=+++= / +====
The room was simply furnished, with an almost military austerity to it. A bright hand-woven blanket draped over a worn oak trunk with leather and brass work at the foot of the bed provided the only splash of color. Beside the metal bed frame topped by a firm mattress, a small upended packing crate served as a rude nightstand. Two straight back chairs, a sturdy table, and a stout knotty pine armoire in one corner populated the opposite side of the room.
Thick, stucco-covered adobe walls with small windows held the searing heat at bay and enhanced the sense of being in a fortress. Afternoon sun streaming in through the high, deep-set window above the bed bathed the man's powerful legs in golden light but left his torso and upper body in a shady brightness subtle enough to allow him to rest without difficulty.
Smack!
He woke with a start.
The heavy, tempered glass in the window above his bed easily absorbed the energy from the hollow plastic ball flying into it. A few seconds later, he heard small, quick feet on the gravel underneath the window and the high-pitched voices of the two young boys who had run over to retrieve the ball. As their voices and footsteps retreated, the former soldier released his grip on the .45 he kept tucked in the space between the bed and the wall.
Jes' kids playin', he told himself, letting the brief spurt of adrenaline subside and his eyes close. Jes' kids playin'. The sound of laughing children lulled him back to sleep.
=+++= / ++===
(In country, some years before)
"Bee Ah, Bee Ah!" Hoang's high-pitched voice could be heard from halfway across the muddy compound and brought a smile to Sergeant Baracus' face although he continued to work on the jeep's motor until the youngster crashed into his leg, clinging to him with surprisingly strong arms. B.A. smiled down at the skinny Vietnamese boy, then hoisted him up to sit on the front edge of the ailing vehicle.
"Hey, little brother, how ya doin'?" the heavily-muscled black man asked in a surprisingly soft voice, sneaking one hand into a pocket.
"A-okay, Bee Ah!" the child replied. Hoang was just one of a dozen local children who had learned the tough-looking soldier usually kept an extra chocolate bar or two tucked into his fatigues, treats he dispensed to the junior members of the civilian population with little prompting. The boy watched B.A.'s hand closely, dark eyes hopeful.
"Doin' anythin' special today?" B.A. slowly pulled his hand out of his pocket, the chocolate bar nestled out of sight in his big palm. Hoang shook his head, dark hair resettling smoothly against his skull. "Well, maybe I can make it a special day for ya," he continued and flipped the candy around in his hand, holding it out to the boy.
Hoang grabbed the chocolate and tore open the wrapping, taking a large bite. He took a second, equally large bite almost immediately, causing B.A. to caution him. "Hey, now, slow down there. Take ya time 'n enjoy it." The boy obediently took smaller bites but soon devoured the treat.
"Bee Ah, number one friend!" he said after licking the chocolate residue from the wrapping. B.A. chuckled and wiped a smear of chocolate from the boy's face with one of the cleaner rags available to him. He noticed a white-haired officer watching him from the corner of the Quonset hut that housed a makeshift rec room, smoke floating lazily upward from the cigar he held.
"Alright, little brother, I need t' get back t' work so why don't ya go on now?" The big man lifted the child down, setting him gently on his feet, big hands almost able to completely encircle the boy's torso. Many of the children here were small, he'd noticed, a combination of heredity and decades of war which left certain things – like nourishing food – in short supply.
"Hoang come back tomorrow, see Bee Ah?" the boy asked urgently, stomach gurgling.
"Sure, Hoang come back tomorrow," the soldier replied and watched the boy run off before turning his attention to the vehicle in front of him.
=+++= / +++==
"Sergeant." The crisp voice caused Baracus to straighten, wiping his hands on the oily rag, and turn to face the officer now standing beside the jeep. "Do you make a practice of interacting so casually with the local population?"
"I dunno what ya mean, Colonel," he responded carefully, keeping his voice respectful. Rumor had it the man was looking to fill out his team. B.A. wasn't sure whether he wanted to be part of it, but he wasn't about to tick off Colonel John Hannibal Smith without cause. Life could be pretty uncomfortable if he did.
"I noticed you talking to that boy a few minutes ago."
"Yessir."
"Yesterday, at least four other children approached you. You picked up and hugged three of them."
B.A. considered the statement for a moment, replaying the previous day's monotony, then nodded. "Yessir, that sounds about right."
"Do you normally let the enemy get so close?" The blue-eyed colonel put a bit of bite in his voice, curious how the man would respond. The sergeant was reputed to be a fierce fighter – both in the boonies and on base – and a mechanical genius. What wasn't clear was whether he was a hot head with a single talent or a trainable asset.
"The enemy? They jes' little kids. Ain't no harm in little kids."
"Don't be so sure of that, Sergeant." Smith tossed a document of less than twenty pages, folded lengthwise, to Baracus who caught it easily. "This is war." He turned and walked away without further comment, leaving the other man to stare at the cover page: Counterinsurgency Lessons Learned No. 53 (revised), 29 September 1966, DJSM-545-66, Viet Cong Improvised Explosive Mines and Booby Traps (U).
=+++= / ++++=
Templeton Peck was not fond of walking point, whether through the razor sharp elephant grass or on a pseudo-trail like now. No one in his right mind really was. Despite his dislike of the assignment, the lieutenant took his turn along with the rest of the squad, declining to wheedle his way out of it although he had no doubt he could. The niggling sense of honor which kept him from ducking the task and putting some other man in harm's way might end up killing him one day but today he tucked the morbid thought away and proceeded forward at Colonel Smith's signal to move out.
Face knew the slow, tense pace would sap his energy faster than humping double time with a full ruck anywhere else but continued on, sure-footed and silent, for over an hour without incident. The necessary hyper-vigilance was both mind-numbing and headache-inducing, requiring complete concentration on the task at hand.
On this particular morning, Sergeant Baracus was Face's slack man, trailing him through the steamy green world, alert, lethal and sweating heavily. When Peck raised his fist, B.A. was quick to pass the hand signal back, halting the rest of the squad. Without leaving their positions, the men began to scan the verdant growth around them slowly, listening intently for any break in the sounds of the natural world that might indicate an enemy was near.
A second hand signal brought B.A. forward slowly, halting just behind Peck's stiff figure when he indicated. "Trip wire," Face breathed. "I think." Without shifting or moving his feet, Baracus carefully peered around the other man and down at his feet. After a few seconds, he could make out the thin filament stretched across the path, now in contact with the upper portion of the officer's jungle boot. The wire disappeared into the bush on either side of the trail, perhaps turning at the conveniently located trees, perhaps continuing on straight into the undergrowth. What lay at the end of the wire probably wasn't pleasant. Charlie rarely left nice presents for the American soldiers serving in his jungle home.
"Yeah, man, I see it," B.A. reported quietly. "Lemme tell the colonel and then we get ya outta this mess." He paused then added, "Don't be movin' 'round none."
"Right." The faint sarcasm was proof Face was still in possession of his wits, despite the fear tripping down his spine, fear he hoped wouldn't be transmitted to his foot.
The big man retreated carefully and provided a quick sit rep once Colonel Smith had come forward in response to his hand signal. "Can you disarm it, Sergeant?" Hannibal asked after a moment, evaluating the situation.
"Depends, but yeah probably. Might take a lil' time though. Don' know if we got it t' spend," he added, aware of the operational constraints.
"Go see if you can get a better look at what we're dealing with, and whether or not the rest of us can pass by without setting it – whatever it is – off. And, Sergeant, make haste slowly."
"Yessir," he replied with a nod. B.A. removed his rucksack and, after checking the area carefully, leaned it up against a tree and removed a small bundle of tools from a side pouch before returning to Face. "Okay, Lieutenant, jes' stay real still for me now," B.A. said as he knelt beside him.
He probed both sides of the trip wire methodically until he was sure he could safely step over it. From the opposite side, he was able to see one end of the wire was secured to the tree, apparently as an anchor. Determining what was on the other end would require a little bit of a fieldtrip. "How ya holdin' up?" B.A. asked before setting out.
"Just peachy, thanks," Peck replied, trying hard not to shiver despite the increasing heat. The pucker factor on this mission had increased too, in his opinion.
B.A. began a slow careful walk next to the wire. Perhaps three meters from the trail, he spotted the dull gleam of a tin can and the wire sneaking into it. He gave a small sigh of relief, glad the problem appeared to be something he could handle, but remained cautious. It wouldn't be the first time the VC had rigged a booby trap to prevent someone from disarming a device. "Caution or coffin," he muttered as a reminder to himself.
Without moving the can, B.A. peered into it, not surprised to see a hand grenade – safety pin removed – inside. The wire was wrapped around the neck of grenade; one careless step and the grenade would be pulled from its tight metal nest and the spoon would spring free causing the fuze to ignite. Zero to six seconds later, the grenade would explode, sending shrapnel flying in every direction for a distance of fifteen meters or more.
He eased closer to the device, carefully brushing aside the leaves around it, then probing the dirt with one of the thin tools from his pouch. Satisfied there was no secondary pressure device underneath the can, he stood back up and retraced his steps to where the colonel waited to report.
B.A. found Smith almost prone on the ground studying the wire's terminus on the tree with narrowed eyes and Peck, rigidly upright, watching wide-eyed. The remainder of the squad still waited several meters up the track. "Whaddya got, Sergeant? Pineapple in tin?" Smith asked, pushing himself off the ground and standing back up.
"Yeah," he confirmed, not surprised at the accuracy of his commander's surmise. "Nothin' under it so it shouldn't take too long t' neutralize."
"I wouldn't be so sure," Hannibal replied. "Look at this." He pointed to a second, taut strand branching off from the main wire attached to the tree. B.A. crouched to examine the nearly invisible wire he had overlooked before. A few drops of water now clung to the strand; a quick glance at the colonel's hand confirmed he'd sprinkled water from his canteen over the area looking for a second device.
"Tension release," Baracus breathed. "Charlie been workin' overtime on this sucka'."
=+++= / +++++
Thirteen minutes later and the rest of the squad had made it safely past Peck and Baracus, stepping high and careful over the wire. "Sure you don't need an extra pair of hands?" Hannibal asked.
"No, we good," the big man replied, not willing to admit Face was probably the only guy, other than Hannibal and the medic, who possessed the delicacy needed. Since neither could be spared, he'd rather depend on his own skills than risk another man's nerves fouling up the operation.
"Okay. The two of you catch up as soon as you can," Smith said in farewell and, without a backward glance, started forward, rapidly closing the gap between him and the rest of the squad. The confident expectation that Peck and Baracus would soon follow was not lost on either man.
"Let's get on with this," Face said once the others had passed beyond what he considered a safe distance. B.A. nodded and began the tedious process of discovering, uncovering, and disarming the second device without setting off the first. And vice versa.
=+++= / =++++
Two weeks after they made it back to the base, a special care package with a Chicago zip code arrived, addressed to Lt. T. Peck. When B.A. reported to the team's hooch later that evening, he found milk, cookies, and a letter from home waiting for him. A bead of moisture slid down the outside of the chilled glass as he stared at it in wonder. His experimental sip of the creamy white liquid confirmed what he had in his hand was cow's milk that had never been dehydrated, reconstituted or otherwise violated by the military culinary establishment. The plate of cookies – intact chocolate chip cookies instead of battered crumbs – beside it was almost as magical. A letter in his mother's familiar handwriting explained the treat's origin.
Scooter –
One of your friends asked that I send a bunch
of your favorite cookies directly to him in this
special box as part of a surprise for you. He
couldn't provide details, of course, but he said
you had done good on a recent mission. I'm
real proud of you, baby, real proud. Be safe
and don't forget to write.
Love,
Mama
=+++= / ==+++
B.A. let his mind wander as he tinkered with the jeep. Working on it relaxed him between the missions that were becoming more frequent and more challenging. Since he'd found his place on Hannibal Smith's assault team, Baracus had spent significantly less time in the brig. He wasn't sure how much was due to Face's skill in talking them out of tight situations and how much to the strict operational discipline Smith demanded from his team – which had forced him to learn ways to defuse his anger and practice a different sort of restraint and vigilance than he was used to. But there was no doubt in his mind there was a connection. John Smith had been good for Bosco Baracus.
The sound of bare feet running toward him put him on alert and he swung toward the sound. Two little girls, dark hair flying, were closing in on him and he put out his hands to signal them to stop. They did, a few feet away. "Hey, little mamas, how ya doin'?" he said, eyes checking for anything out of place on them as he sank down to their level. Satisfied, he motioned them forward and they eagerly obeyed, hugging him happily. He chatted with them, trying to make them giggle, as they devoured the chocolate bars he produced from a side pocket.
B.A. caught sight of another youngster standing several meters away and recognized him: Hoang.
"Hey, Hoang!" he called out and waved, smiling. The young boy looked at him for several seconds, took one step toward him, and then began walking away at an oblique angle, moving awkwardly. "Hoang?" B.A. said again and started across the compound toward the child. Although he knew it was foolish, he'd become worried about the boy after not seeing him for a few weeks.
Hannibal and Face were just exiting one of the buildings as B.A. approached the boy who was shaking his head frantically while keeping his arms stiffly away from his torso. "Bee Ah, no, Bee Ah," Hoang said, apparently terrified at the sight of the burly soldier coming toward him. Hannibal frowned, wondering what would make the child fear his soldier-friend. He hadn't made an issue of his sergeant's interaction with the local children lately because the man had begun taking precautions on his own.
"Hey, little brother, it's okay," B.A. said, dropping to one knee a few feet away. "I'm not gonna hurt ya. Đừng sợ tôi," he added in Vietnamese. Don't be afraid of me. He moved forward and gently reached out to the boy just as the colonel realized what he was seeing.
"Sergeant! Don't – ," he shouted a half-second too late. "Ah, hell, B.A.," Smith muttered. He sprinted toward them, circling wide until he was facing his sergeant at what he hoped was a safe distance. Face cleared the immediate area of personnel, an easy enough task since several units were out in the field.
The muscular black man gripped the small Asian boy tightly, aware of the mess he'd just gotten himself into, as the child's dark eyes filled with tears. The thin shirt the boy wore made it easy for Baracus to feel the stout wires someone had strung over his shoulders. His big hands made it possible for him to feel the tops of what he suspected were CHICOM grenades attached to those wires, front and back, at the kid's waist. If he picked the boy up, either the pins would be pulled free or, more likely, the safety handles would spring free from some temporary restraint dislodged by the movement. In any event, when one grenade went it would detonate the others, adding to their explosive power, ripping apart the boy, B.A., and anyone within range.
"Sorry, Bee Ah, so sorry," Hoang said.
"It's okay, Hoang," B.A. said softly, counting off the seconds in his head. "Jes' don't move 'round none." He met Hannibal's sad eyes. Yes, Colonel, this is war and little kids can bring harm with 'em.
=+++= / ===++
"B.A.?" The simple question a few minutes later prompted the man to articulate his take on the situation. Without moving his hands, he'd tried to see what was strapped onto the boy.
"Think I can talk Face through it," he said without preamble.
"I'll do it," Hannibal responded. "I've got the experience – ."
"Ain't gonna happen, not with that busted finger," B.A. said immediately, consciously stopping himself from shaking his head. "Can't take the chance." The colonel's ring finger was currently taped into immobility against his middle finger, the souvenir of a good-natured bar brawl in Da Nang. "Have Face get my tool kit and something to dispose of the ordinance in. Until then, Hoang and I are gonna talk a little bit."
=+++= / ====+
"Ready, Lieutenant?"
"As I'll ever be," was the wry rejoinder.
"Ev'rythin' gonna be slow 'n careful, okay? First, we gotta know what we dealin' with. Hoang says there are four or five grenades and a bunch of wires. He also says there's something on his back that he didn't see. So, we need t' get his shirt off and figure out what's what."
"Cut the shirt off?" Face asked and B.A. frowned.
"Not yet. Want you t' check the shirt for wires first."
"Come again?"
"Might be a wire on 'im. Cut it 'n we go boom."
"Great, just great." Face touched Hoang's shirt delicately without finding anything but skinny Vietnamese boy under the off-white fabric. "Nothing," he reported and pulled a small pair of scissors out of his flak jacket. At this range, the flak jacket he was wearing was not likely to be effective but he'd slipped it on anyway, stuffing a few hopefully useful items in the pockets.
"Check again," B.A. said flatly. The black man's dull, angry eyes stopped the lieutenant's protest before it started. He tucked the scissors away and again prodded the boy's chest, back and shoulders.
"Nothing."
"Alright. Get the scissors 'n cut 'long the shoulders. Carefully." Face nodded and retrieved the scissors, gently lifting the edge of fabric and clipping the shoulder from the short sleeve to the neck. He moved to the boy's other side and repeated the process, snipping carefully.
"Want me to cut down the front or the back next?" he asked after folding the fabric away from the thin shoulders.
B.A. hesitated. He needed to know what the mystery object was on Hoang's back but before Peck attempted that more delicate operation, B.A. wanted to evaluate the young officer's technique a bit more. "Front, but we gonna need a mirror first."
"Colonel!"
=+++= / + =====
Two soldiers defusing a bomb on a skinny Vietnamese boy in the compound drew spectators. Hannibal had some of his other men make sure the rubberneckers didn't get in the way but otherwise remained focused on Baracus and Peck. He knew word would get around concerning the situation but didn't bother to report up the chain of command. They'd suggest someone from Explosive Ordinance Disposal handle it but with most of the EODs on that big op down in the valley, demolition guys – like Baracus and Smith – would be called in to pinch-hit. The best men for the job are already on the job, he thought with a touch of gallows humor.
"Colonel!" Even the single word held enough of an accent for Smith to identify the speaker immediately. "I came as soon as I heard." The tall, lanky pilot had run from the airfield at the word his team was in trouble and was breathing heavily. "What do I need to do?" H.M. Murdock asked when he caught his breath.
"Nothing for the moment, Captain," Smith replied succinctly, watching B.A. direct Face in the use of the mirror he'd requested several moments before. The expression on the sergeant's face as he got his first look at Hoang's back was not encouraging
=+++= / + +====
It had taken some time but Peck had finally finished removing the boy's shirt and now held the mirror so B.A. could see the device on the child's back.
"Move to the right a bit more," B.A. directed. "No! The right!" he exclaimed when Face moved to his left and the other man's right.
"Sorry," Face replied and scooted back the other direction. It was the second time they'd gotten their wires crossed about which way to move; that, along with the glaring sun and the explosives strapped onto the boy, caused another trickle of sweat to roll down the lieutenant's neck. He shook his head violently to dislodge the annoying moisture.
"Can't do that 'gain," the big man muttered. "Got any face paint?" When the other man nodded, he continued, "Label your hands. Don' care what it says, jes as long as it gets us on the same page."
"Right." He stepped back, laid the mirror down and rummaged through the pockets of his flak jacket. When he located the face paint he smeared an A on one hand and a B on the other, holding them up for approval.
=+++= / + ++====
"Something ain't right, Colonel," Murdock said softly, his eyes flicking over the scene alertly.
"The peanut gallery, you mean?" Hannibal's reply was just as quiet and low-key. He'd seen the small group standing off to the side snickering occasionally as they watched the drama play out before them. It wasn't the response he expected from fellow soldiers whatever the branch. There were tensions between the different services, true, but usually not when it came down to things that could explode and kill.
"Uhm-huh," Murdock murmured. "You think it's fake?"
"Possibly. But we can't take a chance." He paused, raising his chin slightly to the left. "Ray's doing a little recon."
=+++= / + +++==
The fear so plain on Hoang's face had begun to manifest itself in bouts of trembling incompatible with the delicate work. B.A. felt a warm wetness when the boy's bladder failed him and saw a different kind of fear as well as shame blossom on the child's face. Both men knew it was beyond the boy's control and tried to soothe him.
"Hoang, it's okay. Don' worry 'bout that. I'm scared, too," B.A. told the youngster softly.
"Me, too," Face chimed in before B.A. continued.
"But we gonna get through this, all of us. Jes' calm down, little brother." He wished he could hug the boy to him but remained still. The soldier had grown accustomed to being motionless for long periods of time but his awkward position was becoming more and more uncomfortable. He'd expected to be in this position maybe half a minute not almost an hour.
"So sorry, Bee Ah. You number one friend. Others say lies, number ten, but you tell Hoang truth, you number one."
"Others?"
"Later, B.A.," Face said quickly, realizing the sergeant had seen the marks on Hoang's back as well as the flat plate and recognized them just as he had. "First, let's get out of this mess, shall we? Now, tell me what to do next." He caught a hint of movement out of the corner of his eye. What was – . He'd half turned when B.A. responded, causing him to refocus on his teammate.
"Wait."
"Wait? What – ."
"There's a chocolate bar in m'pocket," B.A. interrupted, meeting the other man's eyes intently. "Get it and feed it to him. Stomach's growlin', probably why he shakin' so much."
"I'll take care of that for ya, Faceman," Murdock said, stepping up in time to hear the last of the conversation. "Colonel wants you."
"I – I'll be right back," Face said after a silent battle of wills with his commander's medium range glare and stood up to report.
"Hey, there, Hoang. My name's Murdock. I'm a friend of the Big Guy there. You think you could eat a chocolate bar or two? I just happen to have a couple in my pocket if you're interested. Ah, knew you were a young man of exquisite taste." As he continued to talk with Hoang, the pilot pulled out a chocolate bar and unwrapped it. "Just small bites, okay. Don't want you to get choked on it or nothin'." He began feeding the small bits to Hoang, making him chew – and smile. B.A. kept silent as Murdock's patter and the chocolate began to relax the boy, letting his mind draw a diagram of the wires connecting the five grenades to each other and the metal case, then rotate it so he could examine it and plan its removal.
B.A. only realized the other man had slipped into Vietnamese when he felt Hoang's body tense and Murdock utter one of the phrases he himself had learned. Đừng sợ, đừng sợ tôi.
"What you askin' him, fool?"
"Relax, Big Guy, jus' tryin' to find out who did this to 'im," Murdock replied softly.
"Cậu bé khôngsợphi côngđiên," Hoang said stoutly, causing Murdock to chuckle despite the situation.
"What'd he say?"
"He said he's not afraid of the crazy pilot. Now, hush." He turned to the boy. "Nó là thích hợp rằng cậu bé không sợ. Những người đã làm điều nàycho bạn, họ là ai?" Hoang hesitated and looked away again. "Đừng sợ.Họ là ai?"
"Binh lính." Soldiers. Of course soldiers had done this to him. Didn't think it was the milk man, kid.
"Lính Mỹ?" Murdock pressed, gently lifting the boy's chin.
"Yes." The whispered word didn't surprise him. He met Hannibal's eyes and nodded once, canting his head casually toward the group they'd been watching. Americans had done this.
=+++= / + ++++=
"Done."
B.A. counted the seconds off in his head before responding. "Take it out same as the others," he instructed and watched as Face removed the fifth and last grenade from its wiry nest against Hoang's skin and settled it in its new home. He'd figured out what was going on not long after Murdock had returned to Hannibal but that had not made him any less cautious.
"Done."
"Now, get 'em outta here."
"What about the – ."
"I got it." Face nodded reluctantly and stood. He wasn't surprised when Murdock appeared and grabbed the other side of the metal container in which five grenades were now swinging gently in individual net cocoons. They continued past the colonel and toward the perimeter where Ray and a couple of the others waited, the smoke from Hannibal's cigar following them lazily.
=+++= / + +++++
"Hoang? Do you trust me?" B.A. had been carefully flexing his fingers for the past several minutes, making sure he still had circulation and feeling.
"Bee-Ah number one friend." The trust in the boy's voice tore at B.A.'s heart.
"This is gonna hurt some, but jes keep doin' like I tell you and it'll be okay." The boy nodded. "Gonna move my hands, then turn you around real slow like and take care of the-the pack on your back. Okay?" The boy nodded again, tensing slightly when B.A. removed first one hand then the other. Hoang swayed a bit without the support but the big soldier grasped his bare shoulders gently, holding him up and guiding him in a slow quarter-turn. With one strong arm around the front of Hoang's torso, B.A. got his first real look at the boy's back.
Someone had beaten him, leaving thin red welts across his shoulders, and glued a small landmine to his back. Although he'd known what he would find, rage swept over him at seeing the abuse and cruelty inflicted on Hoang. Nearly blind for a moment as his blood pressure spiked and a red haze descended over his vision, B.A. fought his impulse to rip apart everything around him. He clung to the sound of the colonel's calm voice when he heard it from only a few feet away.
"Sergeant, I need a sit-rep." The simple request gave B.A. something to focus on and allowed him to take a few deep breaths. When B.A. looked up at the white-haired man standing beside him, his dark eyes were dangerously still.
"It's fake."
"I know. All the grenades were as well." Hannibal paused. "Except for one." B.A. growled. "Easy. Can you remove the rest of this?"
"Not without rippin' his skin off too. Gonna need somethin' to dissolve the glue they used."
"Any danger of moving him to someplace else, where we can work on that?"
Baracus paused before replying. I know it's a fake, I know it is. But the grenades, one of 'em was live, so maybe…. "Be best if I disassemble it first," he said, shaking his head.
"Right. Murdock!"
=+++= / + =++++
"I got it, Colonel," Murdock said. "I remember reading about this kind of glue, a cyanoacrylate. We need acetone to work it loose."
"Face, get some acetone."
"And cotton swabs," the pilot added. He continued to look at the juncture between the skin and the metal plate which was all that remained of Hoang's explosive vest. The boy was stretched out on a cot in the team's hooch, B.A. sitting on the floor beside him. Ray was near the door of the room, fiddling with the grenades and keeping an eye on anyone who might want to come and visit.
"Acetone?" the lieutenant said dubiously as he reached for the stash of medical supplies he had acquired for the team's use, pulling out cotton swabs.
"Like in, uh, paint thinner or fingernail polish remover."
"Fingernail polish remover, eh?" Face's eyes lit up and a half-smile blossomed on his lips. "No problem." He went to his footlocker and dug around for a moment until he pulled out a pink and yellow soft-sided zippered bag. Three bottles of fingernail polish – a deep classic red, a delicate pink, and a shimmery white – and a heart-shaped red leather manicure set came out of the bag first, causing Hannibal to raise one eyebrow at his lieutenant. "Ah, there it is," the man muttered and set the wrapped glass bottle aside without looking up before returning the other items to the bag.
"Do I even want to know, Lieutenant?"
"Know what?" His blue eyes were wide and innocent when he looked up from unscrewing the plastic white cap from the vaguely triangular bottle. White lettering spelled out Cutex on the red stripe across the label while blue script proclaimed the product's new super gentle virtues.
"Why you have nail polish in your footlocker."
Templeton Peck smiled broadly. "You wouldn't believe what some women around here will do for a decent manicure or pedicure," he explained, causing Murdock and Hannibal to chuckle. Ray stayed silent, remembering Trish's fondness for girly things, but made a mental note on his list of Things To Do When I Get Home. B.A. looked up with a frown, one big hand cupping the back of the boy's head and stroking his hair.
"Stop messin' around an' get this thing off Hoang," he growled. "I need it. Got a return delivery t' make."
=+++= / + ==+++
Nondescript fatigues, padded face protection similar to what the bomb squad used, and a boonie hat effectively disguised the identity of the man who walked in juggling five grenades. The juggler tossed two grenades to men on opposite sides of the room which sparked a quick game of hot potato before someone realized the firing pins were intact, stuck in place with a dark red acrylic, and the grenades not able to harm anyone. When he underhanded two more grenades at other members of the squad, they had the presence of mind to check whether these also might be secure. This left the juggler with only one 'ball' which he enthusiastically tossed from hand to hand. Three of the men approached, tired of the game and certain they could handle one joker with a fake grenade. The juggler stopped, sliding two fingers through the pull ring and holding the grenade out in front of him. His action halted the progress of the three soldiers and produced an odd flurry of activity in the back of the room.
Behind the mask, he grinned. Gotcha.
Then he pulled the ring, releasing the spoon, tossed the grenade into the air and ran.
=+++= / + ===++
"Eh-hmm."
"Yeah?"
"Did you use my nail polish?"
"Red's not my color."
"Red? Did I say anything about red, Hannibal?"
"No, I don't think you did. Murdock, did Face say anything about red nail polish?"
"Nope. But I agree with him: red's not his color. He'd do better with a metallic shade, I think, like copper."
"I hafta disagree. Think he did jes' fine with the red." B.A. smiled the smile of a satisfied predator. "Jes' fine."
"Can't say as I know what y'all are talkin' about," Ray said after a moment, frowning slightly up at the four men surrounding his cot. "But I've got a letter from home to finish, so if ya don't mind?" Once they'd turned back to their own tasks, Ray allowed himself a small smile as he bent over the letter. I don't want to tempt fate, he read, by counting the days until we are in each other's arms again.
=+++= / + ====+
Murdock touched down at the airfield, returning the heavy assault team under Hannibal's command to base ten days after he'd dropped them at the LZ far to the north. To facilitate the medics' approach, the pilot shut down the bird as quickly as he could; every minute counted for the man lying so still in the back.
The glassy-eyed look passengers often had after a Murdockian copter ride faded from B.A.'s face soon after the medics hurried off with Gomez. He grabbed the man's gear, what was left of it, along with his own, and trudged back toward their quarters. He moved through the base in a fog; the only thing he wanted right now was sleep. A meal could wait, thanks to the care package Murdock had stashed in the back of the chopper for the squad to consume on the flight back to base. Ain't been this tired in a long time.
"Bee Ah!" It took a moment for the boy's voice to register and another for the exhausted soldier to pinpoint his location. By then Hoang had made it to his side and looked up at him curiously. "Bee Ah?"
"Hey, Hoang," the big man said, draping one large hand over the boy's shoulder wearily as they walked. "Been behavin' for Ray?" Hoang nodded vigorously, the energy he displayed serving only to make B.A. more tired. "Good, good." Ray had been sidelined by a nasty bug that had cropped up, necessitating he remain behind on the last mission; the boy had been eager to help take care of the ailing soldier.
"Medic say Ray a-okay," Hoang chirped. "No broken bones."
No broken bones? B.A.'s head swam as he tried to process the child's statement. "Where's Ray, Hoang?" he said at last and allowed the boy to lead him by the hand at a quicker pace back toward the medical sector.
=+++= / =+++=
To be continued ... slowly (my apologies).
I do this for fun not profit. The charactes (with the exception of Hoang) are not mine; the mistakes (without exception) are.