R.I.P. Lady Crazy
Chapter 3 - De Oppresso Liber
The Tay Loc S.O.G. base was fortunate in its location; like the much larger Nha Trang air base - where the rest of the 5th Special Forces Group were stationed - it was by the sea, but unlike Nha Trang it was not under such strict policing. As such, it meant that the soldiers living on the base had more freedom to come and go during their downtime. As Colonel Smith's Alpha Detachment were engaged in an enforced rest period themselves, B.A. and Fast Eddie had taken off for the day and headed for the beach with a couple of the guys from the motor pool. They had managed to talk Ray Brenner into joining them, but only after agreeing to let him scope out a good area from which to deliver his next Water Infiltration/Exfiltration training session for the Yards. Ray was all for R&R, he just wasn't about to let his work slide in favor of it.
Peck, like Ray, was not one for allowing himself to relax for too long. So while his team mates chose to lay in the sun to relax, Peck decided to vent his tensions in a far more primal manner. There was a corner of the base, that the team had claimed soon after their arrival in Tay Loc, in which to set up a small work-out area. It was here that Peck often retreated to, to calm down after failed missions or bad news from home, and it was here where he needed to find his inner calm today.
Peck was on edge.
He was on edge, spitting nails at anyone who came near him and had been since he'd learned the details of the upcoming mission; even the colonel had commented on his short temper. He didn't like sitting around waiting when he knew they could be out there getting this done. He didn't like the fact that the whole thing could go spectacularly tits-up and his team could be killed. He didn't like the fact that they were relying entirely on the unknown that was Captain Murdock and most importantly, he didn't trust that the pilot could deliver, despite his stellar reputation.
The cold uncertainty had been sitting, coiled like a poisonous viper in his belly for days until it had finally turned into anger. He needed to do something, anything, to get rid of it, or risk compromising the team while out in the field.
Sequestering himself in the makeshift gym, he launched into a savage workout, determined to burn the nervous aggression off.
He'd either burn it off or drop from the effort.
Several hundred sit-ups, push-ups, bench-presses and pull-ups later and he was feeling no better. He moved to the punch bag, whipped his sweat-soaked shirt off over his head, clenched his hands into tight, furious balls and laid into it. The rhythmic pounding of his fists into the heavy bag was satisfying and his muscles soon began to heave with exertion, but it wasn't enough; he was still mad as hell with no end to his frustration in sight.
Stepping back from the bag, Peck shook out his cramping hands and looked around for something that would give him more of a buzz. Spotting a native broom leaning innocently against the gym wall, he bared his teeth in a rictus grin; perfect. Snatching up the broom, he stomped the end off, hefted the pole-come-staff in his hands and headed back for the bag, which was swinging mournfully on its chain. Winding up like a pro batter, he swung the staff as hard as he could. The wood impacted the hapless bag with a resounding 'THWUMP' that jerked it hard enough to make the chain clink. Peck's arms jarred with the high-speed collision between wood and leather, and for an all-too-short moment the tension in his chest eased a little.
He pulled back and hit it again; then again; harder and harder until the bag finally gave up all resistance and split, spilling its sandy lifeblood all over the floor.
Grunting, panting, his arms burning and the churning in his gut finally still, Peck braced the staff hard against the ground and leaned heavily on it, catching his breath.
Someone cleared their throat behind him. He whirled on the interloper, the staff snatched up defensively by arms suddenly renewed by adrenaline.
Murdock was grounded.
He hated being grounded, it made him feel... not trapped as such, but penned in.
He stepped out of the hooch he shared with the likewise recovering lieutenant Ellis and blinked as the bright, mid-afternoon sunshine greeted him. Absently fingering the dressing taped to his brow, he set off on a leisurely stroll around the base.
It was nice to be out of the hospital at last; the inter-cranial swelling that he had sustained when head-butting his plane had reduced enough for him to be released, but he wasn't to fly for another fortnight at the very least, and then only if he passed another battery of tests.
He grimaced; he hated tests. He hated tests almost as much as he hated being grounded. He'd taken so many during his brief - highly confidential - stint with the company, that he could quite happily live forever without being subjected to another.
Pulling a pack of Marlboros from his pocket, he sparked up and took a long, comfortable draw. The smoke curled lazily around his face as he surveyed the shabby Tay Loc base. It wasn't so bad here; he couldn't help but draw comparisons to the far better maintained Nha Trang base, but the more relaxed atmosphere made for a welcome break. It certainly made a nice change to see Green Berets and Marines getting along - unlike at Nha Trang where the Beanies and Meanies were locked into in a perpetual status war with one another.
His slow, meandering tour of the base took him past the dirt helipad - his eyes lit up when he spotted a brand new UH-1 Slick owned by the RAN, parked up for routine maintenance and gleaming in the sunshine - past the officer's mess and towards the command center. As he approached a dusty, tucked away equipment storage area, the sound of human exertion accompanied by a rhythmic thudding reached his ears. Curious, he made a beeline for the source of the noise; rounding the corner he found a soldier beating the crap out of a punch bag. With a stick.
Murdock quirked an intrigued eyebrow, folded his arms across his chest and leaned against a stack of crates, the better to watch the spectacle before him.
The soldier was strong, the muscles in his arms and back bunched and flexed impressively as he made the staff hum through the air. There was a network of scars on the other man's back, his tanned skin making them less visible but they were still clearly there. This was obviously a survivor, which made him either one of beanies of Smith's team - the only Alpha Detachment currently stationed at Tay Loc - a careful Marine, or a very lucky grunt.
The poor punch bag couldn't sustain such brutal treatment for long and it soon split a seam, depositing its contents all over the floor of the makeshift gym. The soldier took a step back, breathing hard, and leaned on his weapon.
Murdock cleared his throat and almost lost an eye for his trouble, as the staff that had beaten the punch bag to death was suddenly thrust into his face. His eyebrows shot up and he went cross-eyed as he focused on the tip hovering inches from his nose. Running his gaze along the length of the pole, he met a pair of furious blue eyes drilling into his. For a long moment Murdock thought the other man was going to attack him, but then the light of recognition dawned in the blues and the soldier relaxed, withdrawing his weapon.
"It's you."
That was all; no apology or offer of explanation. How curious.
What was even more curious, was the fact that although he'd been recognised, the other man's eyes still flamed with something dangerous.
Hiding his curiosity Murdock frowned, unable to place the shorter man. "Yup, it's me. Do I, uh, know you?"
"Not yet, Sir." He snapped to attention and saluted, "Lieutenant Peck, Sir. I was one of the men who got you out of your plane." He didn't hold the rigid position for long, neither did he wait to be ordered to stand at ease, he simply relaxed his stance and cocked his head, glancing at the dressing on Murdock's head. "Shouldn't you still be in hospital?"
Murdock was not usually one for following military etiquette, but the junior officer's lack of respect rankled him. He recognised the name, this was one of Smith's men, as he'd guessed; and not only that, he was Smith's number one. Deadly and efficient. Murdock's gaze grew shuttered in defense and his expression fell neutral. "It's just window dressing, Lieutenant; barely a scratch underneath." He had no desire to get into a bickering match with Smith's man, so he nodded to the staff in Peck's hand, "Do you know how to use that properly?"
An odd glint appeared in Peck's eye as he answered with a small, dark smirk, "I know how to beat up a VC with it, if that's what you mean."
Murdock smiled tightly, he didn't like the look of savagery in the other man's eyes. "Not quite no." He held out a hand for the staff, "May I?"
Peck's eyes narrowed in distrustful assessment, but he handed over the weapon, regardless of whatever he was thinking.
Murdock grasped the staff in both hands, took a step back and crouched into the basic Horse fighting stance, one eye locked firmly on the soldier. "The staff is not a club, if you use it as such you'll just end up spraining both wrists and your enemy will laugh his ass off at you." He started to move slowly and fluidly as he talked, being careful not to turn his head too quickly, still mindful of his injuries. "It's an extension of your arm, use it to control and distance the son of a bitch trying to stab you."
Peck's lips twisted with a skepticism bordering on insubordination, "What if he has a gun?"
"Then you're screwed. But if he doesn't-" quick as a snake, Murdock whipped the staff forward to full extension while holding himself up almost perfectly balanced on one leg - he wobbled slightly, still weak from his extended period of inaction. The tip of the staff tapped against Peck's adam's apple and Murdock could see that it took all of his Special Forces-trained control not to step back out of range, "-then you win."
Holding the Lieutenant in that position for a long moment Murdock assessed the other man with his eyes. The muscles in the blond's arms were taut with tension and his fists were clenched tightly at his sides. His face however, was completely placid. Murdock knew from Peck's body language and the fury in his eyes - which by all rights should not be there, after all Murdock was not the enemy - that he was hiding something, but to look at his face, anyone else would see no problem at all. He took a mental note of this interesting ability, it looked like there might be more to this angry young man than he'd first thought. He certainly didn't appear to be the average beanie...
Stepping down and retracting the staff, Murdock approached him and - firmly meeting the other man's seething gaze with a calm one of his own - returned the weapon with a murmured, "There are other ways to vent your frustrations than destruction, Lieutenant Peck. I can show you how to use the staff properly; I guarantee that if you master it the way I hear you mastered your rifle, it will help." He gazed deeper into the angry blue eyes that were trying to bore a hole through his head and smirked gently, "I can see you're unconvinced. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me." He turned and walked out of the gym, throwing back over his shoulder, "And don't call me 'Sir'; makes me sound old coming from someone two years my senior."
Peck watched him go, the staff all but forgotten in his hand as a frown creased his brow. First of all where the hell had this lanky streak of piss pilot learned how to do that Chinese martial art shit? Secondly, how had he been able to tell that something was upsetting him? Ray and B.A. had seen him attack his work out with the same ferocity several times before, and if they had picked up on the fact that something was wrong they never mentioned it. He felt a fresh surge of anger; where did this guy get off, thinking he could stick his nose into his affairs?
Resisting the urge to follow the other man and confront him - knowing he'd probably be court-marshalled if he did - Peck looked back down at the staff and sighed as the nervous tension firmly re-established itself in his gut.
