"He should've left you in the camp."
Murdock grit his teeth. "Shut up, Alan. I'm not talking to you right now."
"He should've left you there to die in that pitch black room."
"I said shut up."
"With the rats who'd eat your flesh the same way you ate theirs."
"God damn it, shut up!"
Murdock spun, and glared at the man he knew wasn't really there. He could feel his pulse racing the instant he saw him – eyes full of hate, a wicked, knowing smirk on his lips. There was vicious criticism radiating off of him from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. But he wasn't really there. Murdock knew that in the same way he knew the sun still existed in the dead of winter when it hadn't been seen in weeks. But like the sun, reality was a distant truth. It was a truth covered over by lies that tricked his brain and made the man in front of him – a man he knew was dead – speak with words he could hear in his ears and not just his mind.
"Face is never going to listen to you. He's a soldier. You're just a bastard kid trying to pretend he is to make himself feel better."
Murdock put his hands over his ears as he paced the floor of the team room, muddy boots clomping on the floor with every step. But nothing could block out the sound of his brother's voice.
"You can try all you want to pretend you're okay, but he knows you're not."
"No," Murdock growled, spinning to glare at the man who'd sat down on the edge of his bunk. "I'm not pretending. I'm not okay. I'm fucking talking to a dead man, and I'm not okay!" He was yelling. He stopped.
"You'd better watch how loud you say that," Alan said with a smirk. "They might send you for another psych eval. Maybe they'll even find out that you bribed the guy who did your first one."
Murdock turned away again, resuming his pacing. "Who the fuck cares?"
"You do. They'll send you home."
"Does it matter, at this point? Does it really matter?"
Alan laughed. Murdock was expecting it. Calling his bluff never ended well. "That would be such a sad ending to this tragic story of heroism," Alan mocked.
"Don't fucking patronize me. I was never trying to write a tragic story. Not of heroism or anything else."
Another bitter laugh. "No, you were trying to write a fucking romance novel."
Murdock rolled his eyes. Anger got him nowhere, and he knew it. There was only one way to deal with Alan – give him nothing. "Oh, will you come off it?"
"You know, in the free world, what you're doing is called stalking."
Murdock turned to glare at him. "So what are you saying? That I'm obsessed with him? Because if this is going back to the whole 'gay' thing, I swear to God I will fucking shoot you where you stand."
"Go ahead," Alan shrugged. "Not like it'd hurt me."
"Fuck!" His attempt at holding his peace got him nowhere but even more frustrated. "What do you want from me, Alan?"
"You know what I want?" The tone made it perfectly clear that Alan was baiting him. He took a wary, half step back as the much larger man stood and walked the few paces between them until he was standing so close Murdock had to lean back.
"I want you to take that pistol off your belt," Alan growled, "put it in your fucking mouth, and blow your brains all over the goddamn wall."
Murdock shut his eyes, jaw clenched hard against the vicious attack. It was nothing new. It didn't get any easier to hear it, over and over again.
"But you won't do that. Because you still got this crazy idea that somebody out there gives a flying fuck about you."
"Hannibal does." Murdock could hear his own voice cracking. "And BA. And Cruiser and Face, too; they just don't know it yet."
"Well maybe you should do it and clue them in."
Murdock kept his head turned away, eyes closed against the burning sensation that warned of bitter, angry tears he couldn't stop. "You need to leave now," he whispered. "I'm going to count to three and when I open my eyes, you're going to be gone. One."
"It's not quite that easy, Mark. I'm as much a part of you as those memories that play over and over again every time you shut your eyes."
"Two."
"You'll never really make me go away. I'll always be there when you sleep."
"Three."
Murdock waited. But he waited with the full expectation that he would hear nothing more. When he opened his eyes again, he was not surprised to find that he was alone. Still, his whole body shook as he let out a giant sigh of relief. The emotion hit him so hard, now that he was alone, that he collapsed under the weight of it. Managing just a few steps forward, he fell onto his bunk, buried his face in his arms, and cried himself to sleep.
Murdock was screaming. Only half awake, Face groaned loudly as he turned over and buried his head under the pillow. Jesus, here we go again.
He waited for Cruiser, BA, anyone to tell the pilot to shut up. No one did. As he finally opened his eyes to look around, he saw why. Their bunks were empty. His stomach lurched as he tried to look around the room, and he suddenly remembered how much he'd had to drink the night before. Given the lightheadedness he still felt, it couldn't have been all that long ago that he'd stopped drinking. What time was it?
"Murdock!"
The door opened. Two ARVN soldiers, startled by the cries, stumbled inside. "What happen? What happen?"
Now Face had to respond. He sat up, and found the floor with some difficulty. "He's fine," he answered, still groggy. Dizzy, too. He held the mattress for balance. "He's dreaming. Murdock!"
Startled awake, Murdock sat up so fast, he lost his balance and fell on the floor. The first thing he saw were the unfamiliar Vietnamese – with guns – and he screamed again as he scrambled for cover. Face realized the danger before they did and dove for Murdock's bunk, trapping his hand under the pillow with a firm grip around his wrist. Ignoring the fact that the sudden movement was about to make him sick, he stared Murdock straight in the eye.
"Let go of the gun, Murdock," he said quietly.
Murdock's eyes were wide and full of fear. "But Face… They… I can't… I just…"
Face reached with his other hand and carefully pried the pistol out of his grip. Crisis averted, he looked up at the Vietnamese soldiers. "Don't worry about him. I'll take care of it."
Reluctantly, they turned and left. Face waited until the door closed behind them before he turned his head, grabbed the trash, and heaved the alcohol that was still in his stomach. He probably wouldn't have been able to hold on another ten seconds if they hadn't left. He was glad they had.
Dizzy, sick, and still half asleep, Face put the safety back on the gun and set it on the bed beside him. "Murdock, what the hell is the matter with you?" He didn't realize how angry he was until he heard it in his voice.
"I… I'm sorry." Still sitting on the floor, Murdock buried his face in his hands. "Jesus that… that could've been really bad."
"Yeah, no shit," Face answered bitterly. "This?" He held up the gun with a glare. "No more. You keep it put away while you sleep."
Murdock frowned. "Face, I –"
"That wasn't a suggestion, Murdock!" Face snapped, cutting him off. "The last fucking thing we need is a friendly fire incident because you're having bad dreams!"
Murdock stared at him, jaw set but quivering slightly. Face's eyes narrowed. Drunk, angry, and without the slightest bit of sympathy for the man who'd woke him up, he glared hard. "You gonna fuckin' cry, flyboy?"
Murdock's eyes were brimming with tears. But before they could overflow, he pulled himself to his feet, and grabbed for the pistol in Face's hand. Face didn't give it to him. Murdock's watering eyes blazed. "Let go, Face," he growled. "Or I will lay your drunk ass out on this floor."
Face hesitated for a moment, then released his grip. Murdock jerked the gun away, tucked it into the front of his pants and grabbed his shirt on the way to the door. He didn't look back.
The jungle air was thick and hot, so saturated with humidity it felt like breathing water. Fucking miserable. Cruiser's jaw was clenched as he walked through the thick overgrowth, avoiding the vines that hung in his path. They'd only walked a few miles from the base, but they were all dripping sweat and draining water from their canteens at an alarming rate. That was okay. They weren't going very far. This wasn't a recon mission into unknown territory - some area of Cambodia crawling with NVA. It was a demo only a few miles from the camp. The bridges the enemy built to transport their supplies made a fun little playground for Hannibal. It wasn't a strenuous walk, and it wasn't hard. This outing was for the sheer pleasure of pissing the enemy off and bringing all of their hard work crashing into the water below. Hannibal got off on that kind of thing.
In spite of the relatively safe mission, Cruiser's eyes were scanning. He had a cigarette in one hand, CAR-15 in the other, and he knew the position of every man around him despite the fact that he was watching anything and everything but them. The fact that Hannibal was on point was indicative of how little trouble he was actually expecting here; it was not his favorite – or strongest – position to be in. Cruiser followed a few steps behind, glad for the lighter pack on his back while he wasn't taking supplies for a week with him.
When they finally reached the edge of the water, Hannibal stopped. Cruiser's senses jumped on high alert instantly, his cigarette hanging loosely between his lips as his eyes scanned the area, rifle ready. It was old hat by now to jump between 'relaxed' and 'high alert', even if his demeanor didn't change much and his pulse didn't tach out.
There was no movement in the trees. Reassured that their only company was the gorillas, he stepped closer to the steep slope that led down into the river, craning to see further. No bridge in sight. But if they were stopping, they were close. Good. He wanted this over with. He was tired and pissed off and edgy and for none of the traditional warzone reasons. The heat only made it worse. The sooner they could blow up this bridge, the sooner they could get back to the goddamn base and he could find some whore to fuck. And if that didn't work, some jarhead to toy with always did.
Hannibal was checking instruments. Face lit a cigarette. Murdock shifted his rifle as he looked over Hannibal's shoulder at the compass. He checked it against the map, and his memory of the fly-over that had identified this bridge in the first place, then pointed them further down the river, silently.
If Cruiser wasn't thrilled about being out here, he was downright pissy over Murdock's presence here. The man was a pilot, and a liability out here. He wasn't even trained to be on the ground. Sure, Hannibal had pulled him in on IA drills and teamwork exercises - run his ass damn near into the ground on drills of all types, in fact. But the fact remained. This wasn't what the man was supposed to be doing out here. It wasn't what the Army had bought him for, and it wasn't what they had groomed him for.
But of all the missions to bring him on, at least this one was relatively routine. Their chance of encountering any serious trouble was pretty slim. It was even better than some of the patrols Hannibal had given the pilot to cut his teeth on. They knew when, where, and how the enemy used this bridge. There would probably be no one even around to hear it when those charges went off.
That was supposed to make it okay that they were bringing a pilot with them on the ground. Fucking hell…
Murdock was like a goddamn puppy - overexcited, wide-eyed and tense. That in itself wasn't a bad thing. The rest of them were much the same way, they just didn't look like it. But that smile never seemed to leave his face. He was getting such a thrill out of this. It was all a fucking game to him. It made Cruiser wonder if he would even be able to pull the trigger if he had time to think about it. After all, games shouldn't be filled with the blood of war.
In the distance, Cruiser could see the bridge. They were a few degrees off. But hell, at least they'd found it. Those damn trails ran underneath the jungle trees and the only way to find them was to stumble on them - or be lucky enough to find where they crossed the rivers and streams.
Hannibal led them along the edge of the water, eyes still scanning and on alert even if he wasn't exactly expecting trouble. Another hundred yards or so upstream, and he paused with a hand up at the road, stopping them all behind him. Closer to the road - roads were always dangerous - Cruiser had his rifle at port arms again. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Murdock and Hannibal confer again as he studied the road.
The trails in the mud were fresh, but there was no one in sight. They swept the perimeter with practiced efficiency and speed, then regrouped with Hannibal at the edge of the bridge. His smile made it clear that he was really enjoying this outing. He turned to Face, Murdock, and Cruiser. "Cover the road. I don't want any surprises. Then he smiled at BA. "We're gonna blow this baby sky high."
BA smiled back. "Yeah, Hannibal. Let's do it."
Murdock's face split into a huge grin at the tone. Clearly he wasn't the only one who thought this was fun. He clapped a hand over BA's shoulder. "Put a little extra something in it for me would ya, big guy? Something to make blow all pretty like and let the neighbors know there's a new sheriff in town."
