CHRISTMAS 1970
Stepping out of the base’s headquarters,
‘Your team isn’t ready to go back in the field, Smith
and you know that. Hell, I don’t even
know what half of them are still doing here.
After what they’ve been through you should all be back state side. That pilot of yours in particular. I have no idea what you did to keep him here,
but you think it was wise?’
Morrison’s words had stung, there was no denying
that. They had hurt because they were
the truth. Murdock shouldn’t still be
out here. The papers had all been ready
to be signed but the kid hadn’t wanted that.
He’d just stared at him with big brown eyes, begging not to be sent
home. A section eight would ruin his
career, he had claimed. They’d take away
his license and never allow him to fly again, and if he couldn’t fly he might
as well be dead. The words had been
desperate but sincere and
Turning, he walked back over to their main hut,
nodding at a few of the soldiers he passed.
It was nearly Christmas and everyone looked so depressed. Not surprising, really. Christmas away from home was never easy. Christmas in a hell hole like this was just a
nightmare. His team wanted to be out
there, out fighting, making a difference, but instead they were trapped here in
this mud pit, waiting for orders some were starting to believe would never
come.
‘Wait till the new year,’ Morrison had said, ‘there’s
a mission for you then.’ But he’d
refused to elaborate on it.
Till the new year then.
Their place was surprisingly quiet, a real contrast to
the more lively atmosphere of the year before.
No Ray complaining about the lack of turkey. No Murdock bounding around the place throwing
around pieces of paper. No BA
threatening to kill Murdock if he didn’t stop bounding around the place
throwing little bits of paper. Instead
it was much stiller, more depressed. His
men where still here of course - all except Ray, whose tour had finished
earlier in the year - but everything else was different. No man could survive a prison camp and come
out the same as he had gone in. He had
seen that with his own eyes.
“Hey, Colonel.”
Face’s words seemed tired, lethargic. His first Christmas with the team and it was
a miracle the kid was here to enjoy it.
That any of them were here to enjoy it.
They should have been dead in that camp.
They should never have survived.
“Hey, kid.”
There were decorations up though, some paper chains
stretching across the ceiling, and some metal things made from old tin cans
hanging from numerous pieces of strings.
“Morrison, uh, got any order for us?”
“No.” The
answer was too quick though and a little sharper than he had planned. “No,” he amended more softly, “he wants us to
wait until the New Year, when we’ll all be a little more recovered.”
“Oh.” There was
something in the young lieutenant’s tone that suggested that he wasn’t sure if
they would be able to recover with all the time in the world. “I guess that’s for the best then.”
“I uh, hope you don’t mind, but I got you a present.”
“I know it’s not much, but I thought you’d like it.”
Cigars. Cuban
ones. Fifty of them. Must have cost the kid a fortune. Suddenly, he found himself smiling, really
smiling, for the first time in, well for the first time since…
“Thanks kid.
You really didn’t need to, especially since I haven’t gotten you
anything.”
The lieutenant just shrugged, quick as ever to brush
it off. “Doesn’t matter. You kept us alive, got us out of there, and
made sure they didn’t send me home.
That’s the only present I need.”
Looking up,
“Face…” but he was cut off by the sound of the door
opening. Neither of them were as
surprised as perhaps they should have been as BA entered, half-dragging a far
too-skinny, mumbling figure into the room.
“Found him in the OC,” BA grunted as he deposited the
pilot into the nearest available seat.
“Fool’s been drinking again.”
That much was obvious.
“I have not been drrrinking,
BA,” the pilot slurred as he tried to balance himself on the chair. “Okay, maybe just a little then. But it was worrrrth
it.”
Resolving to get it to end the situation now, he
crossed over to where Murdock sat, and bending down, he placed a firm hand on
the kid’s all too thin shoulder.
“Captain.” He was
a little relieved to find the brown eyes focussing on him. Maybe the pilot wasn’t as far gone as he
appeared.
“Yeah, Colonel?”
His breath stank of cheap beer though.
“Captain, I need you to pull it together. This drinking has to stop.”
“But…”
“No buts, Captain.
I’m not having anyone on my team who could be a danger to anyone
else. Either you sober up and keep away
from the drink or I’m having you section eighted.”
It had the immediate desired affect as the brown eyes
registered first shock, then fear, then anger.
“You wouldn’t,” he declared, struggling to his
feet. “You need me here. I’m the best goddamn pilot out here.”
“True, but only when you’re sober, Captain. Other wise you’re just a danger to us and
yourself.”
“But…” The
pilot sank forlornly back to his seat.
“But you don’t understand, Colonel, none of you do. I need to drink. It’s the only time that, that….”
That the voices stop, the pain and the terror go away
and the helplessness doesn’t feel as all consuming,
“I know what it’s like, Murdock,” he replied softly,
squeezing the pilot’s shoulder. “But
we’ll get through this, but only if you stay away from the drink. Do you understand?”
Murdock opened his mouth as if to object, but
“Do you understand?!”
Closing his mouth, the pilot hesitated for a moment,
looking desperately around for support that would not come, before finally
nodding his head.
“Good,”
A team. They
had worked in the camps as a team. They
had survived and escaped the camps by working as a team. Now they were going to beat the camps by
working as a team, and by hell, not even the entire Vietcong army was going to
stop that.
“Anyone object?”
No objections, just resolved nods. He smiled slightly.
“Good, now that we’re all in agreement the only thing
left to say is, Merry Christmas.”
And to thank God they were alive to say it.
*-*-*
