Duty Is Color Blind
Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.
Chapter 2 Not Alone
When they arrived at the motel in Desert Hot Springs, Murdock excused himself to take a nap. Face and Hannibal exchanged concerned glances.
They both knew the pilot's sleep was disturbed by nightmares since his encounter with Jerry Connors, a former patient and informant for Colonel Decker. Last month, Connors almost killed Murdock in a knife fight on the grounds of the VA hospital.
His nightmare episodes were getting worse. They were more horrifying. His chilling cries and the thrashing he did while still in the depths of slumber indicated that.
The five hours he averaged per day was divided between early evening sleep while the others were still awake and an afternoon nap. He functioned, seemed alert, but the dark puffy circles under his eyes betrayed his exhaustion.
B. A., Hannibal and Face retired to the adjoining motel room to play a friendly game of poker and wait for Bartholomew's decision.
Twenty minutes later, they were startled by terrified cries that increased in volume and came from the next room.
Hannibal and B. A. rose to their feet but Face was first to the door between the rooms. He motioned for the others to sit back down.
"It's alright. I'll do it this time." The Colonel and Sergeant gave grim nods. They knew the next time Murdock slept, one of them would volunteer to bring him back from the center of his nightmare.
Face closed the door as quietly as he could behind him. Loud noises often triggered violent defensive reactions from the sleeping pilot. Even though the window shades were shut against the sunlight, Murdock had left the bedside lamp on.
He's been doing that a lot lately like he's afraid of the dark.
He stood at the end of the bed and spoke softly. "Murdock? It's me. Face. Wake up now, buddy."
"Gonna hit us . . . blast it, fire back . . .Bart . . . oh God . . . can't get outta here . . . Bart . . . whyyy . . ." Murdock's sweaty face turned from side to side, his legs twisting in an agony only he felt.
Then a huge tremor went through his entire body. He propelled himself onto the floor, dragging bed covers with him, and pushed himself onto his hands and knees. His eyes snapped open as he pulled himself into a crouch. The pilot gulped breaths of air and stared wild-eyed around him.
"Murdock. Wake up." Face realized even now his friend might still be in a semi-conscious state. Attempting to touch him while he was in that condition would be a big mistake. Flashback dreams were sometimes like that.
"Face?" The pilot's voice shook as he became aware of his surroundings.
"I'm here. Let's get you up off the floor, okay?" Face waited for Murdock's nod before offering his hand. The pilot wobbled on unsteady legs for a few seconds, then settled himself on the edge of the bed.
"It was the same dream, Faceman. I'm flyin' over the jungle. Everything seems to be normal 'til I come to that clearing. I see Connors and his three soldier pals massacre those women and children. I go down for a closer look. Connors and I make eye contact, I'm that close. He points his M-16 at me, at my chopper. I try to lift the bird outta there . . . "
Murdock placed both elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands, palms over his eyes. Face lowered himself onto the bed to sit beside him. He sensed there was more.
"Take your time with it. I'm listening."
The pilot drew in several shaky breaths. Torment showed in his eyes when he raised his head to look at Face. "I was not alone in the chopper. That first time I had the nightmare, I didn't see anyone else. Now I know I had a gunner. I saw his face this time."
"You were yelling at someone called Bart."
Another tremor passed through Murdock. "My gunner was Langston 'Bart' Bartholomew. When I saw Connors raise that weapon, my reaction was to shoot first, ask questions later. I ordered Bartholomew to fire back, shoot to kill, and he refused."
"I can't imagine you giving that sort of command." Face raised his eyebrows in surprise.
Murdock grimaced and avoided the statement. "I barely got the bird outta there. Took a shot through the floor up into my leg. Missed the bone. That's the only reason we got back to base camp. By the time it hit me, the round lost most of its power. The shot lodged in the flesh, but didn't hit bone."
Face let the words register. "That certainly puts a new light on our prospective client."
"But why does he hate me so much? Why doesn't he want me on this mission? It's been over ten years. There's gotta be more." Murdock's haunted eyes searched his friend's face for answers.
They both heard the phone ring twice in the next door room before being picked up.
"Maybe he's changed his mind, buddy."