Face was concealing weapons under his shirt. Murdock had to admit, he was sort of surprised at just how many he could fit under there. His CAR-15 was on the bed, loaded and checked, and he stashed a few extra clips of ammunition in his bag. He was getting ready to leave.
"So what – exactly – is the appeal?" Murdock asked, watching him curiously.
"Something to do," Face shrugged.
Cruiser, shirt unbuttoned and not quite as ready as Face, was in no great hurry. "We should really go down to Saigon. More to do there." He tucked a second pistol - in addition to the one still lying on the bed in its holster - into the front of his pants. "We probably got 'til tomorrow at least before Hannibal calls."
The order from Westman had come down that morning. Hannibal had already moved on to do initial preparations at the next camp
Murdock - only half dressed with his shirt lying on the bed next to the nine mil that Face had acquired for him - watched his two teammates with anxious eyes. His glances darted between them just a shade too swiftly, focusing on the weaponry they were packing. Did they ever go anywhere without two guns, three extra clips, two hand grenades, and a set of brass knuckles? How did they manage to conceal all of that? But they did it expertly. He could never tell just by looking at them that they were so heavily armed.
Murdock checked the safety on his revolver and cradled it in his palm. "I still think you guys are askin' for trouble."
"So come with us," Face challenged with a smirk and a sideways glance. "Keep us out of trouble."
Murdock didn't answer. Cruiser didn't wait for one. "God, if I spend one more hour in this camp, I'm gonna go bat-shit crazy."
Face checked his reflection in the foggy, cracked mirror fixed to the plywood wall. "Safer for all if you take a walk, Cruiser."
Cruiser chuckled as he buttoned up his shirt. "Think we can get BA to come with us?"
Face rolled his eyes. "Like hell."
"Really," Cruiser mused to himself, "we should go down to Saigon. Wanna go for a ride, Murdock?" There was a wicked glint in his eye.
"An' risk not bein' here if the colonel calls us up?" Murdock reminded him. "When he told us to stay put? No thank you. Not that driving you around and hauling your drunken asses out of bars and brothels doesn't appeal." He shook his head with a grin and tucked the revolver down the back of his pants. "The village is plenty exotic enough for me."
Cruiser chuckled. "That mean you're comin'?"
Face raised a brow as he glanced at Murdock. "You ever been to a Montagnard village? I mean besides just flying over top of 'em?"
"Once. A while ago." He didn't look up as he spoke. He threw on his shirt.
Cruiser smiled at Face. "There, see?" He glanced at Murdock. "And here we thought you liked to play it safe." There was a definite teasing tone to his voice.
"I never claimed to be as much into anything –" he emphasized the word – "as you two seem to be. And I just found the poverty depressing."
"Depressing?" Cruiser chuckled. "I find it sort of... liberating. It's only depressing if they didn't have anything to offer worth selling."
Murdock shrugged again, not really wanting to get into it. "I find a life where you'll sell anything you have kinda bleak. But if it means good company, I'm game." His smile was clearly forced.
Cruiser all but ignored him as he finished with his shirt and slid his arms into his gun holster. "Well, the company, they've got."
Face ran his fingers through his hair, wishing for a comb. "Company that speaks no language I'm familiar with..."
"You haven't tried to learn any? Or even picked some up?" Murdock glanced at the young Lieutenant making faces at himself in the spotted mirror. "Hey, Face, need a comb? I can't believe Mr. Can-Get-Anything doesn't have one."
Face glanced at Murdock, and took the comb from his outstretched hand. "Yeah, it got lost about a week ago. Haven't had a chance to replace it."
"And as far as trying to learn their language," Cruiser said, "you ever heard their language? It ain't like Vietnamese, man. I got a working knowledge of at least basic Vietnamese. Theirs is different."
Murdock grinned. "I like languages. Like cultures. It'd..." He gave a self-deprecating shrug. "I'm guessing you don't go out looking for conversation, though."
Cruiser chuckled. "Only company of the finest kind. You ready to go?"
Face, finished with the comb, handed it back to Murdock. "I'm ready."
"Ready as I'll ever be." Murdock tucked the comb into his back pocket and lifted his hands in a sardonic gesture. "Lead on."
The Yards in any given village around any given camp were only as friendly as the Americans had made them. The more effort made by the camp's XO to offer help and medicine and protection, the more they approved of American visitors. This particular village was friendly, even welcoming. Of course it probably helped that their visitors came carrying cigarettes and candy - both of which went to the kids more than anywhere else.
The Yards were a primitive people - fiercely loyal and damn good soldiers when it came right down to it - but left to their own devices, they were for the most part peaceful and kept to themselves. Most of them had never seen life outside of their own village and hunting grounds before the Americans had come and built a base nearby. Modern medicine, to say nothing of modern warfare, was largely unknown. Technology was limited to the mechanics of what they could build with their hands.
Cruiser's medical bag - he never went anywhere without it - attracted the expected attention, and some minor tending of injuries further developed the repoire. An hour of public relations and they were drinking the homemade wine - distilled from god-knows-what, but if experience showed, it was about an 8 on the "how fast can you hit the floor" scale - and sitting on the floor of the chief's hut, watching the preparation of some kind of food that smelled far better than the "wine."
The woman who was preparing spoke no language any of them were familiar with. The chief's broken English was none-too-impressive. What he could communicate was all friendly, and Murdock watched him with almost as much amusement as Face was watching his daughter. There were several other women in the village, too. But she was the one who happened to be close at hand in this particular moment. There was little intent in Face's stare, but he was definitely staring. It made Murdock grin to himself. One track mind…
The wine was better than most of the wine he had drunk in his life. But considering the rotgut he had drank, that wasn't saying much. It had been fun to watch the kids, to greet the locals and try to bridge communication gaps. Still, Murdock couldn't quite shake the sense of uneasiness. The last time he had been in a village like this - well, maybe not quite like this - it hadn't ended well.
The scent of the food brought back the memories more than the surroundings. The Yards looked and talked and acted different than their Vietnamese counterparts. They lived in different style houses and had different mannerisms. But for all of that, the food was still very similar. Murdock hadn't been exposed to it at length. A lifetime ago, a naïve, love-struck kid had smiled his way through a family dinner. That kid was dead. Unfortunately, his memories had not died with him.
Sudden movement from Face caught Murdock's attention, out of the corner of his eye. Immediately alert, Murdock looked at him, then at the window Face's attention had snapped to.
"You hear that?" Face asked Cruiser, who was sitting beside him.
Murdock listened. At first, he heard nothing. Then, faintly, the sound of a motor. A jeep from the base? Murdock frowned. Not likely. They hadn't used a vehicle to come out here; why would anyone else? The terrain coming from that direction was far too treacherous, even for a jeep, and it was simply easier to walk. Besides, it wasn't that far.
Eyes riveted to the hole in the wall that served as a door, Murdock stared out at the jungle and what he could see of the village from five feet up in the air, in a house of stilts. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he strained to listen.
"What are the chances that's friendly?" Cruiser asked, just as quietly, careful not to alarm the chief or his family. They couldn't understand the words, but the concerned tone was hard to mistake.
Whatever the sound was, it was still a long way off. Nevertheless, Cruiser set his cup of wine aside, adjusted his rifle over his shoulder, and stood to his feet, moving to the doorway. Face rose with him, keeping stride to the door. "I don't think we've got a chance in hell that that's friendly."
Murdock got to his feet more slowly. There was no panic, no frantic rush in the movements or the words coming from either of them, but he could feel the tension rising. He swallowed hard as he scanned the village through the window. There was nothing. Still too far away. But as it came closer, the sound grew more and more pronounced. Not one motor, but several. And old - not a jeep. Murdock felt his heart skip a beat, his pulse picking up.
"Not friendly," he repeated, his voice tense. "Let's get the hell out of here, then."
He'd scanned the perimeter when they first entered the village. There was no road here. Maybe there was a road nearby and they were just passing. He swallowed hard as he heard the motors die, one at a time.
"Not friendly's a blanket statement, Murdock," Cruiser said coldly. He glanced at Face. "Figure, what, five or six?"
The silence that followed the end of the motors was almost too silent. Face glanced at Murdock, then at Cruiser. "Those aren't jeeps, they're trucks. Might hold two, might hold twenty."
Murdock's eyes widened at the thought of twenty men in each of six trucks versus the three of them and some unarmed villagers. "Shit…"
"How much ammo do we have?" Face asked, smiling over his shoulder at the chief as if to ease his mind about the little impromptu meeting by the doorway.
Cruiser shook his head. "Fucking nowhere near enough."
Murdock pushed the fear down, swallowing hard. They needed to get the hell out of here. But no way could they get the whole village out in time. "I have two clips for the rifle and the .45," he managed, his voice trembling. Fuck, don't panic now. You don't have time for that! But he was out of his depth and out of his element. Jesus, what in the hell was he doing here?
He took a deep, slow breath. He wasn't alone. Face and Cruiser were there. He trusted them. , Calming slightly, he looked at Face, waiting to hear the plan he could see formulating. With a tight smile, he tried to speak without his voice shaking. "Seems like anytime I go anywhere with you guys I'd better pack extra ammo. And maybe some C-4. And a tank."
Cruiser didn't look back at Murdock. "Keep that in mind for next time, flyboy."
Face listened for a long moment, silent. His eyes were tracking over the lay of the land. Depending on where and how they attacked, there were places to hide. If they came through the village from one side, there were defensible positions. If they circled the area first and closed in, that would pose a much bigger problem.
Finally, Face turned and locked eyes with Cruiser. "We've got high ground inside here," he said flatly, his voice completely lacking emotion. "But we need to split up and make them think there's more of us or they'll just all converge right here and blast the place to hell."
"They'll come here anyways for the chief," Cruiser reminded him.
Face nodded. That was a given. If they got that far, there would be no stopping them.
"Attack from three sides?" Cruiser suggested.
Face glanced at Murdock. The captain wasn't trained for this beyond the rudimentary initiation Hannibal had run him through. He was armed, and that gave him something to work with. It was a hell of a lot more than the villagers had.
"Get the Yards split up between us?" Cruiser continued. "Pick 'em off?"
There was no time for more planning. The first shots rang out in a harsh auditory assault, and Face's grip was on his rifle, battle ready, in a flash. He spun behind the wall - not that the leaves and twigs offered a damn bit of protection from anything but line of sight - and dropped down to a sitting position. Damn, they moved fast!
Cruiser had spun on his heel, back up against the wall and weapon drawn all in the same motion, crying, "Fuck!" as Murdock dropped into a low crouch, eyes wide. Face could feel his heart rate stepping up. Adrenaline and surprise, the inevitability of battle.
The chief was on his feet, halfway to the door with a wide-eyed look of horror. Face hadn't even seen him get up, but he knew immediately that his intent was to run right out there and get himself shot. "No!" Face yelled at him, but didn't have any more time to devote to him in the midst of the screaming and gunfire from the AK-47s.
"You better saddle up, flyboy," Cruiser smirked at Murdock.
Face turned away from the chief. If he didn't listen, he was dead. It was that simple. And not Face's problem. His focus was on preparing as he readied his other clips on his belt to make them more accessible. "Murdock," he said under his breath. "You're going to stay right here, and you're going to cover us from this doorway. Do not give away your position. You watch for anybody who's watching you." He looked up, armed and ready, and locked eyes with Murdock briefly. "Remember, you can't see what's going on underneath you. If they know you're here, they'll sneak up on you. Understand?"
Shoving down what was very obviously panic, Murdock nodded. "I got you. Go."
Face's eyes locked on Cruiser, cold and serious. "Ready?"
He flexed his grip as he looked out into the street. Twenty or so Vietnamese. "Fuck the high ground. Just stick to wherever you can find shelter."
Cruiser's eyes matched Face's in every way as he took a deep breath. "Fuck it, let's go."
"Jesus, I hope there's not more of them still coming," Face muttered under his breath.
Without another word, he bolted out from the doorway and across the wooden "porch" before jumping down to the dirt without regard for the ladder. He ran across the open space - unnoticed for the most part by the enemy who was busy on the other side of the village. He wanted to get closer. Without the high ground, he needed to get closer.
He'd made it only a few huts closer, into the thick smell of dry burning wood and brush as the enemy set their first fires. Once he was noticed by one, he was noticed by all. The poles of the hut were just thick enough to hide behind as an entire group of Vietnamese turned and fired on him, AK-47s rattling on full auto.
Face spun and made himself as small as possible against the wood post, shutting his eyes and trying to control his breathing as the bullets cracked into the wood, the dirt, everything around him on either side, like a pounding rain.
A few short bursts from a CAR-15. Cruiser. Murdock's M-16. The bullets let up a little. Whether it had been his intent or not, Face had attracted the attention of a large number of the VC. Besides those who'd immediately turned their guns on him, there were those who stopped in their tracks to stare as they suddenly realized they were under equal attack. They hadn't been expecting there to be any return fire, and certainly not from a different direction than they were shooting. In the few moments of chaos, the AK-47s quieted a bit while they tried to regain their bearings.
Face waited until the crowd that was firing on him had diminished some, then turned and sprayed at point blank range, taking the rest of them down, then bolting for the cover of another one of the posts that wasn't so badly damaged. With one eye on Cruiser and the other on the impending threat, he moved closer to where they were taking cover on the other side of the village, digging in for an attack.
Murdock was crouched low, careful to stay out of sight. Alert for any sign or that Cruiser or Face were in trouble again, his finger rested on the trigger. His mind was turned off, narrowed down to just the task at hand. He'd taken down the men closest to Face, sweeping the area, trying to hit as many as possible while only allowing himself a couple seconds at a time to fire. The muzzle flash would give him away, as would the sound directionality. But if they looked his way, he had to be certain they saw nothing.
Fuck, there was a lot of them. He heard Cruiser's brief burst of shots and opened up with a few quick shots of his own, careful to not expose his position. The smell of blood, gunpowder and burning bamboo fill his nose as he watched the VC fall, the fires burn, the Yards caught in the crossfire.
Face moved again. He was still alive and well enough to move. Good. Cruiser was good, Face was good. Stay out of sight and watch the two of them. Stay out of sight; that was his focus. Stay out of sight and ignore the blood and gore.
Adrenaline made time fly at record speed. There was no telling how long they had been engaged when suddenly, under Murdock's feet, the bamboo floor itself seemed to explode into fragments. Attacking. Bullets shot up through the room and into the ceiling. The chief. His wife. Daughter. Blood. A screech of pain. Without a thought, Murdock pressed to the wall and aimed down into the floor.
The bamboo was shredded, the floor's integrity threatened. Blind anger swept through him as he fired down into the breach. His rifle clicked. He was out. He dropped the clip and slammed a new one in.
The emotions were confused, but all somehow angry. Angry at the men who were trying to kill him, who had just massacred a family before his eyes and had intended to do the same to every family in this village. Angry that war was a part of life in a fallen world. Angry at the fact that he knew there wasn't a damn thing he could do for the bleeding figures on the cracking floor. Angry that he was so fucking powerless, in every way.
He'd had enough. If he lived, he would petition Hannibal to let him in on training exercises. Because hanging out with these guys, whether on or off the battlefield, required Special Forces training. Unable to protect himself or those around him, a liability… No. No more. He'd seen too much to let this go on.
The bullets that had been coming up through the floor paused briefly - just long enough to make the cracking of the bamboo floor sound deafening. A few seconds of warning, and then the entire thing split along the lines of bullets that had been fired from both the top and the bottom.
Wine, blood, bodies, the fish dinner the family had been cooking, the daughter who was alive enough to cry out... everything suddenly fell. Holding his rifle tightly to him out of instinct, Murdock reached for the girl. Too late. They hit the dirt, hard, and he heard her sobbing in pain as the dust cleared. He was in a crouch, in front of her, sweeping the area for any sign of movement, anything he needed to kill. How many where out there? How much ammo was left? Was the chief alive? Were Face and Cruiser alive? They were all questions he couldn't even think about until he knew the area was clear...
His reflexes were the only thing that kept him from being an open target. They were shooting, but without the dust having cleared yet, they couldn't see what they were shooting at. Three of them, three AK-47s pointed up and in his general direction, spraying bullets in no particular order - the ground, over his head, on either side... it was a miracle they didn't drop him even if they hadn't yet gotten a fix on him. Pushing the girl flat, he squeezed off several rounds at the fuckers. God damn it, die already! He felt satisfaction when he saw their outlines hit the dirt.
Motioning to the girl to stay flat - he had no idea if she understood, or if she was even capable of moving - he belly crawled, gun at the ready, towards the dead and dying VC. He had no idea who was out there or what they would face and he was low on ammo. He needed their weapons. Then he needed to get the fuck to somewhere he could defend better. And he needed a drink. And a tank.
The gunshots in the rest of the village had slowed. The cackling of the fires as the thatch houses torched, and the screaming of the injured and the dying were the only sounds to be heard over the sound of Murdock's own breathing. Before he'd even made it to his feet, Face was over him, dripping sweat and breathing hard, but apparently uninjured. "You alright?"
Covered in blood, dirt and god-knows-what, Murdock didn't let himself think. He couldn't. On autopilot, he nodded. "I'm fine. The chief and his wife got hit."
He let his brain talk -- fact for now, emotions later. He looked at Face, and his brow furrowed as he processed what he was seeing. Only one of them. That didn't mean anything. But it wasn't the kind of assurance he was looking for that everything was alright. "Where's Cruiser?"
Cruiser could see most of the village, including the chief's hut and the mess that had become of it, from where he was standing with his back to one of the posts that supported the hut. It wasn't the greatest cover, but it was as good as it was going to get. The people of the village were scrambling, adding to the confusion. It would be harder for the enemy to pick out his location in the chaos. Of course, the easiest solution to that was to simply shoot anything that moved. But at least there were fewer of them shooting now than there had been. And in any case, he had another few locations already in mind to run to when this one was compromised.
He crouched, getting as much cover as possible, his rifle readied, finger on the trigger, waiting until he got a handle on where they were congregating. Short bursts, mind blank, solely focused on the battle - threat - and eliminating that threat. The pounding of his heart in his ears, the screams, the bullets pinging around him, whizzing by his head. None of that made it past the need to survive - to find that next target.
He moved with combat hardened skills that took no thought. Firing his weapon, searching his next post. All of it was done without thought; he was barely even aware of the fact that he was doing it. Instinct alone.
He moved methodically to the other end of the village. By the time he'd reached the fires, the majority of the VC had either died or fled. He'd lost track of how many he'd killed, and how many of the Yards may have been hit in the process. It wasn't his intent to engage in friendly fire. But they had to move fast, before the enemy had time to regroup.
Cruiser stood there, his back pressed against a tree, his breathing ragged. He pulled off a grenade and threw it towards the bushes where a large group of them had taken refuge. He didn't wait or even think about the results. He was already ejecting his empty clip onto the ground. He slammed in a new one, and was immediately firing. It didn't take him any time at all to find new targets. They just kept coming. Kill some - spray them down - and a second later they were replaced. Fuck! If this kept up, he was going to run out of ammunition and have to rely on his knife. He'd probably get killed in the process. But then again, it might be preferable to debriefing this whole goddamn thing…
Cruiser pushed himself of the side of the hut he'd found himself leaning against as the immediate threat dwindled. slowly things started filtering back in. Men, women, and children lay dying and dead on the porches and on the dirt. And the little huts on the stilts, engulfed in flames, were not all empty. That shrill screaming of the wounded and dying seemed to come from everywhere. That last cry that released all strings to life. The smell of blood and burning flesh. The heavy smoke that burned his eyes. Crackling and popping of fire as it consumed the village.
He took a deep, calming breath, his rifle still ready. But there was no more threat that he found. His eyes moved to skimming over the destruction. Most he couldn't help. Some he could, but it would be futile. Ease the pain and suffering for the moment as he gave false hope to the dying.
He almost missed it. His eyes were looking for movement, not stillness. But from the window of the hut furthest on the end, Cruiser caught the gaze of a small child. Staring. Blank. Tears running down his face, over the black soot. Staring at him through the flames on the porch, as if in shock.
Get out of there, kid… He was big enough to climb out the window. But the flames on the porch were almost as bad as the ones inside the house. And he didn't move, except to wipe his eyes. It was going to be too late in a minute. He wasn't moving. The kid was fucking frozen in place.
Cruiser was running. When that had happened he wasn't sure, but he was at the hut before he realized it. The ladder wasn't an option, it was burning up. Most of the porch was too. He circled around the hut, his rifle hanging off his back. Jumping up, he grabbed the ledge of the porch - a small portion that wasn't engulfed in flames - and pulled himself up easily.
He gave no thought to what he was doing, or the flames that were hot against his skin. They were a solid wall in either direction on the porch. He had never been so thankful for fucking thatch walls as he took as big a step back and tucked his shoulder in as he drove himself through it wall.
Thick smoke inside. He didn't try to open his eyes, or to breathe. He knew where the kid had been standing, and he didn't imagine he'd moved. Stumbling towards him, he tripped over the other bodies. He didn't bother looking down. Nothing he could do for any of them, whether they were alive or not.
The sound of the fire was deafening. An unfamiliar panic was setting in, just as basic and instinctive as his actions in coming in here. He found the kid, and grabbed him with one arm around his waist. His eyes burned and watered as he opened them to look for a way out. Flames everywhere, including where he'd just come through. Running fast along the wall. There was no time to think.
He pulled the kid up, tight against his chest, and ran towards a part of the wall that was still intact, hoping it would offer at least some protection from the flames on the other side. He shut his eyes as he plowed through. He was blind from the pain and the smoke; they were useless. His lungs were seared, his skin stinging. Either he was going to make it out, or he was going to die. He was totally prepared for either.
His feet hit the ground and he rolled with the kid tight against his chest, shoulder planted, shielding the boy from the impact. Alive. He was alive. Where was his rifle? He found it. On his back. Didn't matter. He couldn't see a damn thing.
By the time he was standing, Face was beside him. "You alright? You hurt?"
"I'm fine. I can't see."
Vision blurred. Eyes burning. Face was handing him water. "We're clear. Rinse your eyes, man."
Cruiser knelt, splashing water into his face, well aware of the death grip the child on his hip had around his neck. It took several full minutes to be able to see again, and then only with blurred vision. Finally, he stood up.
"Here." He tried to pry the kid off of his shoulder to hand him to Face. But it seemed as though that fight or flight had finally kicked in. There was going to be no removing this kid without a pry bar. Cruiser quickly gave it up. "Never mind." It was easier just to shift him to his back, out of the way.
"What do you want to do as far as going for help?" Face asked seriously.
Cruiser scanned as much as he could with blurry vision. It was obvious that they needed help. There was death and destruction everywhere. Fires still burning. Bloody bodies. "I gotta stay here," Cruiser said firmly.
Face nodded. "Murdock, stay with him." Cruiser blinked a few more times. He hadn't even noticed Murdock standing there. "I don't think they'll come back, but if they do, I don't want you here alone."
"You're going back?"
Face checked the clip in his rifle. "Camp's only ten minutes from here. I'll be back in thirty with supplies and reinforcements."
Cruiser shifted a bit to get access to his supplies. "You got enough ammo?"
"I just changed clips. I should be fine."
Cruiser looked at Murdock, the glazed look on his face - blank and distant. "Hey! Flyboy!" He snapped his fingers in front of his face. "You with us?" Flyboy better fucking pull it together. They had work to do and Murdock needed to help. They didn't have time for this shit.
Murdock ¬shook his head quickly, as if to clear it, and nodded. "I'm fine. Go."
Face tapped Cruiser's shoulder - under the kid's arm - as he walked past. "Be back in a few."
