Title: Crash
Authors: Takada Saiko and Gabrielle Day
A/N: Hello, hello! Obviously, first off, we don't own TAT. Sadly. I think we'd both be overly happy to have our very own personal Murdock and personal Face. That would be the life, but instead, we just get to write about them. Second, this is a joint effort between Gabrielle Day and I, obviously, as there are two authors. Thirdly, this is somewhat based off of the conversation that Face has with Dr. Richter in my (TS's) fanfic 'Notes'. You don't have to have read it to enjoy this one, but I'd still be much obliged if you did.
Everything had all gone according to plan. It had been a simple pick up, drop off, and they had been on their way back to base when they'd come under enemy fire. He hadn't been worried, of course, because he was the best damn Huey chopper pilot in 'Nam. He was until the routers had been blown away. Not even the best pilot in the world could have kept it in the air at that rate. "Everyone hold on!" HM Murdock heard himself yell as they hit ground. The chopper rolled and he felt himself lurch forward. The last sound to hit his ears was BA's cursing and Face shouting. Dirt flew and the high pitched scream of technology colliding with the earth filled the air.
Face felt his harness snap taughtly against his body, the air forced from his lungs. With the second bounce the force was too great and Face felt the world fly by him. Then there was nothing.
Murdock came to hanging from his seat. He felt everything spinning and blinked several before he weakly unsnapped his harness and found himself falling against the controls. Everything hurt, but he managed to climb up and out the door. It was only then that he realized that the front of the helicopter had been ripped from the back and thrown far enough away that he couldn't see where the tail had landed. The skies opened up and the rain began to fall down around him. He ducked back down, grabbed the only automatic weapon he had had in the cockpit and then jumped to the ground. The dirt was already turning to mud and he sank to a knee, squinting against the sheets of rain. A figure lay just beyond him, having been thrown from the helicopter.
Fear twisted in his gut, but he knew better than to dart out into the open. Wherever they had landed, they weren't close enough to base to be safe. He ran a hand over his face and squinted in the dim light of evening to see blood smeared over his fingers. Murdock wiped the blood off on his jacket, unbothered and not reacting to the sight. He pressed himself close to the remains of his chopper, eyes never leaving the figure on the ground which was still unmoving. He could tell from the build that it was Face. He watched, barely breathing until Face's fingers twitched against the mud. Then he moved.
He stayed low to the ground, boots sinking into the thick mud. He reached his friend and his hands were on his shoulders immediately. "Face? Faceman?" he rasped, his own voice sounding strange to his ears. They would be there any second, he had to get the conman to rouse. He felt his head spinning again and everything seemed like it was crashing in around him. His mind raced ninety to nothing and he could barely focus on his task at hand. "Please wake up," he pleaded desperately.
A dull roar invaded his ears and pain flooded his body as Face fought his way towards the sound of his name. His eyes flickered and he struggled to remember what happened, where he was and if they were still on a mission. No, no, the mission is over. What is that sound? Explosions? The idea of their position being compromised was enough to make him jerk fully awake and halfway into a sitting position. He bit his lip to stifle a groan and found himself almost nose to nose with his pilot. "Murdock?" he gasped.
"Face!" Murdock answered. His dark eyes were wide and somewhat confused, as if he were still piecing together what happened. "C'mon," he urged suddenly, grabbing at his friend's collar and pulling him. "We have to get out of here. Gotta find Hannibal and BA."
Face stumbled to his feet, hissing lowly through his teeth as his body protested. He patted his torso and was pleased to find he at least had a sidearm. "Murdock, Murdock, hang on a sec." he said, scanning the area he could see. "What happened...oh sweet mercy." he muttered as his gaze landed on what was left of the chopper. The state of the beast didn't spark much hope for the other two members of their unit. The frantic look in Murdock's expression was making him nervous as well. "Murdock, are you hurt? Hey, buddy, look at me."
Murdock was shaking, looking very rattled. He was used to seeing the battle from the air. Certainly, he'd been trained for on-ground battles if it ever came to that, but that certainly wasn't his expertise. He was a pilot, not a foot soldier. "We crashed... I think," he answered slowly, as if he weren't certain that he was giving him the correct answer. It was difficult to tell in the rain and shady jungle, but it looked like blood was caked against the left side of his head, messed into his hair and staining his jacket. If he was hurt beyond that, Face couldn't tell, and he doubted if the pilot himself knew. He appeared to be working purely off of adrenaline for the moment.
"Yeah, that part I'd gathered." Face said mildly. They were damn lucky -or had a damn better pilot than they even realized - that whole thing hadn't gone up in flames. By all accounts, they should be human barbeque, left to be forgotten in the damp, humid, jungle. He reached out and squeezed Murdock's arm. He had to stay focused. "Hey, it's gonna be alright. We'll find them and be back before you know it, okay? They can't be too far away." Face said with more enthusiasm than he really felt. But then of course, that was what he was good at.
"Ya think so?" Murdock asked, his drawl sounding thicker than usual.
Face had no time to respond when the bullets rained down around them. Loud shouts in what was probably Vietnamese could be heard throughout the thick jungle. The two Americans looked around to see if they could catch a hint as to what direction they were coming from. Murdock took hold of his gun that he'd gone back for and aimed it out towards the darkness. The rain hampered their vision as they stood back to back, watching for their attackers. "I can't see 'em, Face. Where're they comin' from?"
Face figured they'd search the wreckage first, which only bought them the slimmest amount of time. He cursed softly and grabbed Murdock's arm, dragging him back into the undergrowth. If they could stay out of sight, they might be overlooked. Face slid the hammer on his gun back, wincing at the click that seemed unusually loud. "Murdock, stay down." He whispered desperately. He tensed, hearing rustling in the jungle behind him. If they were lucky, it was the wind. If they were less lucky, it was wildlife. If they were screwed, it was VC surrounding them.
Murdock glanced up from his crouched position he had taken. He could barely make out Face's figure in the dark shadows, even if the blond was standing right next to him. He looked up at the sound of a chopper flying over them and a spotlight suddenly illuminated them and the surrounding few feet. The pilot squinted against the light, suddenly fixated on it. The line 'Don't go towards the light,' raced through his mind and it tugged a short laugh from him.
They were advancing on them in a semi-circle, and from what Face could see there didn't seem to be any directly behind them. He glanced upward at the light as Murdock laughed, God only knew what was going through his mind now. Face made his mental marks on his targets. He could shoot enough of them to buy Murdock time to run. He was a jackrabbit when he wanted to be, and there was ever a time this was it. It was their only chance of one of them getting away. Face took aim and got ready to order the pilot to run.
The blond didn't have time to turn around when he heard the trees and the brush rustling behind them, but Murdock turned on instinct and fired the rifle in his hands. He was a better aim than Face would have expected and a man fell out of the trees. At the brief look of confusion from his friend, the pilot shrugged. "The light was up there, why wouldn't a person be there?" It all made sense in his head.
There was shouting, none of which the two men could understand at first. English finally mixed in and Face was able to understand an order to surrender. "Murdock," he said quietly. "When give the word, I want you to run. You've got to find Hannibal. Can you do that?"
Murdock turned two wide, brown eyes to his friend. "I'm not leaving you," he said, his voice holding a tone of wonder that Face had even mentioned it. "Either we leave together or we go down together. Hannibal and BA have got each other. They'll be fine."
Face turned towards the man he assumed to be the leader and smiled widely. He momentarily loosened his grip on his weapon so that it was hanging from one finger. "Surrender?" he asked loudly. He smiled and nodded. Through his teeth he said. "Get ready to start shooting." He waved with his free hand knelt as if he was going to place his gun on the ground
"Now?"
"Now."
The sound of the deluge and the chopper above could not drown out the firestorm that followed. Face and Murdock fell into the battle, relying purely on the instincts honed by endless hours of training under Hannibal's relentless tutelage. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and left, as far as they knew, to themselves in the middle of Vietnam. The odds were certainly against them, but that was nothing unusual.
It was going to get worse before it would get better. Face caught additional movement out of the corner of his eye and turned in time to see men drop out of the trees near Murdock. One tackled him from behind and brought the butt of his pistol down hard against the pilot's head. The group was momentarily distracted by his fall, and the survivalist in Face saw his opportunity to vanish, his one split second to slip away. Murdock's words echoed in his mind and he reacted so strongly against himself that he lost the upper hand.
"No! Murdock!"
He was swarmed in a matter of seconds. He felt hands grabbing at him from all sides, ripping his gun away and holding him, dragging him, and detaining him. He struggled, screaming and crying out. He cursed them and he called to the unresponsive pilot that they were currently hauling up from his fallen place. Face searched for an idea, any plan, and wished beyond anything else that Hannibal were there to tell him what to do. But Hannibal wasn't there. He might not even be alive, and they might not be for much longer.
He felt something strike him hard and his vision swam.
He was forced to his knees and he was struck again when he resisted them tying his hands behind his back. "Murdock!" he shouted again. His voice was becoming hoarse, shouting over the men shouting at him. At least Murdock would have understood what they were saying. He felt blood run in his eye and he shook his head in an attempt to clear his vision. He couldn't see the pilot anymore. Couldn't tell if they'd killed him. He couldn't hear the crazy laughter or the sound of his voice and Face had never felt more terrified in his life.
One of the VCs knelt so that he was staring Face in the eye. A wicked grin crossed his face. "We know you two well, and your colonel," he said in slow, deliberate English. "He is dead, and you will talk."
The blonde spat in his face. "Go to hell." Face snarled. He quickly moved his gaze among those left standing from the brief encounter. For being only two, they had done a good deal of damage. This man had lost men tonight, and would not take it lightly. There were too many left though, to make an escape unarmed, and without knowing what was happening with Murdock.
The man who had spoken, one who apparently had enough commands to give orders and knew enough English to communicate with his American prisoners, spoke rapidly to his subordinates. They moved about and he turned his dark, narrow eyes back to the lieutenant. Moments later two Viet Congs moved forward, into Face's line of sight, and they were dragging an unconscious Murdock none too gently with them. "You will come quietly," the VC said, motioning back to the pilot, "or we'll kill him now and take you by force. I only need one man to interrogate."
Face carefully schooled his features so as not to let his relief at the sight of him show. "All right. I'll go quietly." he agreed. He was hauled to his feet, gun pressed to the small of his back. He heard the men with Murdock fall into step behind him and he hoped that he could get his bearings as they moved through the jungle. It soon became apparent that figuring out where they were was a lost cause. The jungle all looked the same, and due to the disorientation from the crash he had no idea if they were getting closer or further away from base camp. Hannibal had better not be dead, he thought grimly.
The rain had let up by the time that HM Murdock began approaching consciousness. A soft groan escaped his lips and he regretted that resurfacing as soon as he neared it. His head ached as did the rest of his body. Slowly, his sluggish mind told him that something had happened. Something bad, but it failed to tell him what had happened. His thoughts ran together as his brown eyes fluttered open to focus, finally, on what looked like a hut's roof. It smelt grimy and putrid, as if something had died very near there and very recently. He groaned again, trying to push himself up off of the damp, dirt flooring.
"Do not bother to get up." A voice from above him said flatly. A swift kick in the ribs had him hugging the damp earth again. Murdock groaned and rolled to one side, trying to get a better look at who was in the hut with him. "You are HM Murdock, yes? Pilot?" the voice asked.
Murdock chuckled mirthlessly. "Sometimes. My head's spinnin' so fast I could be the queen of England and never know it." He shouldn't have answered flippantly, he knew, but there was just something that seemed to take hold in drastic situations. He had few inhabitations as it was to keep from saying things that most people wouldn't, but it seemed the higher the level of danger, the less of a filter he had. Funny how things worked.
He was surprised when no part of his body was smacked, kicked, or crushed. Instead his captor smiled dangerously. "You will keep in mind, HM Murdock, that your answers will affect not only yourself."
"Well, if you're threatenin' the voices, I don't think you'll get very far," the pilot answered with a surprisingly wide, child-like grin. "They're awful talkative and just don't know when to quit, ya know?" His grin turned dark. "Kinda like certain commie bastards."
His captor's smile vanished and he stood from his crouching position. He shouted into the darkness, Murdock thought he said something about bringing the jacket. "No one will find you here." the man said. "No one will come for you. You are alone."
Murdock seemed to ignore him as he began humming a song quietly under his breath. BA had once said - jokingly and had managed an apology for the statement later - that if any one of them were to ever be captured and questioned, Murdock would be the one to drive his captors crazy before they broke him. "Being that the fool's already broke," BA had grunted. Now he was the one held captive and in a way he found himself on a path to proving BA right. He could feel several of the VCs shift in a confused manner, staring at him.
The main one stepped out into the darkness and stepped back in, throwing a wad of fabric in front of him. It was soaked through with blood. "Tell me, does that amuse you?"
Murdock froze and forced himself into a sitting position on the soft dirt. He reached a shaky hand for the jacket - Face's uniform jacket - and gripped it tightly. They'd gotten him, then. He wasn't alone. He might have been able to handle it if he'd been alone. He turned his eyes up to the VC slowly. There was no playfulness, but something darker than most of his friends would have recognized. "I swear to you, if you hurt him-"
"Oh, it is far too late for that. Your friend proved to be very...stubborn? He called for you, though, until the very end."
Murdock didn't give his body a chance to protest as he launched himself at the snide man. He felt his fingers close around the fabric of his uniform and he landed one good punch before his men got to him. They pulled him away, kicking and cursing. He shoved an elbow into someone's nose and got an arm free. He swung to his left and clocked another in the side of the head, following it with a headbutt. The man went down and the pilot kicked out, toe of his boot connecting heavily with the second man's shin. He screamed at him as he jumped, going to the ground with him, landing punch after punch to the man's face.
VCs swarmed the small hut and it took several to pull the angry pilot from his prey. Murdock had never been much of a crier, but tears were streaming down his face and he screamed in English and then in Vietnamese so that they'd be sure to understand every word, every threat, that he said. He barely felt the first several blows through the rush of adrenaline that had had him fighting, but finally one connected with an already cracked rib, fully breaking it, and he gasped for air, sinking in his captors' grasp.
"Now, soldier, you will answer our questions. To refuse only means your death will take longer. Tell me where your next planned strike is." The leader asked coldly. The others had re-tied Murdock's hands behind his back, and the pilot's head slumped, chin resting on his chest. "Tell me!" the man repeated.
Murdock's body began to tremble and for a moment the man thought he had won that quickly. He was startled when Murdock laughed harshly, not looking up. The man stepped forward, black hair gleaming in the dim light. He grabbed Murdock by the hair and jerked his head up. "Tell me!" he snarled.
Murdock studied him, as a child might study a caterpillar clinging to a tree branch. His lips twitched and he said, "Why?" The man blinked. "Why?" he echoed. Murdock's lips twitched again, not quite a smile. "Why is a raven like a writing desk?"
He barely felt the blow to the face. His head snapped to the left and he felt his vision swimming. They'd made a mistake to tell him that Face was dead. If he'd been alive, that would mean there was some hope. Now, Murdock had never fancied himself fond of death, even in the darkest moments of this war, but he knew his odds. He was alone and he would die. It seemed simple enough. Now his job was to keep these bastards from finding anything out.
Murdock recited poetry, plays, song lyrics, whatever came to mind, and that was pretty much anything. Anything but the thought of his dead companion, although he couldn't always avoid it when they shoved the blood soaked jacket into his face. If he ignored the blood, he could faintly smell Face's cologne, the stuff he wasn't supposed to wear but did anyway. He could get away with that because he was the Faceman, part of the A-Team and they always came back...
"What the hell is he doing now?" one of the men asked. They had beaten him for close to two hours and had gotten nothing but off key singing for their trouble.
"I think it's called yodeling." The leader answered. "Put a gag in his mouth and a bag over his head. I don't want to hear him while I sleep."
The pilot made a gagging sound as one of the VCs tied a piece of cloth around his mouth so that it couldn't close all the way. He could manage some noise beyond it, and did so, until the asked for bag was placed over his head and he felt another sharp blow that sent him to the ground. He lay there, finally silent, until the footsteps faded from his hearing. Everything hurt, but if he closed his eyes he might be able to, at least for a little bit, go to someplace better. Someplace with something that resembled joy in it. There had to be someplace left. He fell into something that might be called sleep - or a dazed lack of awareness at any rate - to the sound of his own humming around the gag.
Across camp, in a smaller, sturdier hut, Face lay on the ground in a similar position to that of pilot so far away, but completely and utterly silent. The gashes on his arms had stopped bleeding, but Face knew he was headed straight for infection unless they were found. Or escaped. They had told him, or tried, until he understood, that as long as he didn't make a sound they'd keep the pilot alive. Most of his screaming had taken place underwater, anyway, until they had left him. He wasn't sure if he could make a sound now if he wanted too. And now that Murdock's crazed singing had abruptly stopped, he very desperately wanted to.
He tried to shift his weight and regretted it instantly. His arms were tied at such an angle behind his back that he thought that his left shoulder might actually have been pulled from its socket. The pain was so intense everywhere that he couldn't be entirely sure about one specific spot. He blinked, dirt caked against his light lashes and make his eyelids heavy. He wanted to sleep, but that wasn't an option. It couldn't be an option if they had any hope of getting out alive.
Not for the first time he wondered what Hannibal would do if he were in the situation with them. As the silence began to grate on his already strained nerves, he wondered if they had gone ahead and killed Murdock. If the lack of singing meant they'd grown tired of his antics and killed him. There had been no gunshots, but that meant nothing. Not when there were so many other ways to make a man's heart stop beating. Even if they said they needed him alive...it wasn't such a leap from killer to liar. As you would know, his brain sneered at him. Face grit his teeth and forced his eyes open. Use your surroundings, Hannibal taught him. Take your enemies confidence and use it to your advantage
They'd left him alone in the hut, thinking he was too worn and too beaten to manage anything. It was almost true, but he thought that if the right set of circumstances would present themselves, he might be able to muster enough energy to get up. If escape were possible. He squinted against the darkness to see what they'd left him. What did they think would pose no threat within the reach of an injured American POW? A wooden chair, the whip that they'd used on him, the large bucket of water that he'd been dunked in, and a rusted out knife. Really? They must have thought he'd never have the energy to see it, much less crawl to it. Focusing all of his energy, he rolled so that he could slowly get to his knees, gritting his teeth against the pain. His bindings were made of rope. He'd have his hands free, if nothing else, if he could get to that knife.
The piercing scream that cut through the silence gave Face the adrenaline boost he need to pull himself to the knife. The blade slipped across his fingers and Face hissed through his gag as he felt his skin part in several places. He finally had it positioned correctly and went to work on his bindings. Another scream and Face winced. He was alert enough now to recognize the muted tone, as if the screamer was gagged as well. Murdock. At least he knew the crazy bastard was still alive.
Finally the ropes began to fray and fell free. The adrenaline dulled the pain and Face pulled the gag from his mouth. He forced his mind to think things through. There'd be guards outside, he was sure, except for the small possibility that they'd gone to check out the screaming. It wasn't likely. There'd been enough VCs to cover the small base several times over. His eyes fell on the scant equipment that he possessed and a small smirk tugged at his lips.
He crouched low near the door and began humming. He kept it soft, but loud enough to be heard by anyone outside the door. It was one of the tunes he'd heard Murdock singing in the hours before, one of the English ones anyway. Face had never realized how many languages the man actually knew. He increased his pitch ever so slightly until he heard movement outside the door. He tossed in a groan for good measure, which got the desired result of one guard opening the door and shutting it behind him. Face tugged gently on the rope, which he'd tied to the end of the chair. The chair jerked forward, grabbing the guard's attention and giving Face time to attack from behind. He sipped one arm around his torso, pinning his arms, and the other around his neck, cutting off his air supply. and his ability to sound an alarm. When the man stopped struggling, Face lowered him to the ground and hit him in the side of the head with the butt of the knife for good measure. He gagged him, tied him, and began taking off his uniform.
Murdock knew his screams were dying, but it was almost as if he couldn't control himself. In everything, he always felt as if he at least had the choice to cut it off or continue, but even if he were to grit his teeth around the gag it did no good.
He'd woken himself with them, from some nightmare that had ripped him from his moments of semi-oblivion, and then they'd descended on him. He thought they were really there, anyway, as the bag was covering his eyes and he wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't anymore. Something that felt like a boot pressed down on his windpipe and he heard a man growl out threats from above.
Murdock choked, unable to get enough air through the rough canvas sack and the gag in his mouth. His body spasmed and he tried to jerk away from the ominous presence crushing him, but couldn't get away. The man stayed with his heel against his prisoner's throat until he quiet moving and backed away.
"Did you kill him?" one asked.
He shrugged and kicked Murdock in the shin. There was no response. "Who knows? The devil probably wouldn't take this crazy bastard."
Murdock lay still, tears streaming down his face from the effort of not gagging. Please, please, let there be planes in heaven, Faceman.
A/N: And that is Part One! Part Two should be up later tonight if all goes well. Please R&R. We are rather addicted to it.