What Better Time To Remember?
Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.
Chapter 10
Face didn't see any indication his friend recognized where he was or who was speaking to him.
The loud garbled attempts to talk told the con man Murdock had not yet awoken. He couldn't understand a word of what the pilot was trying to say so he resorted to the thing he knew had worked in the past.
"Come on, buddy. It's a dream. You're back in the States. The war is over." He kept repeating the same words over and over, forcing his tone to remain calm and soothing.
If he raised his voice, it would sound too much like the NVA interrogators and guards. It would be even more difficult to help Murdock escape his dream.
He was feeling anything but calm.
Someone clicked on a light. Hurried footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Thank God!
"B. A.? I'm probably going to need that help right about now." Face muttered as the pilot gasped out an anguished breath.
What took you guys?
"Keep talking to him, kid," Hannibal encouraged as he appeared behind him and knelt over Murdock's legs to hold him down.
"Ya need help?" B. A. was on his knees near the pilot's head. The Lieutenant kept his hold on his friend's face and removed his knees from the man's upper arms. Once they were free, the Sergeant pulled Murdock's arms above his head and held them down at the elbows.
The con man breathed out a frustrated sigh and grumbled, "Do I need help? What does it look like to you?"
"Looks like we're in for a long night." B. A. muttered as Murdock tensed against his hold.
oooooo
Voices . . . voices surrounded him even as he fought to free himself from the paralysis that kept him from helping Chuck.
The length of his arms prickled as sensation returned to them. He still couldn't move them. Something held them firmly in place.
He stared at the light streaming through the window of the jungle door.
"Help me . . . Help . . . "
Even though Chuck's voice was loudest among the cacophony of jungle noises and other voices around him, he thought he could pick out B. A., Face and Hannibal talking to him or to each other. He didn't know which. It wasn't important right now.
I've gotta be in th' camp. Th' guards must o' almost killed me this time 'n' th' guys're tendin' t' my injuries. 'N' now th' guards've got Chuck.
He struggled even more against whoever was holding him, then froze when a manic scream came from behind the door.
I gotta help 'im . . . lemme go . . .
oooooo
Face shook his head at B. A.'s observation. "He was fine until the wind came up. The Contessa needs to get a handyman here to make some repairs." He gestured with his head at the banging the loose board was making.
"Crazy man needs ta take his meds like he's s'posed to," B. A. grunted in response.
"Talk to him, Face." Hannibal gritted his teeth as Murdock tried to kick at him.
The pilot suddenly stopped moving and whimpered something Face couldn't make out. A tear trickled down from Murdock's eye and pooled on the con man's left thumb where he held his face. He knew his friend didn't cry unless something seriously bad was happening. And he didn't give up so easily.
The thought of what nightmare the pilot was reliving to make him do that made the con man sick inside.
"Please, buddy. Just wake up . . . you'll see . . . nothing's going to hurt you . . . "
oooooo
Out of his peripheral vision, a shadow moved in front of the door, temporarily blocking the light. Murdock squinted at the darkened form. Something about the shadow was familiar.
The unidentified person dug in his pocket. The light shone on the man's face as he held up a key and bent to unlock the door.
Murdock sucked in a sharp breath of recognition.
"Hann'bal? No . . . that don' make sense . . . he ain' a guard . . . "
His surroundings melted before his eyes. He no longer heard the sounds associated with the jungle or smelled the earthy odors around him. The door changed until it became a door with a number, a reinforced window and a lock that kept people in . . . one of several in a hallway with a centrally located nurse's desk . . . and Hannibal's key fit perfectly in the lock. Murdock didn't want to know what the room behind the door looked like. He had a feeling he knew all too well.
It's like my room at th' VA. Is that it? Chuck's in a VA somewhere? But this is a dream, ain' it?
If it was, it was a dream that told him what secret Hannibal and Face were keeping from him. That bit of withheld information made the gifts he gave the guys unnecessary. That was, if it wasn't just a dream and Hannibal already knew that Chuck Heller was alive and in the States.
The answer to his unspoken question about Chuck woke him all the way and made him open his eyes.
oooooo
Face heard Hannibal's order and the stress in the older man's voice. He checked his anger but his thoughts churned with what had caused this to begin with.
Maybe if you'd been honest with us, Colonel, Murdock wouldn't be having this nightmare.
It was what Face wanted to say but for now, he directed his attention to his friend who had just opened his haunted eyes.""Buddy? Are you with us?" Face didn't like the vacant distant look in his friend's eyes. Murdock might still be reliving whatever wartime nightmare he wrestled with in his dream. If that was the case, he likely would not see his friends for who they were, especially since they were preventing him from moving.
Releasing Murdock's head, Face shifted his body so he wasn't straddling the pilot. He glanced back at his CO and murmured, "He isn't struggling anymore but I can't be sure he knows where he is yet."
"Keep talking, kid. You're doing good." Hannibal didn't seem ready to trust that the pilot was ready to be released from the holds B. A. and he had on his arms and legs.
The con man shook his head in frustration at the Colonel's order. He felt tempted again to lash out at Hannibal for his treatment of the information regarding Heller.
It won't do any good. When Hannibal decides something, you can't tell him it's a bad idea.
When Face gazed down at his friend once more, he was encouraged to see recognition begin to flicker in the pilot's eyes. There was something else, too, something a bit unsettling.
"I think you can let him go now, guys." Face sensed rather than saw the two men back away from their positions and remain kneeling close by the pilot's head and feet. His full attention was on the rapidly changing mood of his best friend. Face felt waves of explosive anger emanating from him.
What the hell? Why's he so mad?
He tried to defuse the situation with what he hoped were words that would distract Murdock from whatever was upsetting him. "You fell asleep. We were waiting for Santa to arrive, remember?" Face patted the pilot on his shoulder but Murdock impatiently and silently shoved the hand away. "You had me worried there for a while, buddy. Was it the same dream?"
The pilot nodded, his mouth drawn in a tight line, his hostile glare directed at the Colonel. He pulled himself into a sitting position, then boosted himself to his feet. Wobbling for a second, Murdock waited for the Colonel to stand up before speaking.
Not knowing what to expect, B. A. and Face clambered to their feet, too, their gaze drifting from the Colonel to the enraged Captain. From their postures, the con man could almost imagine them as two gunfighters facing each other in a dusty street for a showdown.
In a husky voice filled with cold fury, the pilot verbally attacked Hannibal. "Why didn' ya tell me Chuck Heller got sent back t' th' States? All this time thinkin' . . . "
He had to swallow before he could finish. His voice increased in volume. His muscles tensed, beginning with the fists he clenched as he spoke. "All this time thinkin' he was prob'ly still in Nam . . . dead . . . or 'live but bein' kept prisoner . . . other'n my dream, I didn' know for sure what'd happened t' him . . . 'n' you . . . you knew!" The last words were spat out with such venom that even Hannibal drew back a few inches.
"What're ya talkin' 'bout, fool?" B. A. took a step, ready to wrestle Murdock to the floor if he should follow through with a physical attack on their CO. Confused, he glanced at the Colonel. "What's he talkin' 'bout, man?"
Face stared at Hannibal in surprise. "I . . . I didn't say anything," he stammered as the Colonel scrutinized him with icy eyes.
"No . . . like a bestest buddy, ya didn', did ya?" Murdock's sarcasm pierced Face deeply. The pilot's gaze hadn't left the older man's stony expression but the words found their mark. The con man's cheeks flushed with shame and resentment.
Tell him now, Hannibal. Now would be a very good time to take the blame.
"Didn't say what?" B. A. took another step toward Murdock. He hesitated, unsure of what the pilot intended to do. "What's he talkin' 'bout, Colonel?"
Face watched as Hannibal waved the Sergeant back, then crossed his arms defensively. "Stand down, B. A."
"Sorry, Big Guy. Guess stuff like that's class'fied intel only Colonels 'n' Lieutenants get t' know. Not crazies like me 'r Sergeants like you." The pilot's expression matched his mocking tone. He reached up to tug at the dog tag, almost breaking its chain as he did. "Fact is, B. A., these don' mean much o' anythin' t' th' Colonel here b'cause he already knows somethin' we don'. Chuck Heller's safe 'n' sound in a VA hospital somewhere stateside. Ain' that right, Colonel?" He dropped the chain to once again clench his fists at his sides.
The rectangular dog tag gleamed silver against the black material of Murdock's T-shirt. The Lieutenant couldn't help but think of the irony of the slogan printed on the front: "I'm an American Tragedy."
So is Chuck . . . so are we all . . .
But there was no time for philosophy. The situation was escalating rapidly.
The older man kept his gaze on Murdock as he nodded curtly in reply. Even though he remained silent, Face could see the muscles in Hannibal's jaw tighten as if he was holding back an angry response.
Murdock took a step toward the Colonel, then another. Only B. A.'s firm grip on the pilot's forearm kept him from moving farther.
"Don't," the Sergeant growled. "Hear the man out, fool. There's gotta be a good reason Hannibal didn' tell us."
Face took a breath and slowly exhaled. B. A. may not have known what was going on but he wasn't about to see Murdock take on Hannibal in a fist fight.
The pilot viciously tugged his arm away and closed the distance between the Colonel and himself. The two inches of height advantage he had over Hannibal made Murdock seem even more threatening. When he spoke, his voice hinted of the cold menace behind his question. "Where? Where d' they got 'im?"
The two men were eye to eye, neither willing to be the first to glance away. Face recognized the smoldering rage in his friend's glare.
Now's the time to make it right, Hannibal. Tell him. Tell all of us.
"You don't need to know."
There was a second of stunned silence before all hell broke loose.