Morale
Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.
Chapter 9 White Dog In Need
Hannibal slept intermittently for another hour, slumped in his watch position at the end of the platform. He decided after treating the pilot's wounds not to lie down next to him. Nor did any of them want to move Murdock back to the platform where Face now slept. The man lying belly down on the hard wooden surface needed as sound of a sleep as he could get if he was to be taken from their midst in the next twelve to twenty-four hours.
The first few soft moans partially woke the Colonel.
Still in his own dreamless doze, he managed to stretch out his hand toward the pilot and place it on his head. One of his men had used the same soothing gesture the first time Hannibal had been returned to them after a brutal interrogation. He felt the touch despite his delirium.
The Colonel had long ago stopped believing in guardian angels visiting him unawares. Especially not in Viet Nam.
Especially not here.
None of the three men would confess to quieting him in such a way but he knew one of them had done it. Just like he was reluctant to admit his human frailty at the hands of his enemies.
Stroking the greasy brown hair on the back of Murdock's head, Hannibal longed to escape back into his slumber. His small comforting gesture seemed to still the pilot's pain-filled restlessness for the moment at least.
Go back to sleep, Captain. Don't wake until you absolutely have to.
Sleep, no matter how light, was necessary for all of them if they were going to be transferred to another camp.
This remote outpost did not have a muddy road leading to it . . . yet. When they were forced to march to this makeshift stockade, they passed along a road being carved through the dense foliage of the jungle.
That was before they left the rough hewn road and stumbled and tripped their way toward this hellhole. It would have been easier if their hands were not bound behind them and they did not have anxious guards prodding them along.
It's going to be the same way leaving here. Heaven help the men who have to make that trip.
The reminder of that journey through the jungle made sleep impossible for Hannibal. An intense pain knotted his bowels. It forced him to leave his guard post and stagger to the honey bucket. There was no hiding the explosive sound of a digestive system aggravated by the more grotesque portions of their meager diet.
While he squatted, he had plenty of time to reflect on that first march and think about the one some or all of them would be making in the afternoon. He remembered his surprise at how well the pilot endured the travel to this camp. For someone who was more comfortable with the expanse of sky above them, the younger man seemed unnaturally able to traverse the tangling vines and dense undergrowth.
Hannibal wondered once again how much on-the-ground experience the pilot had. The chronological gaps in the man's military file were big enough to fly a C-5 cargo plane through.
He didn't learn this kind of endurance in standard basic training.
Glancing at Murdock, he found the younger man's glassy brown eyes somberly regarding him before a soft quick smile hid his thoughts away again.
"Hey, Colonel. When yer done there, I'm gonna need t' use the facilities." He gingerly rolled on his side and tilted his head to once more look the older man in the eyes. Sighing, he murmured, "What I wouldn' give t' hear a real toilet flush 'gain."
Wouldn't we all.
Hannibal nodded and stood, slipping the VC-issued rubber sandals back on his feet and pulling the dark-colored pajama pants back up around his waist. He was thankful for the footwear which he used to protect his skin from the jagged edges of the bo. Glancing at Murdock's feet, he realized the pilot had only one sandal.
The other one must be somewhere between here and the interrogation hut.
As the pilot carefully slipped his legs over the side of the platform and struggled into a sitting position, the Colonel frowned. "Do you need help in getting here?"
Another soft smile, then a grimace as the raw wounds on his buttocks made contact with the wooden platform. Murdock closed his eyes before forcing himself to his feet. The edge of the bed scraped the length of the back of his thighs as he let himself down to the dirt floor. A sharp intake of breath accompanied his attempt to straighten and he wobbled for seconds before getting his balance.
"Naw. Gotta make sure I can keep up when they take me on that li'l hike through the woods." The grin he gave Hannibal was meant to reassure but didn't. The Colonel remained where he was.
God help you if they take you and no one else. You won't make it.
The pilot slowly limped toward the bo, concentrating on each step. Once there, Murdock warily eyed the pot with its jagged edges. Trying with all of his strength and willpower to raise his limp arms, he managed to hook his thumbs in the waistband of the pajama pants before his partly numb hands dropped to his sides once more.
Cursing under his breath, he gave the Colonel a brief humiliated glance. He stared down at the pot with angry eyes as he mumbled, "Guess I'll need a li'l help after all. That is, if ya still don' min' givin' it."
Hannibal positioned himself behind the pilot and pulled his pants down. Slipping his arms under the younger man's arms and grasping him around the waist, he brought Murdock's back up against his chest. "Bend your knees as much as you can. Ready?"
"Now, Colonel. Ya won' let me fall in, will ya?" The slow Texas drawl barely disguised the embarrassment in his voice.
"I won't let you fall in, Captain."
Murdock took a ragged breath and let it escape before responding. "Okie-dokie. Then I guess I'm ready as I'll ever be."
He bent his knees, sucking in air as several gashes on his legs opened, the coagulated blood tearing away from the wounds. Hannibal held on tightly, looking toward the door instead of down at the man he was assisting.
No need to make him feel even more humiliated. Damn this war for taking away his dignity in this way!
As soon as Murdock finished relieving himself, the Colonel helped him stand upright again.
"That's 'nother thing I'll never take for granted 'gain," the pilot grunted as Hannibal released him and pulled his shredded pants back up.
"What's that, Captain?"
"Double ply toilet paper. An entire roll o' it all t' myself."
The older man grinned in spite of himself.
Keep that sense of humor. As long as you have it, I'll know you're going to make it through.
"Can you get back to the bed on your own?" Hannibal knew what the answer would be as soon as he asked.
"Think I can manage. Practice makes perfect, ya know."
He hobbled with halting steps to the wooden platform. Once there, he stared at the height of the structure before turning around and leaning up with his back against it.
"Who'm I kiddin', Hann'bal? I fall down anywhere out there on the way t' the other camp 'n' they'll shoot me rather 'n stand me upright 'gain."
His jaw muscles twitched as he thought about it. Seconds later, he gazed fiercely at the Colonel, his mouth set in a hard line. "Well, I ain' gonna give 'em the pleasure 's long 's I can help it."
"I know you won't. You're stronger, tougher, than that. You're a survivor." The older man shuffled toward him, taking his time, letting Murdock decide how much help he wanted to accept.
The searching look the pilot gave him made him realize that somewhere in his background, Murdock had been a survivor already.
Maybe someday I'll be allowed to see behind that easy-going exterior and find out what made you the man you are today.
An especially loud rasping breath drifted to their hut from the one next door to them. It was followed by a gurgling rattle. Hannibal and Murdock stared at each other as the sound faded to nothing.
Someone died. Was it Greenberg, the Marine pilot from the Bronx? Murdock would know. He knows everyone's name around here.
For a few moments Murdock's eyes turned in the direction of the death rattle. His expression pinched with sadness. Then the pilot repeated the Colonel's last words, feverish stubbornness flashing in his gaze. "I'm a survivor."
With everything he could muster, Murdock fisted his hand as much as he was physically able and raised it to touch Hannibal's fisted hand in a gesture of solidarity and strength.
You will survive. And don't you forget that, Captain.
