AN: I, of course, don't own anything to do with the A-Team.
Named
The thing you've got to realise is almost everyone ended up with a nickname out there. With all the name, rank, serial number stuff people would grab anything to make them feel a little more human.
Whether it was just a shortened version of their own name or something completely ridiculous most everyone had something other then what they were born with to label themselves. Names that came with stories, names that had been around too long for anyone to remember how they got started. Names you could only use if you earned the right to names you'd never say to their face. Even the enemy had a nick-name.
There were names used so much people would forget that they had any other and then they were the names no one used, though everyone knew them. Names that may just hit a little too close to home.
Take HM Murdock for example. 'Howling Mad' they called him. And he was at that. Of course, according to some, all pilots were crazy. Heck, everyone out there was a little bit touched. War did that to people.
But it's true that he'd bring you in and out with a smile on is face and a howl on his lips no matter what was happening. Good ol' Howling Mad. If you could stand the ride he'd always get you home.
Then one day he flew back in a bird that looked like it was being held together with grit and luck. He had a cargo of the dead and dying and his co-pilot had been short on the way out and ol' Howlin' had to fly back coved in half the man's insides to get home.
War isn't pretty. You'll see a lot of things that no man should go though. Everyone copes as best they can. Some will drink, some'll do drugs. Some will turn it in one on themselves and some will turn it out on the enemy. It doesn't matter what you do as lot as you keep it quiet and keep going. Don't let anyone see you hurt, there's a war to win after all.
Murdock, he just stood there. After he found out how many weren't going to make it he stood so still he might have been made of stone. Someone may have headed towards him to help. Give him someone to yell at, get him drunk. But before any one could reach him he threw back his head and screamed.
When they talk about screams of agony that's the noise they mean. It was loud and long. Raw and ugly. It was the sound of something that was torn up, inside out and was baring it's pain to the world. It made everyone who heard it stand stock still, hairs raised on the back of their neck. No one made a move to stop him. Every man there had a part of them that had silently screamed at the terror of it all and now it had finally been given a voice.
Murdock screamed and yelled and roared and howled.
...
And then he stopped.
For the longest moment no one could move. Everyone just stood there listening to the man pant and try to get his breath back. Then he just lowered his head and shook himself like a dog and walked off. He didn't pay a lick of notice to the crowd around him, just walked off like he hadn't just sounded like he ripped his own heart out.
People just called him Murdock after that.