Wilderness Survival

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Thanks to my betas Jake and Jordre

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Tony wandered into the library, book in hand. "Ducky, explain this please?"

Ducky took the book and read the indicated passage. "Well, buried underneath a plethora of grandiose hype, is the instruction to gently palpate the abdomen to find any masses." He eyed the book in disgust. "Why are you reading this ... stupidity?"

Tony flopped down in a chair. "I'm taking a general forensics class and the prof said to read it and be ready to discus. I'm thinking the man wants us to read it, realize that some people are just long winded ... develop some descrimination in accepting things. Just because someone wrote it down doesn't make it worth reading."

"I see. Excellent idea. Care to continue?" Ducky was looking forward to discussion with Tony, Jimmy, and Remy. Tony and Remy were taking the same class, and Jimmy was just brilliant.

"Not right now. I'm redoing my ruck ... along with Jimmy, Tim, and Remy. Dean, Cos, Remy, and I are due for a Wilderness Survival test soon and I want my ruck up to speed. Jimmy and Tim are just cleaning out and restocking. Remy's due here in ten. Can I get a rain check?"

"Of course, dear boy. I remember in my salad days, we were just snatched up from wherever and taken out to the wilds of Scotland with what we had in our pockets. It didn't bother me that much, as I was raised in Scotland. But the Highlands can be quite cruel. I'd advise stuffing as much as you can bear into your pockets, in case they decide to take your ruck." Ducky nodded and smiled, then went back to his medical journal.

Tony nodded. "That's a good idea and what I usually do. I don't trust them much. Seriously, who enjoys grabbing someone off the street and dragging them out to God knows where?" A tap on the doorjamb made him look up. "Hey, Remy."

"Hey, AJ. Ready?"

"Always. I thought we could do this in the kitchen. Big table, lots of floor space." He yelled up the stairs, "Jimmy! Tim! Remy's here. Bring your rucks down."

The clatter of Jimmy and Tim pounding down the stairs made Tony laugh. "You two better cut that out. Ducky's gonna be pissed. I already forgot and yelled."

Remy sighed. "Dat bad. Ducky, he don' ask much. Just good manners in de house."

"Yeah. He was raised by Victoria to be an old-fashioned gentleman, and by that, I mean old-fashioned for the '60's. He just asks that we not yell in the house or jump down the stairs." Tim shook his head. "We ought to apologize."

Jimmy nodded. "We should. After we get done with this, I'll make him a nice tray. He loves that. He told me one time that the best thing about having me around was he got tea he didn't have to make himself."

Tony grinned. "He does love his tea. You still have any of that Lapsang Souchong?"

"We do. I'll make up a nice pot, and we can sit with him for a bit."

"Okay, let's do this."

This resulted in all three of them dumping the contents of their rucks into a pile, even going so far as to empty all the side pockets and attached pouches. Jimmy even took his hydration module off.

"I'd advise both of you to take your modules off and give them a good flush and clean. Run some Listerine through the tubes and clean the mouthpiece." Jimmy proceeded to take his module apart and put the mouthpiece in a glass. He poured it half full of Listerine, then added some water. "There. Feel free to add your pieces too. They're all different, so we don't need to worry about getting them confused."

The piles of stuff were soon sorted into food, not-food, necessary equipment, and trash.

Remy eyed the mess with disgust. "We gotta stop stuffin' junk in wherever. Nasty."

Tim picked up a wad of something, sniffed it, and said, "I wonder if we shouldn't wash our rucks, or at least spray them with Lysol or something."

Jimmy just handed him a can of the stuff. "Lemon scented."

"Okay." Tim sprayed the interior of his ruck, and all the pockets too. He handed the can to Remy, who did the same thing, then handed the can on. When it had made the rounds, Jimmy put it back in the cupboard under the sink.

Remy thought for a moment. "Why don't we all put all the stuff in a pile, take what we need, then take inventory and get restock?"

Jimmy had a better idea. "Divide it evenly between each ruck; make a pile, then take inventory, make a master list, and avoid confusion."

"Better." Tim got out a tablet. "I'll make a spreadsheet; someone start counting shit." So Tony, Remy, and Jimmy each took a pile of stuff and started counting.

When they were finished, Jimmy said wistfully, "Do you think we could get Abby to make some more of that trail mix? I love it. You know I hate raisins, so I'm always picking them out."

Tim shrugged. "I'll eat them but ... seriously. A raisin is nothing but a rotten, dried-up grape."

Remy grinned. "I'll take yo' share." He wound up pelted with handfuls of wadded trash. "Okay, okay. Y'all just don' know what's good." He got up to retrieve the mess and stuff it into the trash. "When we done, remin' me ta empty dat."

Tim finished his spreadsheet and said, "We need to each one stock up on protein bars, trail mix, MRE's, and medical supplies. I'll take all the med kits and restock them. Remy?"

"Good. I'll pull MRE's and protein bars. Jimmy, you get the hard job. Please call Miss Abby an' ask her real nice for a big bag o' mix, no raisins."

Jimmy snorted. "You're just afraid she'll try t' fix you up again."

Remy nodded. "Dat I am. Dat ... woman she fix me up wit'..." he shook his head sorrowfully. "She a hot mess. Broke up wit' her homme 'cause 'e was cheatin'. Cried all night an' wanted me ta tell 'er wha' she did wrong. Me ... I got away about 2100 and ran. No more fo' me. Seriously."

By the end of that, Tim, Jimmy, and Tony were all rolling on the floor. Ducky, who'd stood in the doorway to hear the story, announced, "I'll call young Abigail for you. Perhaps she'll have mercy on an old man and bring some of those oatmeal cookies with chocolate chips and nuts." He smiled genially and ambled off to make the call.

Tony shouted after him, "Old, my ass, Ducky!"

After that it didn't take them long to restock their rucks, as each one of them went to the pantry, got his allotted items, and passed them out.

Jimmy restocked each med kit with everything he thought each man should have, then stocked his ruck. It was still nearly a MASH Unit in a pack. He couldn't do major surgery or anything like it, but he had enough supplies that he could keep someone alive until the EMT's arrived. He had a bit of everything, but really stocked up on the mid-line stuff. And plenty of analgesics. Ducky approved, and that was enough.

Remy hefted the pack, then smiled. "Look like ya got dat down a bit. Good."

Jimmy nodded. "Ducky taught me a few tricks that I can do that eliminated about a third of the heavy instruments. More room for food and water ... and snacks."

There was a bit of laughter over that, but snacks were a lot more important than many people thought; hiking and trail running burnt up a lot more calories than most people thought. And NCIS got body dumps all over, mostly in rugged country. Rock Creek Park was a great deal more rugged than many people thought.

Tony brightened at a thought. "I know. We can get some peanut butter in those packets. That tub stuff is a mess. With the tube, just squeeze some into your mouth, then eat a cracker. No trying to dig it out of the tub, spread it, and not break the cracker."

Jimmy nodded. "And it's a good source of protein and some minerals as well as a good energy boost. Get me some too, please."

"Okay. Who wants?" Tony grinned at his friends as all three of them held up their hands.

It wasn't long before they were done with their work and had lists of stuff to get. They put their rucks aside and went to play poker with Ducky.

This was interesting, as Ducky had more than thirty years experience on any of them and a stone face to boot. He said he'd developed it years ago to keep from laughing in the face of certain people his mother entertained.

Ducky examined his cards. "One, please."

Tony dealt him a card and continued around the table. Remy took two, Jimmy folded, and Tim took three and got amused looks.

Ducky waited until everyone had made their bets, then said, in that mildly amused tone of his, "Read them and weep, gentlemen." He showed his hand of three of a kind—aces—and scraped the chips his way. "Well, last hand, wasn't it? I believe we should settle up."

Tony added up Ducky's chips and gave him the point total. "Okay, here's the bet slips."

Ducky gathered the slips of paper off the table and tallied them up. "So, Jimmy, you owe me four laundries. AJ, three trips of my choice. Tim ..." He squinted at the two papers. "What the devil does this chicken scratch say?"

Tim eyed the papers. "Two services of your choice."

"Ah. Very nice. Remy, two pots of gumbo. Delicious."

Tony gathered the cards and tapped them into order, while Tim and Remy sorted the chips into their box. Remy did a quick general cleanup and took the storage box to put away. Remy then said good night and left for GHQ.

Ducky, Tim, Jimmy, and Tony finished cleaning up the library, then gathered in the kitchen for one last cup of tea.

Jimmy set up the tea service while Remy put the water on to boil. Tony rummaged the cupboards for some cookies, and Tim set the table. It wasn't long before they were sitting at the table, waiting for the tea to brew.

Ducky sipped his tea for a moment, then said, "I hear you and your team are all up for a Wilderness Survival refresher."

"Yeah, nothing like a two-week trip into the ass-end of nowhere." Tony eyed his tea for a moment, then sighed. "Hate it in one way ... but it's time away from everything."

Tim shuddered, "Yeah, except bugs, critters, snakes, poison ivy, poison oak, poison sumac, and no bed, no laundry, no internet. You get the picture. No thanks."

Jimmy shrugged. "Can't be that bad. I mean, other than the obvious ... what could go wrong?"

Tony eyed him like he'd lost his mind. "Christ on a cracker, jinx us, why don't you? Jerk."

Jimmy eyed him right back. "Bitch."

"Oh, no! You did not just side-oogle me, you ..." Tony took a sip of his tea then shook his head. "Something's going to go wrong now, sure as death and taxes."

Ducky agreed. "The last time someone said that, Gibbs and I wound up in a French jail. He's still on very shaky ground with the Les Sables d'Olonne Gendarmerie." They all listened to Ducky ramble until the tea was gone, grinning every now and then when he 'tattled' on Gibbs.

.

Several days passed with nothing more than a case or two, so the whole group started on cold cases. Tony happened to remark, "I wonder why everything seems to go to shit while we're working cold cases? Really weird."

Jimmy, who was up with some files related to the cases, shuddered. "Ugh! Goose walked on my grave."

Dean draped an arm over his shoulder and said, "Wonder why people say that? You know?" Jimmy shook his head. "Maybe Ducky does."

"Probably. Gremlin, head back down and see if Ducky knows where these files are, please." Gibbs gave Jimmy a half sheet with some scribbled notes on it. "Thanks. You comin' back up for lunch?"

"Yes. Dean and I are going to go out to get sandwiches. We thought we'd get something from DeAngelo's. It's a nice walk. The weather is still nice, so we're taking advantage of it."

Cos stretched, working the kinks out of his back. "I'll come too. I'm so sick of this. I swear, cold cases are awful."

Gibbs gave him a swat then grumbled, "True, but it's bad taste to say so." He settled at his desk, then said, "I only hate them because ... I feel bad for the vic's family and pissed that some dirtbag got away with it." He pointed in the general direction of the group. "Get busy."

So Jimmy ambled away with his paper, and the rest of the Pod settled at desks to go over the two cold cases they were currently working. Gibbs was of the opinion the two were somehow connected; the rest were of the opinion that Gibbs was fishing.

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The two pickup men settled in their "unnoticeable" Ford Fiesta and waited; their pick-up should show soon. All they had to do was find the target for pick-up; the actual pick-up would be done by another team in a van. One man dug out a thermos and poured coffee. "You want?" The other man shook his head. "Okay."

They watched for their targets, checking pictures from time to time, comparing them to people who resembled their men. It was nearly noon when one nudged the other. "There, Chief Warrant Officer Dean Cale and Chief Petty Officer Cosmo Richter. Call it in. Looks like they're headed for that restaurant."

They watched until the van made its first circle, then left.

.

Cos picked up his ruck. "I'm married to this thing until further notice. I swear, I'm sleepin' with it."

Dean nodded. "So true. They took one guy out of the shower. That's just messed up."

Jimmy picked up his ruck too. "I heard that team got in a lot of trouble. The subject nearly died."

Tony agreed. "So true, but I'd hang onto my ruck for true."

Gibbs handed Dean a list. "Here's what everyone wants. There's two orders, so someone bring back the one that's finished and the other two wait."

Cos nodded. "Gotcha."

The three friends trotted out the door, headed for the restaurant.

"Who's gonna take the first order back?" Jimmy hitched his ruck up; the straps had drifted, so it was now too loose.

Dean called a quick halt. "Okay, Jimmy, stop and fix that."

Dean and Cos waited patiently as Jimmy adjusted his straps. "Okay, that's good."

When they reached the restaurant, they stopped just inside the door to play rock, paper, scissors to figure out who went back first.

Cos crowed as he got paper against two rocks. Dean swatted him, saying, "Okay, jerk, gloat all you want. But we get the good stuff."

Cos snorted. "You're just mad cause I get back in time to get a good chair."

This was a constant source of annoyance; half the chairs in the conference room they used as a dining room were broken in some way. He got a raspberry from Jimmy and The Bird from Dean.

The first batch of food was ready, so Cos took it and left by a side door; by doing this, the white van didn't see him leave.

Jimmy and Dean decided to go back out to the sidewalk to wait for the rest of the food, as the restaurant was crowded. Dean told the delivery boy, who just nodded absently as he took notes from the phone. Dean didn't realize that the busy kid wrote "Delivery requested," on both tickets. No one would notice for more than an hour, as all tickets had to have addresses on them in case the order changed to delivery.

They were seated at a table on the sidewalk when a white van pulled up beside them, and six men jumped out and grabbed them right out of the café. The driver calmed a couple of startled customers by flashing a badge and telling the truth. "Relax. Calm down. I'm a survival trainer and we're just doing a pick-up for a surprise training trip. See?" He let an older man examine his credentials then went back to the van.

While he'd been calming the bystanders, his companions had been putting a sack over Dean and Jimmy's heads. "Relax. It's the pick-up. No talking. No fighting. If you do, we'll inject you. You're supposed to be dropped together, but give us shit and we'll separate you."

Jimmy protested, "I'm the wrong guy," and was told, "We've heard that a million times. Shut up."

So Dean and Jimmy sat quietly while the men searched them. One man started to search their rucks but was told, "No. We don't search those. Whatever they have in those would be on them in real life. The only things we take are their phones."

A second voice said, "And their watches. GPS in them ... not allowed. Clever bastard though."

That led to a bit of a struggle as both Dean and Jimmy were reluctant to give them up. Dean protested, "Yeah, and we never get them back, not to mention that we need them to find our way. Jerk."

This led to someone making a snarky comment of, "We don't. Your stuff is as safe as if it was in a bank."

"Yes and that still leaves us without something we'd have in a real situation."

The problem was sorted to everyone's mutual agreement by two of the pick-up crew giving up their watches. The confiscated property was put into a bag and labeled as to who it belonged to.

Then it started. They arrived at the airport and, while the crew weren't rough with them, they didn't help much either. Jimmy managed to step on one man's foot and kick another in the butt. When they complained, Jimmy just snarled, "Fuckin' blind here. Don't like it, let me take the damn sack off. Otherwise, fuck you." This did not go down well with the pick-up crew, but they knew better than to do anything about it.

Dean was also not happy. He hated being blindfolded, and did the same thing Jimmy was doing; he managed to trip, fall against a couple of the men, and knock both of them down. He then stepped on one man and kicked the other, defending the action by saying, "What the hell do you expect? I can't fuckin' see. You want me to be more careful, take off the sack. Otherwise, like Gremlin said, fuck you."

They were loaded onto a C-130 and told to go to sleep. Dean snarled, "I need the head. I don't know why we have to be blindfolded like this. What are we gonna do? We signed up for this shit, no need to mistreat us. Jerks."

Jimmy protested this at once. "I did not sign up for this fuckin' shit. Seriously. Wrong man here."

The pick-up crew was now thoroughly sick of Dean and Jimmy 'accidentally' kicking them, tripping and dragging them down with them, and generally being clumsy and excusing it by complaining that they were blind and couldn't help it. The sacks were removed and Jimmy and Dean blinked in the sudden glare. They saw that they were aboard a C-130 with several other pairs of men in the same situation that they were. Dean offered, "Well. It's not that bad. Except, I still need the head."

One of the pick-up crew pointed to a port-a-stool. "There. Hurry up. They'll take it off before take off ... which should be any minute now. And no funny stuff."

Dean just snorted. "Not me. You're no fun and I don't intend to give you any reason to tie me up. Jerk." He took care of business, closing the temporary canvas curtain.

The C-130 was finally loaded and took off. Dean eyed the watch he was wearing, realized that it was a fairly expensive diver's watch, and did some calculations. Hopefully, he'd be able to figure out their drop point.

The C-130 flew for over 18 hours. Dean frowned; due to various things, he needed to know which version of C-130 they were on. So he did the sensible thing and asked a crewman. The man frowned; they were not supposed to talk to these men but it was a simple request so he answered, "C-130J, sir."

Dean thanked the man then sighed. A C-130J was the fastest of the model with a cruising speed of 417 mph at 22,000 feet. And a range of nearly 2200 miles. They were going to wind up somewhere in Canada, or he missed his guess. At least it was late spring.

They landed twice to refuel and unload and take on cargo. The groups were kept apart but allowed to get off, use facilities, and walk around a bit. They were also fed. Most of the men slept as much as they could.

The last landing was somewhere in Canada as near as Dean could figure. The pick-up crews now gathered up their charges and their gear. Dean managed to hit the pick-up crew chief in the head with his ruck, shrugged apologetically, and trotted off in the direction he was pointed. Jimmy followed, leaving behind one bit of advice. "Man, you need to watch your blood pressure. Dude, chill."

They were handed over to the transport crew, much to the pick-up crew's relief, and put on a medium size Piper Cub. They dumped their rucks at their feet and the plane took off. Jimmy eyed the wide door with misgivings. "Um ... Dean ... you do realize that I have never parachuted ... ever. Right?"

Dean nodded. "And ... we're fucked. If you land wrong, we're screwed."

Jimmy frowned. "Maybe if we get dropped over water?"

"Nope. Hard as dirt from about 600 feet up."

"Well, shit."

The jump master eyed them for a moment then said, "You've both got huge rucks, which you get to keep. But I'm not havin' you jump with 'em. This is supposed to be an exercise in which you survive. So ... if you both agree to behave, we'll transfer you to a seaplane that's doing training runs and land you where you're supposed to be." He waited while Jimmy eyed Dean for a hint.

Dean nodded. "Okay. No sack, no rough handling, and we'll be good. You get too rough and all bets are off. I'll fuck a bitch up."

"Okay. Deal." The Petty Officer held out his hand and they all shook on it.

They landed at a Canadian Coast Guard Rescue station and the jump master hopped out. He flagged down someone and spent a few minutes talking to him. That man eyed the Piper, then nodded. He pointed to an HU-16 Albatross that was just getting ready to take off. This was actually a US Coast Guard asset that was on loan to Canada for training purposes.

It wasn't long before Jimmy and Dean were seated somewhere in its guts and, after another two hours' flight time, put out on a rickety dock in the middle of, as Dean sourly remarked, the fuckin' ass-end of no-fuckin'-where. The Albatross took off and waggled its wings before flying away.

Jimmy eyed the sky and announced, "We need a camp, like now."

Dean agreed but pointed. "We need to be away from here first. Bear."

Jimmy looked at where Dean was pointing. "What?"

"Bear scat. Right there." Dean pointed again.

Jimmy eyed the scat. "Okay. Doesn't look fresh."

"You really wanna take that chance?"

"Um ... no, not really."

So they shouldered their rucks and headed inland. Dean checked the sun's position and his watch, and did some mental calculations. "Okay, the whole idea of this is just to hunker down and survive this mess in as good a shape as possible. So ... we need to decided what we're really gonna do."

Jimmy shrugged. "I vote ... we walk out. Really. This area is not a good place. Bears ... no noticeable food sources ... no good camping places. What the actual fuck, anyway?"

Dean smirked a bit. "Really. They took our phones, watches, and GPS mods. But ... They didn't get the good stuff."

Jimmy made an enquiring noise as he stepped over a pile of brush.

"You know that Jet was complaining that they don't even teach orienteering and astronavigation anymore?" Dean stepped over the same pile just as carefully; it wouldn't do to mess up a leg at this early date.

"I do. He bitched for nearly an hour. He's been teaching me, and I've got a kit in the bottom of my ruck. Looks like a little Red Cross First Aid kit."

Dean cracked up. "Me too. Only mine looks like one of those box Bibles. We're cookin' with gas now."

Jimmy frowned. "And where did that expression come from?"

Dean held a branch out of his way. "Back in the day, everyone cooked on either wood or coal. Made a hell of a mess, what with clinkers and ash from coal or ash and charcoal chunks from wood, which all had to be hauled through the house in buckets. Although the charcoal was usually just left for next fire. So, when gas was introduced, it was really a great thing. Clean, easy to use, just turn on the main and go. So cooking with gas was new, good, faster, and just better all 'round."

Jimmy chuckled, "You're nearly as good a story-teller as Ducky."

Dean swatted Jimmy. "Who do you think I heard that from? Jerk."

"Bitch."

That being settled to both men's satisfaction, they walked on, trying to find a place to camp before dark.

.

Gibbs looked up as a delivery boy plopped a pile of boxes on his desk. "Gibbs?"

"That'd be me. What the hell?"

"Have no idea, man. All I know is the ticket said deliver, I delivered. Sign here." The boy was bored and not in the mood, so he just handed the book to Gibbs and waited while he read the ticket, signed, and waved him away.

"Where the hell are Dean and Jimmy? They should have brought that back thirty minutes ago." Gibbs got a nasty feeling in his gut. "Tim, trace their phones, activate their watches ... whatever."

Tim nodded, grabbed his food and returned to his desk. He typed furiously for a moment then settled back to eat his food and wait. It wasn't long before he snarled, "Son of a fuckin' bitch. Damnit! Both phones and both watches are ... at Quantico. I'll try to find out exactly where." He typed for a moment then swore, "Damnit! They're on the move. They're bunched up so tightly that they can't possibly be on them. Looks more like they're ... not sure. What the fuckin' hell?"

Gibbs hurried over, dropping his spaghetti on his desk, "What?" Remy, Cos, and Tony gathered behind him.

Cos turned white as he followed the path of the blips. "Oh, no. Fuckin' ... shit. They been snatched. Some jackwad picked up Jimmy instead of Cos."

Gibbs returned to his desk, grabbed his phone, and dialed. "I'll get hold of Belt and get this straightened out."

However both Captain Rafe McKinley, the East Coast Commander, and Lieutenant Sam Brown, his 2IC, were out of touch for the foreseeable future; Cheyenne Mountain was not taking messages.

Tony sighed, "And Remy and I are up for pick-up too. Now what?"

Gibbs thought for a moment then made a call. "George, you ol' dog, how's it?"

He listened for a few minutes then said, "Man, she's growin' up fast. Look, you know damn good an' well that I didn't call you just to chew the fat. Got a problem. Seems that some Squid picked up my man instead of a SEAL due for Wilderness Survival training. So ... yeah. Not good. And I've got two more due for pick-up. Need that pick-up dropped to the bottom of the list. Can you swing it?" He listened for a few more seconds then said, "Thanks, I owe you one," before hanging up. "Well, AJ, you and Remy are off the list. I owe George Sanderson a favor." He smirked, "But he was pretty pleased to get one over on the guy in charge of the pick-ups; doesn't like him for some reason but ... works for me."

Tony shrugged. "I don't care about the training. Been there, done that. But ... what are we gonna do about Gremlin gettin' picked up?"

"I'm gonna see Vance. But ..." he shrugged. "Not really too worried ... he's with Dean, right? And both of them know real orienteering ... I taught all of you myself. So..." he paused for a moment then said, "Tim, you call Abby and tell her. Cos, run down and let Ducky know, then stay there to help him."

Gibbs trotted up the stairs two at a time, nodded to Cynthia and opened the door to Director Vance's office. "Leon, you'll never believe this one. I swear."

Leon Vance looked up from a boring report on things he didn't care about. "If it's about one of yours, probably will. What?"

"As you know, AJ, Remy, Dean, and Cos are due for survival training, okay? Well, the pick-up fucked up and nabbed Jimmy. How they could mistake Jimmy for Cos, I'm not entirely sure. And we can't get McKinley or Brown on the horn as they're in the depths of Cheyenne Mountain doing something classified with something classified. So ... just so you know."

Leon opened his mouth, closed it, blinked a couple of times then snickered, "Only your bunch, Jethro, only your ..." he didn't manage to finish his sentence as he was laughing too hard.

Gibbs gave him a rather hot glower, but allowed, "Yeah, only my bunch." Then he started laughing too.

.

Cos ambled into the morgue just in time for Ducky to offer him tea. "Thanks, Duck. You'll never believe this. I'm to be your new assistant until Jimmy gets back from wilderness survival. He got picked up with Dean instead of me. Ain't that the shits?"

Ducky eyed Cos for a moment then shrugged. "I have no doubt that he'll be fine. Dean is capable and so is Jimmy. Sugar?"

"Please."

Since Cos had brought down his lunch and Ducky had his, they settled in to finish their meals and discuss what Cos would do for Ducky. It turned out that Cos thought he was going to be dumb muscle while Ducky intended that he be much more. Cos just shrugged and said, "Whatever, Doc; you say, I do. Simple."

.

Abby caught movement out of the corner of her eye. "Tim! Hey!"

Tim turned the music off; it was never ear-bleedingly loud anymore, but it was still hard to talk over. "Um ... Abby ... I ... um. ..." Tim knew he wasn't good at this sort of thing. Telling Abby anything that might set her off on one of her hysterical tirades always choked him up.

Abby eyed Tim for a moment then got right up in his face. "You know something I should know. Speak."

"Um ... You know that all four SEALs were supposed to be picked up for wilderness survival, right?" Abby nodded. "Well, some Squid fucked up and they snatched Dean and Jimmy; instead of Dean and Cos. Cos brought back food and left Jimmy and Dean to bring back the rest. Um ... and we can't trace them by their watches or phones."

Abby bounced. "Sure we can. All you have to do is ... but you know that. So?"

"The pick-up took them. Don't know why they took the watches. But I'm sure they took the phones so they couldn't use the GPS; maybe they figured out that the watches have more functions than just telling time?"

Abby scowled at the thought of not knowing where her two friends were. "I don't like that. You know it's a really bad thing, not to have some sort of locater on them. Why? I mean ... that's just dumb."

Tim agreed but, after a moment's thought, said, "Well, it's tradition. You know the Navy is real big on that shit."

"Still stupid. What if something horrible happens to them and they can't get in touch with anyone. What if they get mauled by a bear, or a wolf, or ... or a moose?"

Tim frowned. "I think they do a fly-over every 48, if there's real trouble they can signal with a mirror or something. Other than that? A moose? Abby? Seriously?"

Abby sighed. "Tim, find out who the jackwads are that okayed the pick-up, and who actually did it. All of them."

Tim stuck out his lower lip, making him look about 16. "Abby."

"Now, Tim."

Tim just grinned. "Tonight. Meet me at the Java Pot; we'll use their Wi-fi." He grinned, "Unless Gibbs tells me to do it."

Abby grinned back. "I like the way you think." As usual, something binged and she hurried off to deal with it.

.

After splashing through a stream, Dean called a halt. "We need to stop a sec. I'm beginning to chafe."

Jimmy sighed, reluctant to stop but well aware that, if they didn't powder down now, they'd bleed later. "Okay. You got dry socks?"

"I do. And I'm gonna hang the wet ones off my ruck, hope they dry before we have to put shit away." Dean dropped his ruck on the ground and rummaged for dry socks and a shaker of powder. "What kind of powder do you use now?"

"Monkey Butt. It's good for everything. Got zinc, talc, and menthol in it. Don't use it on your nuts, though."

"Big ol' no to menthol on sensitive bits." Dean produced an unlabeled plastic shaker and waved it at Jimmy. "Abby made this. She said to use the pink on feet and chafing, and the white on what she called delicate areas. She should have given you some."

Jimmy admitted, "She did ... I think. She gave Ducky a box for me but it's still on my dresser. She only gave it to Ducky yesterday."

Dean checked his ruck. "Okay. Socks. Abby knits the best socks. And ... I've got enough powder to share if you need."

Jimmy shrugged. "I've got a shaker of powder and a bag of refill. I should be good. Let's get powdered and go."

"On it."

They finished putting on powder and dry socks. A final rummage brought out the orienteering gear.

They kept going for another half hour and were lucky enough to find a good clearing to pitch their tents in. Jimmy snickered, then said, "I bet that bunch a' jackwads would be surprised at what we've got."

"I wouldn't touch that one with a ten-foot pole." Dean opened his tent and mated it to Jimmy's, giving them nearly three times the room of two un-mated tents. "There. Start the stake-down, and I'll find some wood. How many fire-starters do you have?"

Jimmy thought a moment. "I've got two magnesium strikers and a big pack of dryer lint. You?"

"Same. Plus I've got a camping mirror with a lens in it."

Jimmy silently regretted the fact that the pick-up crew had told them to turn over their GPS or they'd find them themselves and take anything else that struck their fancy. They'd turned them over with a lot of bitching and moaning. But, as AJ said, "Wish in one hand, shit in the other, and see which one fills up first."

Dean soon returned with a huge armload of wood and set to making a fire in the fire ring Jimmy had made after he was done with the tents and sleeping bags.

After the fire was started, Dean and Jimmy both started to say something. Dean said, "Bread an' Butter. You start."

Jimmy also said, "Bread an' Butter." then continued, "I think we ought to take inventory to see what we've got, then reorganize the packs so that we each have some of everything. Just in case."

So they took everything out of their rucks, putting it on a ground cloth. It turned out that they had, between them, twenty MRE's. Jimmy also had a few backpacking meals which Dean eyed with some disfavor.

"And you have these ... why?"

The standard MRE was 3"x12"x8" and contained 1250 calories; consisting of a main, side, bread, spread, desert, candy, drink mix and 'comforts' such as Tabasco, TP, spork, wet wipe, chewing gum, sugar, salt, pepper, matches and some other things. It also contained a flameless heater pack; just add water to the line and wait.

The standard backpacker meal had a main. That's right, just one single freeze-dried something, usually a casserole-type portion, a total of 400 to 500 calories. If you wanted anything else, you had to pack it separately. So Dean's skepticism was warranted.

Jimmy grinned. "It's pancake mix with blueberries. I've got a fry pan that'll make a nice 6" cake. There's also syrup in the package."

Dean laughed, read the instructions, then said, "There's enough to make six cakes, three each. Yum."

Jimmy waved an object. "Got four straws. You?"

Dean rummaged in his things for a moment. "Me, too." Since what they called straws were actually water purification devices that made almost any water source drinkable, this was important.

When they finished, they checked each pile to make sure that each of them had some of everything. Finally satisfied, they settled in for a supper of MRE's and extra coffee. They kept the fire low to conserve wood, but high enough to keep bears and wolves at bay.

They sat, sipping their coffee until the sun was completely down. Dean swallowed the last of his coffee, stood up, and said, "Best hit the rack. Early morning tomorrow."

Jimmy nodded, finished his own coffee, and agreed. "Right. And we should get up early enough to shoot the sun; we should shoot ... Mars, and the North Star as well."

Right." Dean looked up. "North Star there." he pointed, and Jimmy snickered, "Right. I know you know where it is, but ... meh."

Jimmy dug out his equipment and took a reading from the North Star and Venus. Mars wasn't visible yet.

Dean did the same, and they compared results; since they were only a hundredth of a degree off from each other, they called it a win and went to bed.

Dean eyed the setup of the sleeping bags and announced, "Okay, I stink?"

Jimmy sat down and started taking off his boots. "No. But I figure it's warm enough that we should be more comfortable in our own bags." He peeled his shirt off, thinking that he was glad he was wearing a flannel. His pants followed, carefully folded.

"Okay, but it's gonna be colder than you expect. But ... meh ... whatever." Dean also took off his boots, socks, shirt, and trousers. He left his t-shirt and shorts on.

They both crawled into their sleeping bags and settled down to sleep. Dean, ever the comic, said, "Good night, Jimmy."

Jimmy grumbled, "Night ... jerk."

"Bitch."

.

The next morning was chill and a bit damp, Dean was up and had the fire built up while Jimmy broke camp, putting the sleeping bags, ground pads, and tents into their storage sleeves and repacking them.

"Food." Dean offered Jimmy his choice, "Breakfast burrito or cheesy hashbrowns and sausage. I put all the extras in here." he waved two zip-lock bags at him.

"Coffee and the burrito please." Jimmy stuffed his bag into his ruck and settled down to drink coffee and eat the burrito.

Dean sat on his tri-stool and guzzled coffee and forked a bite of his cheesy hashbrowns into his mouth. His expression was priceless. "Oh, man, that's just foul. Where did you get this shit?"

"I'm one of the testers for new meals. Bad?" Jimmy smirked a bit.

"It's disgusting. The potatoes are ... paste and the cheese is ... too salty and sorta like that cheap nacho cheese shit some places pass off as food. The sausage is ..." he took another bite, chewed for a bit then said, "bland. Is there any more pepper?"

"I'll let you have mine and the Tabasco. Here." Jimmy passed over the tiny bottle of Tabasco and a packet of pepper.

Dean dumped, sprinkled and stirred; he took another bite, grimaced but said, "Well, the texture is still somewhat like lumpy wallpaper paste, but the taste is ... better. Not good but ... better." He quickly finished his meal, made a cup of tea, and settled back to wait for Jimmy.

He didn't have long to wait; the burrito was soon gone, and Jimmy took his own cup of tea. "The tea is good. The coffee is better. And they put in another pack of creamer and sugar. I don't know why anyone would want artificial sugar ... just ... yuck." Jimmy's opinion of artificial sweetener was well known and on the order of, if you don't want sugar, take it plain.

They took secondary readings and realized that they had been dumped on the southeastern shore of Hudson's Bay. Jimmy frowned, then said, "I should know where something is ... it'll come to me."

Dean just shrugged. "Okay. We need to head South and East, that's where nearly everything is. Maybe we'll hit a working logging camp or a trading post or something."

.

Gibbs eyed his computer with disgust. "AJ, find me a phone number, this ... thing is shit. Can't get past Contact Us. Jackwads." He poked at his keyboard. "I wanna have a few words with the CO of the pick-up crew."

Tony just picked up Gibbs phone and dialed. He tossed the phone back saying, "Ringing now. Have fun."

Gibbs listened to the phone ring; when someone picked up he just said, "I'd like to speak to Lieutenant Davis. He has a problem."

Tony couldn't resist, he reached over and put the phone on speaker. Tim, Dorneget, Remy, and Cos gathered around.

Gibbs was usually considered a yeller; his close friends knew better. If he was yelling, he was mildly pissed to annoyed; when he got calm and quiet… well, Tony's advice was, "Just run; keep running until you pass out."

Gibbs got Lieutenant Davis on the line and said, "You have a problem. You've picked up the wrong man."

Lieutenant Davis was not inclined to agree. "How can you be sure? My people are experts at pick-up. They've never failed a pick-up."

Tony snickered. Gibbs glared at him. "Sorry, Jet. Just ..." he waved Cos forward.

"Chief Petty Officer Cosmo Richter here, sir. And not on some C-130 headed for the ass-end of nowhere."

Lieutenant Davis yelped, then demanded, "Then who the hell did my crew pick up?"

"Dr. Jimmy Palmer, Ph.D."

"Who the hell is that?"

"Someone who doesn't look anything like Richter. He's about three inches shorter and the coloring is totally different. So ... What knuckle-dragging, cretinous, careless squid picked up the wrong man? And how the hell did they manage it? Enquiring minds want to know." Gibbs' tone of voice would have frozen an Inuit.

Lieutenant Davis took a deep breath. "I realize that you're upset, but you have to understand..."

Gibbs cut him off. "No, actually, I don't have to understand. It's clear that you're nothing but a bean-counting desk-jockey. This is inexcusable. I'll be starting an inquiry into your procedures."

"And what gives you the right?"

"Let me introduce myself again. Special Agent and Team Lead of the Major Crimes Response Team Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Master Gunnery Sergeant, United States Marine Corp, Retired. I'll be speaking to our Director shortly ... unless you can come up with a decent explanation ASAP."

The lieutenant gave up. "Okay, I'll be asking all my crews how this could have happened. I'll send you a report if you like. And I'll make sure this will never happen again. Also, we can send a crew to pick them up ... I think."

Tony took over, completely ruining the man's day. "You think? With what? How you managed to pick up Gremlin instead of Scorpion I'd like to know. This is unacceptable behavior. What if you'd picked up some civilian and dumped them in the sticks alone? You really want to contemplate the consequences of that? And you're on report, as well as every man on that pick-up crew. I'll expect particulars immediately. Get your act together."

"And who the hell are you?" The lieutenant was evidently a slow learner.

"Lt. Cmdr. Anthony Jethro DiNozzo, United States Navy SEAL. And a senior field agent with NCIS. I'll also be speaking to Director Vance and SecNav. You're in a hurt locker, mister. Names better be on my desk in ten." He gave his fax number, then nodded to Gibbs, who hung up on the man's sputtered protests.

"Well, that went well." Tony shook his head.

Director Vance had happened to walk by in the middle of the conversation and stopped to listen. "I'll be happy to back your play with SecNav. This is really unacceptable. Do you think Dr. Palmer will be all right?"

"Yeah, he's with Dean Cale. Beside the fact that he was a Boy Scout, and we've trained him ourselves. He'll be fine. It's just the fact that some fuckin' jackwad made this kind of mistake ... it's really worrying. Seriously ... what if they'd picked up some totally unprepared civvie?"

Vance sighed. "It is a valid concern. I think I'll put someone on some sort of investigation. Not sure exactly what yet, but I intend to spoil several people's day. Maybe even their week." He nodded and headed for his office to start raining hell down on some heads.

.

Jimmy finished tying his boots ―he'd had to let the laces out a bit― then stood up. "Okay. I'm ready. My feet were a bit swollen this morning, so I had to let the laces out. We should stop about 1300 to set up camp and try to find some fish or game."

Dean agreed with the plan. "Great. Keep an eye on those boots and don't let 'em get too damn loose. Fish would be nice. I've got that big frying pan, and you've got a smaller one. Be nice if we could find some wild onions or some cattail roots."

"That's easy; we're gonna follow the stream downhill; we just keep an eye out for some and take a few to get them. We're not in any hurry, are we?"

Dean thought about that for a moment. "Not really. Everyone knows where we are, more or less. And no one is gonna be worried, no more than is reasonable at any rate ... so ... we'll take our time. Wonder where the fuck we are exactly."

Jimmy frowned for a moment. "I can figure it out on the next shoot ... maybe. Really wish we'd managed to keep our watches or a GPS. But ... we can figure out close enough. Might get really lucky and run across a logging road; they usually sign them fairly well. Wouldn't do to have a truck loaded with expensive logs get lost."

Dean laughed at that. "No, wouldn't do at all." He turned his head. "Oh, look, artichokes." He walked over and began to dig out some of the roots. No one thought it odd at all that he carried a collapsible trenching shovel in his ruck.

Jimmy didn't carry a shovel, he had an extra blue pad and ground cloth, as well as an odd contraption that he'd made out of a coat hanger. He called it a Marine clothesline. It hooked onto the back of his ruck and made it possible to hang socks, shirts, and underwear off the back of his ruck. Trousers and jeans were too heavy for the wire. He usually washed socks and underwear at night and, if they weren't dry, hung them off the back of his pack. They dried by noon. Heavier items he just draped over the back of his pack.

After making sure the fire was out and they'd either burned or packed all the trash and not forgotten anything, they headed out southward.

They took their time, admiring the scenery and enjoying the fresh air and sunshine. Jimmy sighed. "It's nice, you know? I love my job but sometimes ... well, the smells are a bit much, and I've been taking Vitamin D to make up for the lack of sunshine."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I've noticed that you're in the morgue eight to twelve hours a day, and days off are damn thin on the ground… have been for months."

"I swear, some days I don't know whether I'm coming or going. Ducky's a rock ... or a machine ... not sure which. You'd think that, at his age, he'd wear out quicker. But I'm usually the one who needs a damn nap. I'm planning on making this a mini-vacation."

"Okay. I'll teach you how to fish." Dean waited.

"Deano. I know how to fish. Even have one of those collapsible rods." Jimmy poked Dean in the ribs.

Dean danced away from Jimmy's stiffened fingers. "No, you don't. You loaned it to Dorneget, remember?"

Jimmy blinked, realizing that he hadn't seen his rod when they repacked last night. "Well, shit. So ... teach me to fish?"

"Hand-fishin' is illegal but ... since we're in a survival situation, it's allowed. I'll teach you how."

They walked along, taking their time, which was a good thing, as they came across a very grumpy bear, just awakened from hibernation and looking for food. They eased around the bear, keeping downwind, and were soon clear. Dean sighed, then whispered, "That was fuckin' close; at least it was a boar. I'd hate to run across a sow with cubs. No damn way we'd have made it around the cubs. Those little devils have more curiosity than ten barrels of monkeys."

Jimmy nodded then pointed. "Trail."

"Deer."

"Follow it?"

"Yeah, it's going th' right way."

They turned onto the path and followed it at a leisurely pace, watching the surrounding area for bears or other beasts with teeth and claws. Jimmy was also looking for edible plants. He didn't find much, as it was too early in the season.

Dean also looked for anything worth gathering. "I don't think we'll find much in the way of foraging. It's too early in the season. You only found those artichokes because you know what you're looking at when you see something. I'm glad we're both trained. Anyone else would starve."

Jimmy sighed. "You're right. I'm looking forward to some salmon. There are salmon around here, right?"

"Sorry. Only trout. We're too far inland for salmon. But there's bound to be rabbits and stuff. We could catch a couple and add them to a vegetarian MRE."

Jimmy made a face. "Cobra! What the actual fuck are you doing with veggie meals? Those are mostly nasty."

"Well, I lost a fuckin' bet with Badger. Asshole that he is, he made me trade my meatloaf for ..." Dean thought for a moment. "Um ... pink lentil something with mixed veggie side. Blah! And bean burrito with cheese and sauce." He made a face of disgust. "But, if we add meat, it might work."

Jimmy agreed rather doubtfully. "Okay ... if you say so. What else do we have that we can add to?"

Dean shrugged. "We can add something to almost anything. The best ones to supplement are anything that's a stew. You've got the inventory, so it's up to you."

"Okay. Are we going to try to conserve resources, or just eat and worry later?"

"We're going to eat and worry later. I think we'll do better if we don't short ourselves until we have to. We might even reach civilization before we run out of food. Or find some other source of food. We'll just play it by ear." Dean pointed. "There. We'll stop for a bit, have some coffee and rest."

Jimmy nodded. "Okay. While we're thinking. Will you eat greens? I don't remember if you ate them at Ma'mere's or not."

"I'll eat them. I like 'em with bacon and onions but ... what we find, we eat. In a situation like this ... we eat what we find. If you don't like it, hold your nose."

Jimmy snickered. "Right. So, keep an eye out for dandelions, or mustard or sorrel. Fiddle-head ferns ... might be a bit early, but we can check in the low spots. Watercress and morels ... um ... nuts ... might be lucky and find some wild rice. Although it's not actually rice. It's going to be last year's stand, and this isn't really the area for it, but we can look. You remember anything?"

Dean ducked a low branch. "Not really, but I'll know stuff when I see it."

"Yeah, isn't that always the way of it?"

They walked in companionable silence until they found a place to stop for lunch. As they'd decided the MRE's were to be eaten as needed, they each picked something and settled in to make it up.

Once the heater packs were started, they set to examining their equipment and boots. Nothing was worse than having a pack strap or boot lace break right in the middle of climbing a rock face or crossing a stream.

Jimmy cheerfully admitted to having four pairs of boot laces, a collection of Dominators, T-points, buckles, Grimlocks, and speed clips; all in a pouch on his harness. He also had a sewing kit and grinned as he admitted to making Abby teach him how to darn the socks she knit for them, sew on a button, and fix a ripped seam.

Dean eyed Jimmy for a moment then announced, "Dude, I'm so proud of you. That's ... incredible. I can't even thread a damn needle." He showed his weight-bar-and-shooting-calloused hands. "Can't feel the thread."

Jimmy snorted rather rudely. "And you all make fun of me for wearing workout gloves and shooting gloves. What kind of doctor would I be if my hands were so calloused that I can't thread a needle?" He poked at his MRE. "You think that's hot yet?"

Dean eyeballed the MREs. "Probably. It only takes about five minutes."

They checked the food and found that it was warm enough to eat, so they settled in. After finishing their meal, they gathered all the trash to be burned that night.

"Okay, we're off."

"In more ways than one."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

.

Tim McGee was really a nice, mild-mannered person; until you fucked with one of his. And this was fucked up and then some. "How the hell did they not ... I mean ... Christ on a cracker, Jimmy and Cos don't look anything alike. What did they do? Or not do? Or ... fuck."

He sat fuming until Gibbs said in a kindly tone, "Don't bust a blood vessel; do something."

"What?"

Gibbs shrugged. "I don't know. Fuck with them somehow. You're the computer nerd, figure it out."

So Tim did a search of public documents within the Navy database and found a list of all the pickup staff, neatly subdivided by crew. A secondary search gave him the crew that was responsible for the SNAFU. He realized that Tony had a list, so he demanded it and cross checked; it wouldn't do to mess with the wrong people. He happily cancelled all their leaves and put them all on report. He also cancelled their credit cards, unless they were married; then he just cancelled their access to the accounts. He blocked access to savings and other sources of funds. Finally, he put a timer on the whole mess which returned everything except the leave and report to the former settings in four days.

Tony watched as Tim worked; he knew enough to be able to figure out what Tim was doing, but not enough to do it himself. He spent a bit of time quietly snickering to himself. "Digimon, you're mean."

"I am. I truly am. But ... They messed with the wrong people. If either Dean or Jimmy actually get hurt, I'll ruin the lot of them."

Gibbs chuckled darkly. "Then I'll fuck 'em up."

It was a consensus; everyone agreed that the team that had grabbed the wrong man deserved what they got. There was no excuse for their carelessness. This could have turned out so much worse.

Jimmy eyed the stream with a doubtful expression. "You sure?"

Dean moved to stand behind Jimmy, saying, "I am." He tucked his arm under Jimmy's and pointed. "See? Right there. Wait a second and you'll see when it moves."

Jimmy did as instructed, and soon the trout wiggled just a little. "Yeah, I see it. Why did it do that?"

"Keeping position. They like to get under the edges of the banks. Insects fall into the water there and ... yay! Lunch."

"Okay. So ... you're going to just stick your hand into the water and grab one?" Jimmy eyed the slippery-looking fish.

"More or less." Dean went on to explain how to hand-fish, then said, "And the other way is to wade out and wait for one to get curious and come to you. But I'm not too thrilled with that, as the water is damn cold this early in the year."

Jimmy shuddered. "No, not good at all. So, what am I supposed to do?"

"You wait on this bank; I'll catch a fish and toss it to you, you kill it. Then I'll try again. Hopefully, I can catch a couple for each of us. After I finish my catch, I'll clean them while you see if you can't find some ramps and greens."

"Okay." Jimmy took Dean's ruck and put it with his own, then went down to stand on the water's edge, careful to keep his shadow off the water. Dean would be flaming pissed if he scared the fish off; not to mention that they'd either go hungry or use up another MRE that they might need later on.

It wasn't long before Dean was across the stream and lying on his stomach on the bank. He eased his hand into the water and just let it hang. A few moments later, he grabbed a fish and tossed it to Jimmy. Jimmy grabbed it out of the air and smacked its head into a tree.

A second fish soon followed the first, and Dean carefully made his way back to camp, foraging on the way. He found some dried winter blackberries, a few fiddleheads, and some greens and ramps, so he was very pleased with himself.

Jimmy returned to his self-assigned task of gathering firewood when Dean returned to the camp. He'd also set up the tents and sleeping bags so they wouldn't have to mess with it later. Dean nodded his approval and took the fish to clean.

While he was doing that, Jimmy dumped his armload of wood and began to make preparations for their supper. He had a roll of foil in his pack, so he put the fiddleheads and greens in one package and chopped the ramps. Dean returned with the cleaned fish and settled in a squat to stuff the fish with ramps and the berries. After wrapping the fish in foil they settled down to wait for the fire to produce the coals they needed to cook their food.

It wasn't that long until there were enough coals to start cooking. Dean placed the packages near the fire, then covered them with sand from the stream. Then he used his camp shovel to cover the sand with coals.

Jimmy filled a billy-can from the stream and set it on the opposite side of the fire to boil water for coffee. They had quite a collection of drink packets, as they all collected the leftover "comforts" from MRE's and kept them in zip-lock bags. Jimmy tended to accept tea from the others and give them the hot cider and lemonade that he didn't like. Dean, on the other hand, traded his tea for coffee, cider and hot chocolate. Gibbs didn't like anything but the coffee, and he wasn't too fond of that, so he gave everything else to the nearest person. Since they had odd numbers, that tended to be Jimmy or Tim. Tim gave what he didn't like to Jimmy.

They settled in to make their drinks and eat their fish, happy to do so in companionable silence.