Season of the Witch
Chapter 2
I do not own the A-Team. Several wealthy people do.
Hopefully, I got some of the chopper stuff right this time 'round...I had intended to do that with the first chapter but it slipped my mind before I got it posted.
I'm still not totally sure of where this is going. It'll either take me somewhere or I'll have hit a dry hole. We'll see. :)
Maddie had been assigned a tent not far from the grill, and as a result, she could smell cabrito and brisket being slow-cooked – that had to be counted as a plus. Still, she grumbled to herself as she unpacked her meager belongings and began setting up a hammock-cot. A footlocker had also been given to her, and she had stacked her T-shirts, pants and unwear into it, and carefully lined up her boots on top. Her dress uniform was back in Bagdad – she had no use for it out here, that was for sure.
Since her horrifying encounters with camel spiders – they looked like a nightmarish cross between a spider and a scorpion, like something out of a Star Wars movie – she was determined to make sure that her bed was far above the ground. Over the past two years she had developed a method of creating a sturdy bed from a hammock her mother had sent her from Texas. It only required two strong poles and careful measurements, and voila, she had a safe place to sleep, like a butterfly in a cocoon. It had taken two young grunts to get the tent set up – Colonel Smith had insisted they assist her – and she had specified how far apart the poles had to be, using a tape measure to mark the spots while the soldiers looked on, amused. But after the required amount of pushing and pulling and tying innumerable knots, the hammock was set up and she carefully climbed in. A little bit of swinging, some careful balancing, and soon she settled back, allowing herself to relax at last. It was almost supper time, and she wondered if Captain Murdock would let her have any brisket.
They hadn't exactly got off on the right foot. Usually, her manners were much better, but he had rankled her nerves a bit. The last man who had gotten on her nerves had been back in Morgansville, and she had punched him in the face. Of course, that man had also been a United States senator and his son had just left her at the altar to run off with another woman, leaving her a pathetic letter full of measly excuses. Even more, her father was stuck with a seven-thousand-dollar debt to pay off for the damned wedding and clearing up the mess after the melee that had occurred afterward. The police sure hadn't been amused to come across a bleeding Senator ("By nobe ib bwokeb!"), her mother and the Senator's wife wrestling in the wedding cake and the wedding coordinator telling Maddie that husbands come and go, but a Neiman-Marcus card lasts forever. Not that Maddie had either now.
She felt the all-too-familiar anger and humiliation build up in her chest again, and she determinedly pushed it away. Her personal life had nothing to do with her mission here, or her service to her country, and the reason she had joined the Army in the first place was to get away from her personal life. That day, she had lost control, and one thing Maddie had always possessed was total control over her life – maybe not her surroundings, but definitely her life. It had been an earth-shattering experience, to suddenly find herself in a situation like that, where her life had spiraled so totally out of control. If the Army was about one thing, it was about control.
Not that she was running away from anything. No, she told herself firmly. She had just gotten tired of all the publicity and the constant questions, and the way people looked at her back home, as if she were to be pitied. Considering what she had learned about Ellis, a few weeks after the non-wedding, she could have given them all an earful, but she had walked into the recruitment office in Austin instead, and that was that...
There was a knock at the woodframe of her tent, and she sat up, forgetting to balance herself properly. So naturally, she was flipped to the floor and landed on her face, but at last she didn't end up on the footlocker – just the hard-packed sand under the tarp. Grumbling, she got to her feet and opened the door. Colonel Smith and Lieutenant Peck were standing there. "Oh. Yes. Uh…what?"
"Can we come in?" Sand was blowing everywhere outside, and she stepped back to let the two men in. Smith surveyed her quarters for a moment, noting her hammock, and Peck looked amused.
"I just thought we'd go over a preliminary plan first," Smith told her, finally turning to face her. "Face, give her the specs."
She looked at Peck – Face? – and he handed her a sheaf of papers. She perused them silently, surprised by the meticulous planning that had gone into it. She sat down and the other men sat opposite her, pulling up her footlocker and her only other canvas chair (with the University of Texas Longhorns logo) as they spelled out what was to be done. She would only need to check the choppers tonight and see that all the required ammo were in order, and of course that medical supplies were also ready. "Murdock'll be flying the Apache, of course, and Fuller will be at the yoke of the MEDEVAC backing us up, and we have a Chinook transporting. This is a hit'n'run-type mission – we separate them from each other, cut them off, and kill 'em…"
"Murdock?" she asked, looking up.
"Yeah. Captain Murdock," Peck nodded.
"The guy at the grill?"
"Yeah. That's him. Hey, don't worry. He's just been kinda grouchy these past coupla days – he is otherwise the best damned pilot you'll ever come across. Fuller's the big question – he's never been in on a mission like this, so Murdock's been tryin' to train him a bit." Peck grinned, looking amused. "From what we've heard, Fuller swears he's goin' back to Bagdad as soon as he can."
"I can imagine," she said, looking back at the map Smith proffered. "I'll be at the field before dawn, to look the choppers over. Who works on them?"
"Sergeant Baracus and Murdock," Smith nodded. "Baracus repairs whatever he can with what he has at hand, and Murdock handles the rest. Unless B.A. kills him, that is."
"B.A.?"
"Sergeant B.A. Baracus. Big dude. Mohawk. Looks mean, but he's a pussycat if you feed him well. And that's all for now. You have the rest of the details already, correct?" Smith asked.
"Yes. I've been going over casualty projections…"
"What's the point of that?" Smith asked her. "That's like setting up the divorce papers before you even say the vows."
"I think that's called a prenup, Colonel," Peck pointed out with a laugh. Smith only rolled his eyes.
"No use thinking about how many will die before the battle, Lieutenant. This is a fast operation, and we're not putting any more men on the ground than will be entirely necessary, and as long as I'm in charge of things, the only lives that will be lost will the terrorists we're going after. We have plenty of good backup with Murdock at the yoke of the Apache, and if anything gets out of hand, the Chinook will have us out in no time. The pilot's almost as good as Murdock."
"Almost," Peck nodded.
"You mean 'insurgents'," she said, making sure to use the acceptable term.
"Yeah…whatever," Smith stood and shook her hand. "I hope you're comfortable here…?"
"Oh. Well, yes. Sort of." She glanced at her hammock. Peck was giving her another long, speculative look and she stood up, saluting Smith, who shook his head before saluting back. He left, but Peck stayed behind.
"A hammock, huh? You're only the second person out here to come up with that idea – it took Murdock less than an hour to decide he didn't want to sleep in a cot just a foot above the ground, and then he set hammocks up for me and Colonel Smith, too – B.A. would have none of it." He swung the cot from side to side. "Of course, Murdock has a phobia about spiders…particularly camel spiders."
"I'm not phobic about them, but I don't like them. And this Murdock…is he as competent as Colonel Smith says?"
"Well…yeah." Face looked at her, apparently confused. "Hannibal would never put the lives of fifteen good men in the hands of anybody else. How 'bout this – if we all come back safe and sound, I'll buy you a drink?" He grinned at her, and she couldn't keep from smiling back.
"Fine. It's a deal." He shook her hand, gave her a courtly bow instead of a standard salute, and left. She climbed back into her cot, swung a few times, and settled back for a brief rest. She wanted to read over the plans again before bedtime, and would make a surprise inspection on the choppers before Murdock and Baracus were ready.
"Listen here, you crazy fool!" B.A. yelled at Murdock. "You stop playin' around up there right now and I won't tear off your arms and beat you to death with 'em!"
Captain Murdock was perched on top of the Apache, swinging his legs and apparently just fooling around, but Maddie immediately recognized that he was testing the rotor, seeing to it that no sand or other debris had gotten in there. She watched him blow away anything that looked suspicious, and gasped when he leapt down from the top and landed easily on his sneakered feet. "Calm down, Bosco. She's in perfect workin' order."
Baracus – who was indeed quite large and intimidating, but Maddie knew guys like that back home: be sweet to them, and they'd do anything for you – looked cautiously at the tall, lean man bouncing on his feet and frowned. "You sure 'bout that, man?"
"Yeah, she's good. She's been around the block more times than the Good Humor man, but everything sounds good. That poppin' in the engine is gone, and the rotors are as clean as the Pope's sheets. Good work, man. Wanna go up in her with me tomorrow?"
"Hell no!" Baracus growled. "How many times I gotta tell you, fool? I ain't ever flyin' with you again!"
"Yeah, yeah…I can't believe you'd rather ride with Fuller. He's just a kid – a big dumb kid from Arkansas, no less." Murdock turned away from Baracus and caught Maddie watching them. "Oh, lookee! It's Lieutenant Morgan, from Morgansville, on the shores of Lake Morgan, of Morgan County, Texas. Gee, if y'all had worked at it, Texas might be called the Great State of Morgan."
"We tried, but folks from Oatmeal just couldn't spell it right," she answered sweetly.
"Oh!" Murdock clutched his chest, gasping, with a horrified look on his face. "She got me, B.A.! A zinger! You're killin' me, baby! Killin' me, with your rapier wit!" He rolled the 'r' dramatically, like a bad Shakespearean actor.
"If only," Baracus rolled his eyes.
"She won't tell us her name. Maddie ain't a proper name, after all," Murdock said. "Is it short for Matilda? Madeleine? Madison?"
"I understand the choppers are in good order?" she asked B.A., ignoring Murdock, who looked affronted.
"Feel free to inspect them, ma'am," Baracus said, opening the door of the Apache and gesturing for her to climb in. "We've cleaned 'em top to bottom. Above and beyond standard, too, in operation."
She peered at the controls, then ordered the two men to get clear. She started up the engine, listening for any unsettling sounds, and was satisfied that everything did sound right. She shut everything down and climbed out. "And the MEDEVAC?"
"Over yonder," Murdock pointed across the way, to the converted transport chopper, an MI-8 that had been painted a kind of sickening pea-green and emblazoned with a Red Cross, indicating its actual purpose – it was clearly not battle ready any more. She remembered the Apache she had ridden in on – it had been on its way back from a repair, and she had been a last-minute passenger, and its route back home had only required a five-mile detour. She had been glad the pilot had known what he was doing, as the machine had sounded kind of unhappy. "We finished her off last night. Clean as a whistle, too, and makin' cheerful noises."
She trotted across the field to the other chopper and climbed in. The back of the chopper had been emptied out of seats and replaced with two grounded cots and various boxes of well-stocked kits, along with metal basins, surgical supplies, and a box of bandages. Whoever had set it up was forward thinking, and she glanced up to see Captain Murdock leaning into the chopper, eyeing her. "Fuller an' I set it up, for the worst injuries. Rolled bandages all night – I felt like Florence Nightingale, but we go in ready, that's for sure. We've even got antivenom, just in case, and plasma's ready back here at Hooyah."
"Who set that up?" she asked him.
"I did. Hey, I may be crazy, but I ain't stupid, lady. When I'm flyin' 'em in, I fly 'em out, and I get 'em back alive. Maybe not in the best shape, but alive and able to sit up and take nourishment the next day." He pointed to the Chinook next to them. "That's the transport chopper. Leatherwood's flyin' it in and flyin' it out. He's as steady as an old lady's huntin' hack."
"Leatherwood?" she asked, jumping down and making her way to the huge chopper. She looked up at it, admiring its ugliness. Chinooks weren't made to be pretty – they were made to get men from point A to point B alive, and to defend them if and when necessary. Frankly, they were her favorite brand of chopper.
"Good guy – he's from Texas, too. Too calm for my liking, but calm's what you need for troop transport."
"And they're just sending in one Apache for this mission?"
"I'm doin' the rat-a-tattin'," he nodded. He patted the Chinook affectionately. "One's enough, I think. This baby is called Chaffy – you know…it's a CH-47D, but I hate those kinds of monikers. So impersonal. She can carry up to fifty-five soldiers. Leatherwood'd better take good care of 'er, or I'll have his head on a platter."
"Chaffy?" Maddie raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah. Apache over there is called Paca. MEDEVAC is called Florence."
"Chaffy…Paca…and Florence…"
"Yeah, why not? I always give 'em names. Makes 'em happier."
"Captain Murdock, they're machines…" she pointed out weakly, even though she actually could see his point.
"Don't say that so loud! You'll hurt their feelings!" he whispered. She stared at him, finally closed her eyes and shook her head to clear it, and climbed in. The Chinook was fitted with seats for the fifteen men to be transported to the strike zone, and had plenty of room left over for any wounded. More medical kits were arranged carefully toward the back. She nonetheless performed a thorough inspection of Chaffy and found her to be in equally excellent order. After going over the final checklist, she climbed out and dropped to her feet, coughing as sand and dust fogged up around her.
"I see the guns are fully loaded," she nodded.
"Yep. Leatherwood's a damn good shot, too. He won prizes for marksmanship, back in Texas. Me, I'm only fair-to-middlin'. I never got many doves, back home, but I got turkeys galore. Even got a yellow dog Democrat once, but we'll not get into that, and charges were dropped. How 'bout you? Do much huntin'?"
"I'm afraid not, Captain." She turned back to look at Baracus, who was coming toward them, wiping his hands with a dirty towel. "Everything looks fine, Sergeant. Chaffy…Paca, and Florence are battle-ready."
"Did that crazy fool tell you their names?" Baracus looked aghast, and Murdock started laughing. "What the hell did you do that for? They're choppers, dammit! Choppers! Flown by crazy fools like you!"
"That's like sayin' the Mona Lisa is a just a collection of oil-based paints of various colors applied to a piece of wood, Sergeant," Murdock snapped back, hackles up. "Granted, I have seen the Mona Lisa in person, and can say that I have dish towels bigger'n that thing, and perhaps the price of getting into the Louvre rather failed to counter the disappointment and lousy meal, but nonetheless, these ladies are each a piece of aeronautical art and I will not have their good names besmirched! Be gone, I say!" He waved his arm angrily at Baracus, who growled at him and stalked away.
"He just doesn't understand," Murdock shook his head sadly at Baracus' retreating form. He stood for a moment, his expression a mixture of sadness and frustration, and suddenly he turned to her. "Can you fly?"
"Yes, I can," she nodded. "Not extremely well, I admit…but I can handle a chopper when necessary, and most types of planes..,"
"What about when it's not necessary? What if it's just 'cause you love it? 'Cause you love the thrill of it – that it's like great sex? The preflight, of course, and then the thrust of the engines, and liftoff, and the slow rise to the point of no return and…" He stopped, eyes widening. Maddie stared up at him, just as startled. She backed up, realizing she was standing a little too close to him. A pair of beautiful green eyes, she thought, and looked everywhere but at him.
"Right," she nodded. "Well. I'm pleased to say that everything is in excellent shape. I'll just go check out the supplies and ammo and…uh…"
"Right, right. This was a surprise inspection, huh?" he nodded.
"Yes. It was." She still avoided his gaze. It still stings a little.
"Good. I love surprises! I think I'll go surprise B.A.! See ya later, baby. Are you ever gonna tell me what Maddie is short for?"
"I can't imagine that happening any time soon, Captain." She started to salute him, but decided against it. The little warts might be around, and somehow the idea of a world without Captain James Murdock in it was unthinkable. Instead, she nodded and walked away, toward Camp Hooyah and what she hoped would be good coffee and some eggs.
