CHAPTER ELEVEN
1985
The leisurely walk had taken Face and Stacie almost all the way around the perimeter of Kelly's property. Outside, in the cool calm of the sunset, it was far quieter, more peaceful, and much less tense than it was in the house. Stacie was clearly in no great hurry to get back. And Face wasn't about to push. He was enjoying her company too much.
"So were you a soldier, too?" Stacie asked, filling the silence with what seemed to be an innocent question. "Or was that offense purely on behalf of your friend?"
Face grinned. "I thought that was a taboo subject."
"Only around Randy."
He glanced briefly at her. He could tell a lot about a person by the way they walked. She had her hands in her pockets, shoulders back, looking around. She was confident and making every attempt to appear comfortable. But he could still feel her scrutiny.
"What the hell was that about, anyways?" Face asked. "I haven't heard stuff like that since the early seventies."
"Well, he couldn't talk about it much in the seventies. He was in Canada."
"Ah." Face chuckled.
"The whole family was pretty active in the anti-war movement." She glanced at him, curiously. "Including Kelly, you should know."
Face was surprised, but he controlled how much of that surprise he let show. "Really?"
"You didn't know that."
He smiled. "I don't know Kelly very well. But I've never heard anything like that come from her."
"You won't." She looked away from him again, kicking a rock down the dirt trail. "She was against the war, but she was horrified by the treatment of the soldiers coming back. She and Margaret both changed their tune after the fact. Randy never did."
"Still seems like a long time to hold a grudge."
She laughed. "Yeah, well. Poor thing was very traumatized by the experience of evading the draft." The bitter sarcasm in her voice made Face smirk, just slightly. "It's a tragic story, to hear him tell it. He had to run for his life. Lost his girlfriend, his job, his comfortable lifestyle. He's still pissy about it, fifteen years later."
"My heart bleeds," Face said dryly.
She smirked. "I'm sure it does."
They paused at the edge of the trees, and her shoulders sagged a little as she stared at the house in the clearing.
"You don't seem too anxious to get back," he observed. No harm in pointing out the obvious.
"If ever there was a man I hated being around, it's Randy."
"Well, I don't think he likes me very much." Face shrugged. "Why don't you let me run interference for you?"
She raised a brow at him. "Don't you have to do that for your friend?"
Face smirked. "I think I can handle a bit of multitasking. Especially when it revolves around the same idiot."
"Now that's talent."
"It's one of many talents."
"Really? What are some of the others?"
He grinned as he leaned closer to her, lowering his voice to speak softly into her ear. "Wouldn't you like to know."
1968
The flight had gone off without a hitch. Not that Murdock expected anything less. The part that was really important – the part that made him smile – was the fact that it had actually meant something. He had just pulled off an emergency extract of a Special Forces team. That was a win in any book.
The LZ had been hot. They had all known that the second the team popped smoke, Charlie would be all over them. And they were right. Adam, Murdock's brand spanking new copilot, had looked like he was going pass out at the sight of the tracers on the bullets that came at them. Probably up 'til now, the biggest battle that kid had been through was trying to get to second base with his girl.
The second he tried to land, Charlie was going to open up and mow down grunts and pilots alike. And that was just the sort of thing that would put a black mark on Murdock's record. He couldn't have that. So when he'd radioed the team, he'd told them to pop the smoke and throw a Hail Mary pass as far north of the LZ as they could, but to hold their position. To their credit, they didn't ask questions, they just acted. As soon as the smoke grenade landed, Charlie was swarming. Murdock had his guys out of the south corner of the LZ and was back in the air with a howl of triumph before Charlie could figure out what had happened.
They made it back to base in record time. When they had finished up and taken care of the paperwork, he shot Adam a look. God, the kid was a baby. He probably didn't even shave yet. That didn't really bother Murdock. Just meant he was going to get to mold him into a fine pilot. Patting the kid on the shoulder, Murdock grinned at him.
"Come on, you look like you need a drink."
Adam insisted on changing first. Murdock went ahead to the bar. If the copilot wasn't there in half an hour, Murdock would go get him and drag him out. He was really going to have to come up with a name for the kid. Maybe Opie? It seemed to fit with the whole Mayberry image he had. The kid was afraid; he needed a little time around the men to relax.
There was beer in the refrigerator, but Murdock opted for Kool-aid, sitting down at the makeshift plywood "bar" beside one of the Special Forces guys. The team would only be there for a few nights, if that. They'd come and gone before, using this base.
"Someone on your team's got a pretty good arm," Murdock offered – the prerequisite small talk just to establish common ground.
The man sitting next to him threw back a shot of whatever liquor was in that bottle on the table. He looked like he'd come from the debriefing straight to the bar. His fatigues were soaked with sweat and mud. Murdock did a double take as he realizes that those dark splotches weren't just mud. The man had blood all over him. Murdock fought back the urge to shiver at that. What kind of person – soldier or not – would be okay with that? Not that he was judging; it simply wasn't his place to judge. But the concept simply boggled his mind. How hardened did a man have to be when something like that didn't even bother him?
Hardened or not, he broke into a smile as he recognized Murdock. "Pilot, right?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Fuck the arm, that was some damn good flying! Did we even take a single hit outta there?"
Murdock grinned. "A few."
Three, to be exact. And Murdock knew the precise location of every bullet. His first order of business when he'd arrived back on base was to check his baby over and kiss her wounds. She'd be able to be patched up just fine.
"First Lieutenant HM Murdock," he offered, extending his hand. "I don't think I got your name."
"James Harrison." His grip was looser than Murdock had been expecting. Maybe because he was drunk. Could somebody get drunk that fast? They'd just arrived about a half hour ago. "Call me Cruiser."
"Good to meet you." Murdock noticed the lack of rank – both in his words and on his fatigues – but it didn't matter much here.
Cruiser leaned forward and grabbed the bottle of clear booze off the table. "Here, lemme pour you a drink. You saved our asses; it's the least I can do."
Murdock smiled back politely, not offering his tin cup. "I appreciate it, man, but I don't drink."
The answering stare from Cruiser was nothing short of stunned disbelief. "You're serious?"
Murdock was used to that look. He didn't let it faze him. He simply shrugged and moved on. Better that way, all the way around. "So how long you been here?"
It took Cruiser a moment longer to figure out what to do when bonding over alcohol wasn't an option. In the end, he poured another shot, threw it back, and breathed out slowly as he let it burn down his throat. "Still breathing, so not long enough."
Murdock laughed. "I thought the goal was to stay alive."
"Well, I figure me and Uncle Sam have a difference of opinion on the matter."
"Eh. You're worth more alive, I think." Murdock took a sip of Kool-aid. "Dead men can't pay taxes."
Cruiser shrugged. "Fuck taxes. Dead men can't kill other men. And that's about all any of us are good for - killing and dying."
Murdock raised a brow. It was those sort of generalized statements – made without thought and considerations for different specialties – that made Murdock realize just how limited the worldview of some soldiers had become. Murdock wasn't there for killing men. He wasn't there to be killed, either. Uncle Sam had sent him to Vietnam not to kill, but to save lives. To rescue people his troops. If enemy died in the process of that, well and good. But that certainly wasn't what he'd come here for.
"So what do you do?" Murdock asked.
Cruiser raised a brow, questioningly. "What do you mean?"
"You guys have specialties, right?"
He looked away and threw back another shot. "Medic," he finally answered.
Murdock blinked in frank shock. Of all the answers he could have heard, that was not one he'd been expecting. Of course, maybe that did have something to do with his outlook on life here. It was hard to cheat death from such close proximity, and Murdock had no way of knowing just whose blood was on Cruiser's fatigues. He wasn't about to ask.
"You have to do a lot of training for that?"
"Yup."
The open invitation for further conversation on the topic was ignored. Apparently, Cruiser didn't want to talk about "work." Not that there was a whole lot out here besides "work." Murdock hesitated a long moment before trying again. "So you have family back home?"
Another shot. "Sister."
Cruiser apparently held his liquor well. No telling how many he'd had before Murdock arrived. With how fast he was throwing them back, he'd probably had at least four or five. Murdock waited for more on the sister, but it never came. The other thing that was starting to become very apparent to him was the fact that Cruiser didn't talk much. Murdock was running out of conversation starters.
"Alright, man," Cruiser finally said, saving him the awkwardness of trying a third time. "So you come in here and drink fuckin' Kool-aid?"
Murdock smiled. "Beats the taste of the water here, any day of the week."
Cruiser stared at him for a moment. "You do know that tequila has a leg up on that shit any day of the week, right?"
Murdock paused for a moment. "I really don't see the point in tequila," he said reflectively. "Or any kind of alcohol, for that matter. I'm happy without it."
Cruiser set his elbows on the table, his head sinking down level with his shoulders as he looked at Murdock again. That same disbelieving look from earlier was back. "Okay, Murdock. I officially don't know what the fuck to say to you."
Murdock laughed. "Would you be surprised to hear that's normal?"
"Not at all."
Murdock grinned, and finished the rest of red Kood-aid in the tin cup. "So where you stationed? Anyplace in particular?"
Cruiser shook his head, pushing himself up again and turning so that he was facing Murdock. "Vietnam."
He didn't bother explaining that any further. They were back to no conversation. Murdock glanced away, then back down at his now-empty cup. "I think I'm gonna go crash for a while. This has been one hell of a day." He grinned broadly. He had no problem whatsoever with how this day had panned out.
"Later, man."
Murdock clapped Cruiser's shoulder as he passed, heading for the door. "Congrats again on a job well done. Pleasure working with you."
*X*X*X*
"Nicely played, Mr. Ranger."
Face smiled, and waited for Stacie to adjust her skirt before leaning in to kiss her again. His hands moved to her shirt, slowly fastening the buttons for her as he pulled gently at her lower lip. "Thank you," he whispered. "That was very enjoyable."
"Indeed." Her fingers played over his shoulders, through his shirt, down his arms. "We should do this again sometime."
Face smiled knowingly. "I'm sure that could be arranged."
"Where are you staying?"
"The motel up the road. Where pretty much everyone else at this gathering is staying."
"You can stay here, if you'd like."
Face considered it briefly. "I may take you up on that tomorrow. But for tonight, all of my things are back at the motel."
She smiled. "Just thought I would offer. The bed is probably more comfortable here."
"And includes better company." He traced her jaw, and let the barest tips of his fingers brush her lips. "Ask me again tomorrow and I promise I'll say yes."
"What if the offer isn't available tomorrow?"
"Then you'd break my heart. But I'd still have to decline tonight."
She laughed. "You get broken hearted easily?"
The smile that answered her was well-practiced. "You could always try it and find out. Though it may be more enjoyable for both of us if you didn't."
She ran a hand down his side. "I suppose we should get back before they start wondering where we are."
"We should," he agreed, tracing along her neck, back into her hair. "Once they start wondering, they might start speculating."
"Heaven forbid."
Her smile made the sarcasm lighthearted and warm. He responded in kind and kissed her once more before turning and offering her a hand, leading her back towards the house.
