All right, maybe it wasn't the best way to start off a conversation. Calling the man's mother a whore - in his native language - was NOT a good way to strike up a two way dialogue with an interrogator.
The man growled at the insult, before the razor sharp bamboo sliced against Murdock's bloody torn back. The beating had been bad, but now his enemy lashed at any body part he could reach. Murdock screamed until his lungs ran out of air and his head lolled forward.
"M' sorry." Murdock's swollen tongue made it sound like a whimper. The fire radiating from his shoulders convinced him both were dislocated. Dirty rope dug into his wrists as he hung from a hook like a piece of meat. The resistance training cadre had never mentioned how agony broke a man.
"Stupid American." The cane whipped his raw flesh. "You will learn." He felt fresh blood flowing from the next impact. A fog descended. "Invading my country is bad." The sadist grunted as the cane hissed through the air again.
Metallic fluid filled Murdock's mouth. He worked his jaw to release his bitten lip, praying the fog would take him away. An unexpected blow to his stomach snapped his befuddled thoughts back to reality.
"You sign confession now."
Still struggling to breathe, Murdock tried to respond to the order, but his mouth opened and closed soundlessly.
"You sign, I give you food."
Food- he liked food. Not that putrid water with a few grains of rice, but real food. A big juicy burger with fries on the side. And ice cream, he missed ice cream. His eyes were almost swollen shut. He closed them to block the sliver of light burning his retinas. Images of steak filled his vision. He tried to remember the scent of fresh cooking- anything to ignore the blows raining down. The fog thickened, and imagining the alluring smell of roasting potatoes, he passed out.
The dirt ground into his aching back. Murdock groaned and tried to fight the restraints.
"Hold still, fool."
That voice- he knew that voice. Murdock's eyes refused to cooperate- must send brain a memo; open eyes when asked. Realizing that wouldn't happen, he tried to picture BA, his friend and comrade.
"M' eyes stuck, big guy," Murdock said, or at least tried to say, but with the ringing in his ears he wasn't sure what it sounded like.
"Buddy, open your eyes. C'mon, Murdock, I know you can hear me."
I hear you, Faceman, but they just need a rest at the moment. He wanted the words to form, but only a gasp came out.
"Captain." Now that voice got his attention. The soldier in Murdock instinctively knew to respond to his commanding officer. He tried again to drag his heavy lids open. "Squeeze my hand twice if you hear me." Ahh, so he wasn't holding granny Em's hand on the farm. The shock of Hannibal holding his hand made Murdock chuckle. They'd never live it down in the DaNang Officers Club if they were seen like that. Agonizing coughs wracked his body.
"Stupid fool, don't go talking." BA's strong hands rolled him on to his side.
As the coughing eased, Murdock gripped the hand holding his. He forced numb fingers to squeeze and release in a rhythm.
"Nice, Captain, nice." He could almost see Hannibal's huge smile, and the grip returned the rhythm. "He's still with us, kid." Trust Hannibal to reassure Face too.
"We got you, bud. Sleep now," Face said quietly.
Curled on his side Murdock felt his head being gently lifted, then rested on a pillow of human warmth. Light fingers soothed the matted, sweat filled hair off his forehead.
"Thanks, Faceman," Murdock mumbled, and drifted into the fog again.
Murdock leaned against the bamboo bars of the cage he currently called home. His head bowed, partly due to the low roof, and partly because he intently watched a rat digging just outside. He was on watch while the team slept. Rule 101 of warfare: know your enemy. Hannibal's schedule meant one of them was 'on duty' at all times. Murdock had complete confidence Hannibal would devise the perfect escape plan, but first they needed to understand the camp's routine.
Any observer would just see a crazy American fascinated by vermin. Murdock, in fact, could identify the location of every person in his peripheral vision. The guard who'd fallen asleep. The two soldiers walking the camp perimeter. The body of… someone long dead, hanging from a tree.
This late in the evening the camp was relatively quiet, so Murdock immediately noticed the small Vietnamese man glancing in his direction. He was dressed in the same peasant farmer 'pajamas' the Viet Cong soldiers wore. But this was no soldier; the lack of automatic rifle alone made that clear.
With a few more surreptitious looks towards Murdock's cage, the man shuffled closer. The rat ran off, disturbed by the man's feet kicking dirt in its hole.
Murdock checked the guard was still asleep before whispering, "Chào."
[Hello.] The man's eyes were downcast and his voice hesitant. [Are you the American who speaks Vietnamese?]
Murdock's colorful language under interrogation had clearly flown through the jungle-wires if even civilians knew about the performance. He nodded cautiously. [Yes I am. My name is Murdock. What is yours?]
[It is very dangerous to talk to me. Please be careful or the guards will beat you.] The man tugged at his ragged shirt sleeves, pulling them down over his hands as he nervously met Murdock's eyes.
Despite the warning the man didn't move away, piquing Murdock's curiosity.
[I can see you are an honorable man. A good kind man,] Murdock said smiling. His face wore the wounds of the beating but at least, two days later, he could smile.
The man dropped his gaze again. [I want to learn English,] he said quietly. [Would you teach me, please?]
[I would be honored to teach you our splendid language.] Murdock waved a hand with a flourish and bowed his head.
The man's face lit up as he gave Murdock a wide toothy grin. [Really?]
[Yes. I'll have to check my schedule, but I think I can squeeze you in between torture sessions on Wednesday morning and Thursday afternoon.] Murdock gave a soft laugh making sure he didn't move his broken ribs.
The man's brow furrowed.
Murdock made the most sincere expression he could around the black eye and broken nose. [I'm being serious, friend. I will help you.] He rested a hand on his chest. "My name is Murdock." He pronounced each word clearly.
The man nodded slowly and pointed to himself. "My name is Lin Duk Coo."
Ignoring the throbbing in his swollen lips, Murdock grinned. "I am pleased to meet you, Lin Duk Coo." He twisted his hand between the narrow bars and held it towards Lin.
Lin's eyes darted around them before he returned the smile and shook Murdock's hand. "I please meet you, Murdock."
Murdock took a slow breath to not wince, his hand still purple from lack of blood supply. "Excellent, fine chap," he said in a strong British accent. "We'll have you speaking the Queen's English in a jiffy."
Lin's eyes widened. [You are a very funny American.]
[So they tell me,] Murdock replied. "I am a funny man."
"Funny man," Lin said carefully.
[You are a fast learner.]
[I am a cook.] Lin chewed his bottom lip for a moment. "Funny man…" He patted his stomach then pointed at his mouth.
Slowly Murdock registered what Lin was trying to say. "Food?"
"Food. Funny man, food?"
Murdock nodded vigorously. "Funny man would love some food. Can you get food?" He was about to translate when Lin's face broke into a broad smile.
"Lin Duk Coo, funny man food." Lin gestured toward the crude hut where the pig swill the VC laughingly called soup came from.
Murdock reached through the bars and caught the surprised man's cheeks, pulling him forward to kiss his forehead. "If you can get me and my team food I'll teach you to sing in English."
Lin backed away looking terrified.
[Thank you,] Murdock said genuinely. [We need food and clean water. I will teach you to sing like an American cowboy if you can get us extra food.]
[I like singing.] Lin visibly relaxed. [I'll bring some bread tomorrow.] He gave a small bow and moved away from the bamboo cage.
Murdock carefully climbed over the sleeping bodies of his teammates and settled himself in the corner.
"What was that?" Face mumbled, sounding more asleep than awake.
"I just learned 'Hello' in any language is the best way to start off a conversation," Murdock chuckled, his ribs suddenly not registering as much pain.
"Huh?" Face groggily asked.
"Nothing, Faceman. Go to sleep, I've got you."
A/N
In Recipe for Heavy Bread the team find a pastry chef in LA, who they think was a cook from the Viet Cong POW camp they were held at ten years earlier. They identify Lin Duk Coo by the bread he smuggled to the prisoners to keep them alive and his strange way of singing Western Songs, like The Old Chisholm Trail. BA says it is because 'Murdock didn't teach him right'.