.’ His thoughts then moved on to whether Gunny and Webb had made it to a hospital in time to save Webb’s life. Harm wanted to rant that this was all Webb’s fault, that Webb had done this. But he knew that was unjust. Thinking of Webb brought to mind how much punishment Webb had taken – and that he had done so to protect Mac. Harm had been deeply shocked by Webb’s condition. ‘That must have been what the kiss was. Mac was just comforting Webb. After all, he might not make it.’ Then Harm thought about the number of times Webb had come through for him, for them, for all of them. ‘I’ve got to get us out of here.’

Checking Mac’s still unconscious form once again, he curled up in his place behind her and fell into an uneasy sleep, somehow determined to get them to safety at first daylight.

Late Night May 22, 2003 Unknown Location near Rio Verde Paraguayan Jungle

The chill, cold of night filtered through her consciousness, rousing her enough to know that agony awaited her. The searing pain in her left thigh, a constant throbbing in her left arm, and what felt like an army stabbing their way out of her head were enough to wrench a deep moan from her lips. Her eyelids fluttered as she attempted to regain consciousness. All she could see was the dark night. She was trapped and unable to move without searing pain jolting through her body. ‘Where am I? Why do I hurt so much?’

“Clay?” she whispered, hoping he was near.

Shaking her head in an effort to clear it, the world spun dizzyingly and her stomach lurched. Reaching out to find something to hold on to, Mac’s right hand encountered the metal side of the broken plane. Reality splintered in her mind’s eye. Oh, yes. The rescue. She remembered. Clay would get out. Gunny would see that he’d get help. Harm and she had gotten the missiles. They’d completed her mission. Harm had crashed. Again.

‘This isn’t the result of torture, I’m wounded from the crash’, she rightly concluded. Her left arm seemed useless. Numb and unresponsive. Carefully, using her right hand, Mac began to assess her physical injuries from head to toe. Her head was roughly bandaged but still damp. ‘Blood’ she thought. But when she reached over to check her left thigh, she brushed against the unintentional spear the branch had become, and could not contain either the unbelievable agony or her cry of pain. It sounded loud in the quiet of the jungle as Mac lapsed once again into the inky depths of relative oblivion.

Jolting awake at the sound of Mac’s cry, Harm soothingly called out to her “Mac, it’s ok. We’ll be ok.” When she didn’t respond, he leaned forward to feel her head slumped once again in unconsciousness. “Damn it!” Harm muttered. He was absurdly relieved to know that she had been aware enough to cry out, and anxious at the amount of pain he knew she must be in.

Well, there was nothing to do except go back to sleep and wait for daylight. As he settled, he considered how they were going to get out of here. Once again they were stranded in the woods. The first time they’d survived poachers. Mac had been shot and almost raped. How scared he’d been for her and how responsible he’d felt. The second time was in Russia when they had punched out of the stolen MIG. They’d met Rusza and her brother, and had ultimately found their way to his Dad. Again, he’d been responsible. But this time was the worst. Mac was seriously hurt this time. Harm had his doubts about getting them safely out of this predicament. With these grim thoughts his exhaustion overtook him and he fell into an uneasy doze.

Early Morning May 23, 2003 Unknown Location near Rio Verde Paraguayan Jungle

Dawn’s rays filtered through the canopy and made their way down to the battered and torn remnants of the once proud little biplane, accompanied by the cheerful and raucous wake-up call of the local wildlife. Harm groaned as he began to awaken and move his stiffened and bruised body. Mac began stirring as well, moaning in her state of semi-consciousness.

The sound of an engine ripped its way through the woods, startling both Harm and Mac into a state of alert. Adrenaline coursing through their bodies, Harm leaped from the backseat onto the ground as he saw Mac’s head lift up and search for him.

“Harm, are you alright?”

He nodded, inordinately relieved to hear her voice, even filled with underlying pain. “Mac, I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re awake. But we’ve got to move. I’ve got to get you out of there. I don’t know what that engine is attached to or if it’s got anything to do with us, but we’ve got to find some shelter and a way out of here.”

Mac was attempting to sit up as Harm spoke. She could tell that he wasn’t seriously hurt, but she didn’t know if she could even move. The distant engine sounded nearer. The light, filtered as it was, hurt her eyes, and the sounds of the jungle seemed oddly surreal.

“Harm, I think you should leave me…” she began.

“NO! I won’t leave you” He vehemently rebutted. “We will do this. We will do this together, Marine.”

He once again assessed her condition. As they looked at her oozing leg, they glanced at one another with something akin to despair in their eyes. The branch through Mac’s leg appeared to be deeply embedded in the seat of the little plane. She was not going anywhere, any time soon. They needed a saw, and it was going to be difficult even then to extract her from the plane.

“Harm, you’ve got to get help. It won’t help me if we’re both here when they come” Mac pleaded with him. No matter what, he was her friend and she wanted him to survive.

“Mac, I’m not leaving you.”

“Harm, don’t be stubborn. My best chance, our best chance, is if you survive. I know you’ll come back for me. And, if these aren’t the ‘good guys’ then you’ll find me. You already did.” She spoke urgently and persuasively. Harm felt the logic of her argument, and knew that she was right. The sounds of the engine were louder and closer. He hated the idea of leaving her. But it was the only realistic option available.

She continued, “Go. Get help. Find Gunny. Find Clay. Find me.” She had tears in her eyes as she watched him prepare to leave. “Tell them, tell Clay…” She stopped. “Here,” she said as she removed the makeshift bandage from her head, hissing in pain as the bandage dragged across her torn and tender scalp. “Take this with you. They might think you abandoned me if they find me untreated.”

Reluctantly, Harm complied. “I’ll hide until I see who they are. Then, if I have to, I’ll go. But, I will come back for you, Sarah.” And, with a final piercing look, Harm walked into the jungle.

“I know,” she whispered as he moved beyond her sight. Now all she could do was wait. Wait and remember. And hope. Her eyes closed. Pain skittered across her face and her shoulder muscles spasmed in response to her attempts to get more comfortable. Her head lolled against the seat as she struggled to stay awake to face the oncoming ordeal.

Somewhere in the depths of her mind she felt that her injuries were fate’s way of balancing out the sacrifice Clay had made. Somehow she knew that the pain she was suffering was minimal in comparison to what Clay had suffered. If she closed her eyes, she could still hear his tormented cries, could see his agony and his worsening condition each time they returned his increasingly damaged body to their ‘room’. The agony in her soul was as tortured as the agony inflicted upon Clay’s abused flesh. It had been her fault they’d been taken. That he had come with her to get Gunny. Guilt swamped her. And knowing this, Clay had intentionally drawn their captors’ focus from her. His sheer determination and courage to face up to the torture day after day was staggering. He’d done it to protect her. She was humbled by the depth of feeling it aroused in her to know that Clay would do this. For her. And, on that last day, she couldn’t let him sacrifice his life for hers. This man. Her friend. She wouldn’t leave him. Even in death. Thoughts play across her semi-conscious brain, ‘Where is he now? Gunny’s resourceful; if anyone can get help for Clay, it’s Gunny. Clay, please be ok. Please don’t die because of me.’ Too many people she loved had died because of her -- ‘or wished they were dead.’ She couldn’t help but remember those incredibly cruel words of Harm’s. ‘Please God, don’t let Clay die. Don’t let Harm die. Don’t let Gunny die.’

“Please. Please. Please. Don’t die. Clay, don’t die,” she whispered. It became her lullaby, and, as the burst of adrenaline completely wore off, the combination of exhaustion and the severity of her injuries overwhelmed her determination. Mac retreated into the oblivion of darkness.

Continue to Part 2 - Extraction