"RT Columbia inserted four nights ago, twenty miles inside of Cambodia, near LZ Crow," Hannibal informed, pulling the curtain back on the map that was hanging in the wall of the TOC. "Covey wasn't able to raise them yesterday morning."
"And we just now hearin' about it?" BA asked.
"We're not on Bright Light duty," Face reminded, his voice quiet and unassuming. He didn't even look up from the spot he'd been staring at since arriving in the small, underground bunker. "Why are they sending us after a downed team?"
"And why ain't they sendin' us sooner?" BA demanded again.
"They already sent a Bright Light team." He gestured to the man standing next to him. "Sergeant Jason Holster was the Bright Light's One-Zero."
Holster stepped forward and put his shoulders back as all eyes came to rest on him. "RT Columbia is assumed all KIA. We recovered four bodies – two Americans and four Yards. All of them were," he swallowed, but continued after only a brief pause, "mutilated beyond recognition. We can't confirm which two Americans they were. Yet."
"So this is a POW snatch," Face assumed, trying to focus on the conversation at hand. Where the hell was Murdock? He should be in this room, listening to their orders. But no one had seen him all morning.
"We never recovered the body," Holster continued. "But we have reason to assume that he's dead. There was a lot of blood a short way from where we found the others, and tracks that look like the body was dragged to the road."
"Why take his whole body if he's dead?" Face asked, his tone flat. "They can claim their reward with just a hand. Or an ear."
"We don't know."
"What you want us to do?" BA demanded. "Find the body?" The thought clearly disgusted him – and with reason. There were live soldiers out there in NVA hands. "If you so sure he's dead, what you need us for?"
"It's not the body we're after," Hannibal stated firmly. "It's some information that he had on him."
"It was day four of their mission that they went missing," Holster reminded. "On day two, they'd managed to infiltrate an enemy camp and get back out with photos and papers that we consider very valuable."
Face raised a brow. "You want us to go into Cambodia in search of specific papers and photos that an MIA soldier had on him when he was most likely killed?"
"That's the long and short of it, yes."
Face sighed, and hung his head in his hands, silent as he listened with disinterest to the details of their assignment. Hannibal asked for questions, then dismissed them to get ready. "And where the hell is Murdock?" he demanded as Face stood and stretched.
"I'll go find him," Face offered. "My gear is ready to go."
"Fine. Meet us at the chopper in ten minutes."
Face knew that Murdock wasn't in the team room. He'd never come back the night before. Face didn't even bother checking there. He headed to the next logical place that Murdock would hide - his chopper. He'd mentioned it the night before. It seemed the most likely place to look.
Face knew what he was looking for. He knew where to find it. He approached quietly, glancing around. There was no one around. If he was there, he was in the back of it. "Murdock, you there?"
There was no answer, but there was a groan. A wet cough and some muffled, muttered cursing. Face blinked, surprised, and poked his head around the side of the cargo bay, dropping his gear on the floor. "Murdock, what the fuck are you doin' in here? You missed our –"
He stopped suddenly as the smell hit him: urine and vomit in sickening amounts. Face's eyes widened in surprise, and it took him a minute to even see Murdock, huddled in the corner next to the tool box. He couldn't see him well in the shadows. What he did see involved a fair amount of blood. It was still trickling down Murdock's chin and nose. His entire face looked swollen.
Eyes wide, Face jumped up into the back of the chopper. "Murdock! Jesus Christ! What the hell happened to you?"
Murdock groaned again. "Shhh… Don't." He was so quiet, the words barely formed on his swollen lips. "Head hurts."
It was everything Face could do to keep his voice lower than a yell. "What happened?"
No answer.
Face's eyes remained wide as saucers as he crawled across the back of the chopper. He grabbed Murdock's chin and turned his face so that he could look at it. Murdock bit back a noise that might have been a scream had he actually opened his mouth. Face wasn't sure he actually could open his mouth with all the swelling around his jaw. The pilot's face was a mess of puffy bruises - his eyes nearly swollen shut. His lip was split, and the side of his mouth, in a way that took Face a long moment to figure out. That wasn't from a fist, or any kind of blow from the outside. It was from the way his mouth had been opened – forced open.
Face's stomach turned as both the sight and the smell of the mess all over the front of Murdock's fatigues - vomit and urine and god-knows-what-else - hit him at once. He shut his eyes hard to pull himself back under control. "Murdock," he said quietly, his voice measured carefully. "What happened?"
Whether from the words or the touch or the reawakened pain, Murdock seemed to be trying to open his eyes. He was trying to speak, too. His mouth didn't really open, but the sound might have been Face's name. "D'ing 'ere?" He swallowed, licked his split lips, winced and grimaced. Every word and movement seemed to cause more pain.
"Jesus, Murdock..."
Face turned back to his gear and grabbed the canteen of water. Turning back, he slid a hand carefully around the back of Murdock's head and tipped the water up to his lips, trying to get him to drink. As the water - and the metal of the lip of the canteen - touched his lip, Murdock flinched back as if he'd just been slapped across the face. His breathing staggered and almost instantly, he was hyperventilating, shaking.
"Nooo... Please." It was as muffled as the first words had been, but the sense was clear. Tears trickled from his puffy eyes as Face pulled the canteen back, startled. "No more…"
"It's just water, Murdock."
"Please…" His shoulders were trembling.
"Relax."
Face wasn't going to ask again what had happened. He was starting to put the pieces together for himself. As he set the canteen down, he reached back into his bag for the few medical supplies they all carried. He ripped open the package from a sterile bandage and wet it, then held the back of Murdock's head again as he tried to gently clean the blood from off of his chin. It was a futile effort. He was too beat up to clean with a single wet bandage.
"My God... We need to get you to the dispensary."
The puffy eyes blinked and opened a fraction wider at that. "No!" The clarity and volume of that statement startled Face. Murdock fumbled and managed to lift a hand to grip Face's arm - surprisingly hard, considering - with a hand that was as battered as his face. "No, no, no, no, nononononooooo…" The negations were rapid, muttered until the repeated "nos" blurred into a single sound. But it was still the clearest thing Murdock had said thus far.
Face looked down at the hand that was gripping him. Murdock's knuckles were bruised and split in a way that made Face hope he'd at least got a few hits on his attackers. From the way they didn't bend with the rest of the hand it looked like two of his fingers had been broken. They were twice their normal size.
"No. Face, no."
Face swallowed hard. He was used to violence - used to blood and gore and killing. He was used to watching men, women, and children of all ages die. He was used to rescuing half-dead POWs who'd been beaten senseless. But the sudden realization that the POW snatches were exactly what he was comparing this to filled him with fury. There were no NVA in this camp. VC, sure enough, but they hadn't done this. Murdock's own men had done this. Suddenly, it was everything he could do to keep his anger in check. He tried to focus on the injuries instead - the need to help Murdock.
"Murdock, you're hurt. You need medical care. You..."
"No, no, Face, please…"
He suddenly realized - still putting the pieces together very slowly - why Murdock didn't want to go to the dispensary. And in his shoes, Face couldn't imagine he would've felt any differently. Fine. They'd compromise. "Alright, look." He pulled away and closed up the canteen again. "Can you walk? Let's get you someplace safe. Okay?"
Murdock laughed, high and painful, then choked. He tried to spit but only succeeded in dribbling down his chin. No fresh blood, thank God. He hitched a sob that ended in a groan as he tried to get his other arm around his ribs. It wasn't cooperating. Face could tell by looking at it that the shoulder was dislocated. Damn it…
Murdock was still gripping him hard enough to bruise. "Face?" The letter "f" was impossible with a lower lip too split and swollen to touch with his teeth. But somehow the attempt was still filled with bitter irony.
"Murdock," Face answered quietly, deceptively calm. "Let me get you to the team room."
"No…"
"That wasn't a request." He tried to put his own arm alongside Murdock's to hold his ribs. It occurred to him only afterwards that he was going to have to change before he went out in the field. The smell was nauseating. "Come on. Nobody will bother you there. And we can get you cleaned up."
Murdock made another of those swallowed screams as Face tried to move him. He couldn't pull himself up with his arms, but somehow he managed to get his feet under him. He stayed in a crouch for a moment, eyes shut, tears trickling out, swallowing convulsively.
He was sweating heavily already; it running down his face and soaking his armpits. As he moved it became clear he'd wet himself at some point - at least Face hoped it was only urine because if it was blood they were really fucked. God, he was a mess…
Murdock was trying to pant through the pain, but the busted ribs and the way he curled against his gut kept his breathing painfully shallow. He coughed again. "Sorry…." Under the swelling his face was working and he tried to clench his jaw. "Face? Really Face? Please?"
"It's okay." Face put an arm around him, supporting his weight. "Just take it slow. Take it easy for a minute."
Murdock tried to open his eyes, and failed. He licked his lips. "No… So sorry… No one… Didn't get you?"
"Don't talk," Face ordered. "Come on. Hannibal's going to be here any minute. You don't want him to see you like this."
Face straightened, startled by his own words. Shit, where had that come from? Hannibal should be the last person they were hiding from right now. He was going to have to know, and he would know. But the words were instinctive, and Face couldn't take them back now. He stepped down from the chopper, looked to make sure the coast was clear, and mapped the straightest, most secluded path to the team room before he reached up to help Murdock down.
