"Everybody in the mess hall in five minutes."
Murdock turned his head towards the door of the team room, but Hannibal was already gone. He finished the page he was on in his book, then sat up. "Cruiser, you hear?"
Cruiser was dead asleep. Murdock stood, and stretched as he walked to Cruiser's bunk and shook him. "Hey."
He startled awake, eyes darting, and quickly saw Murdock. "Huh?"
"Hannibal wants us in the mess hall."
Cruiser yawned, rubbed his eyes, and was on his feet before he was completely awake. "Why?"
"I don't know. He didn't say."
Cruiser stumbled a bit on his way to the door and lit a cigarette on his way to the ramshackle building that served as a mess hall. There would be coffee inside, and that was definitely his priority at the moment. He didn't even look around as he headed straight for the kitchen. Murdock didn't follow, instead turning to the crowd that had gathered on the west end of the room, perched on and around the tables.
Face and Hannibal were a portrait of jazzed energy. Snap was already in the room, more than a dozen ARVN soldiers and at least as many Yards. No wonder why they weren't meeting in the TOC – it wouldn't be big enough to hold all of them. Murdock glanced around, amused, wondering where they'd all come from and why they were all there. The door opened again. Americans. Flight suits. Additional pilots. Murdock's interest was piqued.
"Where's Cruiser?" Hannibal asked. The question was clearly aimed at Murdock.
"Coffee." He gestured over his shoulder.
"Alright, he'll catch up." Hannibal raised his head and addressed the crowd of soldiers. "Alright, everyone, listen up."
The hush that fell over the room was almost instant. Still leaned over the map on the table, Face glanced up briefly.
"I'm Colonel Hannibal Smith, this is Lieutenant Peck, and a C-46 went down in the Tha Khong area of Laos about two weeks ago."
That was the extent of his introduction. Murdock lit a cigarette as he leaned on the table nearby. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cruiser return with a steaming tin cup, attention immediately on Hannibal as soon as he entered the room.
"We have an informant who's given us a detailed description of the prison camp where they're holding the crew of that plane and at least two Americans."
Murdock crossed his arms loosely as he took another drag off his cigarette. The problem with POW snatches, as Murdock understood it, was not the rescue itself. Most of the small jungle camps, unlike Hoa Loa or Son Tay, were barely fortified and minimally staffed. It was easy to maintain control when prisoners had nowhere to run and no strength to do so. Weakened by hunger and abuse, they wouldn't get very far through the jungle. Besides, they didn't even know which way was south, and attempted escape was grounds for execution, Geneva Convention be damned.
No, mounting a rescue from a camp was rarely a problem. The problem was finding it. That took either a stroke of incredible luck or a very good interrogator. In this instance, it had probably taken both. Murdock had no misgivings about their "informant" and what he most likely stood for. Whatever tendency he'd had to be squeamish when it came to interrogations had died with him on the receiving end at Son Tay. But that didn't mean he cared to hear details.
"We're not going to be able to scout this area," Hannibal said seriously. "Our intelligence is all we have to go on. Thankfully, it's been pretty detailed." He glanced at Face. "Lieutenant?"
Murdock smiled. No wonder why Face was radiating energy. By reputation, this was right up his alley. He stood straight as he addressed his audience formally.
"The camp where the prisoners are detained has not been changed since the time of French control over the area," he said, putting his hands behind his back. "It is a large camp surrounded by a ten-strand barbed wire fence about six feet high. There is only one gate, located on route 9 about 75 meters from the bridge at XD 3045, which is large enough to drive a truck through. They keep two trucks in the camp at all times. A guard house is just inside the gate. No villagers are allowed into the camp and our informant does not believe it would be possible for a villager to see or contact the prisoners."
Hannibal took over. "They're being held in a large, covered hole in the middle of the camp. The number of Pathet Lao soldiers in the camp changes frequently, and it is difficult to know when units come and go."
"Our informant said he doesn't know of any additional security initiated since the arrival of the prisoners, but measures already in effect severely limited movement in the area."
"He also said that it's impossible to raid this camp." Hannibal stopped, and let that statement hang for a moment. In the silence that followed, he looked at each of the men in the room individually. "This is not your run of the mill recon sweep. If you choose not to be a part of it, see me afterwards and I'll get you reassigned."
"They have no reason to anticipate an attack," Face said. "So we're not pressed for time. If we want this to go down smoothly, we're going to need to rehearse it. Drill it."
"Therefore," Hannibal took over again, "everybody on the ground needs to go and take a nap and meet us back here at 2200 for drills. Questions?"
Exchanged glances, but no one seemed willing to speak.
"Fine. You're dismissed. Air crew, stay here."
The majority of the crowd left silently, leaving Murdock, Snap, the two unfamiliar Americans, and a few more that Murdock guessed were the crew for the choppers. He hadn't even noticed them standing against the wall. They gathered in closer as the majority left.
When Hannibal spoke again, he was looking straight at Murdock in spite of the fact that he was addressing all of them. "We can't get in close to this camp. The nearest you can drop us off, we're still gonna have about ten clicks to walk through an area that's pretty heavily patrolled." His eyes turned to one of the other men. "You're flying Covey?"
He nodded. "Yes, Sir."
"Make sure you stay high enough that they won't hear you. It's dead air over that camp. And we don't want them getting antsy."
"Yes, Sir."
Hannibal looked back at Murdock. "After we drop, you're going back to the nearest FOB and wait. The plan as it stands is that we're going in to take this camp and burn it to the ground. At that point, we'll call Covey and let him know how big of an extraction we're looking at. It's three-tier jungle cover and we're gonna have weak prisoners. We're not going to make it all the way back to the drop zone."
Murdock frowned. "You're thinking McGuire rigs?"
Hannibal nodded.
Fine. That wasn't a problem. And it certainly wasn't what was weighing heavily on Murdock's mind. "Colonel, if this area is heavily patrolled and as difficult to penetrate as you're saying," he hesitated, "what kind of emergency extraction are we looking at if this doesn't go well? These are a lot of people you're taking with you."
Hannibal smiled. "I guess we just have to make sure we don't need an emergency extraction."
Murdock shifted, in spite of the confidence that was radiating from his CO. Somehow, it didn't make him feel all that reassured.
There was something different about Murdock. BA had known it from the start, but when he woke them up screaming for the third night in a row, it was starting to get more and more obvious that it wasn't a change for the better.
"Murdock!" Cruiser's limited patience had worn through the night before. He sounded like he was ready to throttle the still-sleeping pilot. "Jesus H. Christ!"
BA dropped off the top bunk to the floor, grabbing Murdock's arm as he thrashed. "Murdock! Wake up! You dreamin', man!"
Murdock's eyes flew open suddenly, and he struggled more violently for a few seconds before he realized who was holding him. Soaked with sweat and still gasping for breath, he shut his eyes hard. He was shaking violently, and BA hesitated to let him go.
"Okay," he gasped. "I'm okay. I'm okay."
BA released his grip, and Murdock sat up immediately, turning his back and putting his feet on the floor, off the other side of the bunk.
"There's vodka in my locker if you need it, Murdock," Hannibal muttered, not even opening his eyes.
"No," Murdock answered shakily. "No. I'm okay. Sorry." He hung his head in his hands, still breathing hard. "Sorry."
BA returned to his bunk. Within minutes, he was snoring softly again. He was tired. They all were. Hannibal had run them hard in their training exercises. He really wanted them to go smoothly. And they were all exhausted to begin with. The nightmares had woken them every night for the past two weeks.
Guilt for waking everyone in the barracks eventually overpowered Murdock's fear. It was sobering. Blinded by the sweat that was burning as it dripped into his eyes, he grabbed his pants off of the floor and pulled them on, then headed for the door.
Outside, the air was just as thick and oppressive as in the hootch, but marginally cooler with the faint breeze. He reached for his cigarettes, but his hands were shaking so badly, he spilled the entire pack all over his lap. With the visions and voices still flooding his overworked brain, and denied even the smallest comfort by his trembling hands, he leaned forward over his knees and hid his face. It was all he could do in that moment not to break down and sob. He could feel his mind blurring, shutting down.
"Here."
Without looking up, or affording any reaction whatsoever to the familiar voice, he reached a hand, fingers apart, and took the cigarette that was offered to him. Bringing it to his lips, he dragged deeply and took a few seconds to hold it in his lungs before exhaling slowly.
"You shouldn't be here," he whispered.
"Neither should you."
That was a good point.
Murdock sighed deeply and sat back, crossing his arms over his knees as he glanced at the man sitting beside him. "Where else am I supposed to go, Alan?" he asked quietly. He desperately wanted an answer to that question. He knew that his brother didn't have it. "You were the only family that I had and you're not coming back."
"What do you mean, I'm not coming back? I'm right here."
Murdock shook his head. "This isn't real, man," he said softly. "You're not real, this cigarette isn't real…" He dragged deeply again, and put his head in his hand. "Hell, I don't even know if I'm real anymore."
Alan was quiet for a moment. "I guess it all depends on your definition of real, don't it?"
Murdock sighed, and looked back up at him. "You died at A Shau, Alan. Why don't you understand that?"
"I do," Alan answered, lighting a cigarette of his own. The lighter clinked as he snapped it closed again. "How come you don't understand I'm still here?"
"Because you're not."
Alan sighed. "How long are you gon' fight it, Murdock? You'd be a hell of a lot happier if you'd just accept it."
"Accept what? That I've lost my fucking mind?" He shut his eyes and shook his head again. "Man, what the hell am I doin' here?"
"Actually –" The voice behind him was startling. Murdock almost fell over as he spun around. "I was wondering the same thing." Face was standing in the door. "Who are you talking to, Murdock?"
Murdock shook his head and glanced over to where the ghost of his brother had been a moment before. The space was empty now. "No one. Just myself."
As he sat down, Face made note of the cigarettes on the ground. He leaned down to pick up two that weren't in the mud. Lighting the first one, he passed it to Murdock before lighting his own. Murdock sighed as he stared at it, but didn't raise it to his lips.
"Why are you here, Murdock?" Face asked. "If it's that bad, you never should've come back."
"Well, it doesn't matter much now," Murdock said bitterly. "I can't go home now."
"If you could, would you?"
Murdock glanced up at the sincere question and studied Face for a moment. But he didn't answer. After a long pause, Face sighed. "I'm assuming these nightmares aren't new," he continued. "Which means you lied through your teeth to pass your psych eval. and come back over here. Why the hell would you do that?"
"Wouldn't you?" Murdock asked, directly.
Face was startled by the question. But after only a brief pause, his eyes narrowed in Murdock's direction. "I'm not the one who's waking everybody up with screaming."
Murdock glared back, inexplicable anger rising up inside of him. "What do you want me to do about it, Face?" he demanded, irritated. Had he just come out here to give him shit?
Face matched his tone. "Well, there's probably not a whole hell of a lot you can do about it right now. I just wish you'd thought about it before you came back here."
"Well, I'm sorry, okay?"
Face didn't answer. For several long moments, there was only silence between them. Murdock's frustration slowly died. He sighed deeply. "Look, I could tell you that I came back for the good of the team or for my country or because I think we can win this war, but that's not the truth." He paused for a long moment. "The truth is that my reasons for coming back were completely selfish. And I'm sorry if it… if that makes things harder on you guys."
"Selfish?" Face asked, as if he was surprised by the concept. But Murdock had a feeling he understood it full well.
"You, the team," Murdock sighed deeply, "you're the closest thing to family that I have. And I… I need that."
Face shook his head. "That's a real dangerous way to look at things." Murdock frowned at the cold edge to Face's voice.
"Yeah, I know."
Face continued anyways. "Any drop we do, we could go down, not come back. You're better off not considering anybody 'family' over here."
Murdock shut his eyes, lowering his head. "I know," he said quietly. Finally, after a long pause, he looked up again. "But it's all I have, Face. And it's… It's everything I need."
